The corridor kept twisting and turning. She came to a variety of junctions. A small arrow had been scratched into one of the walls at each juncture, indicating the way forward. The arrows did nothing to make Cat feel any calmer—if anything, they set her nerves even more on edge. She thought about ignoring them and taking the opposite direction, but then she might get lost. At least if she followed the path of the arrows, she could easily backtrack at any point.
She passed several doors that were locked, but the handle of one finally turned when she tried it.
Cat paused. What if there was a team of zombie soccer players behind the door? Maybe the players had been turned and ended up trapped in a changing room. The whistle she’d heard might have been an undead referee blowing for the start of a match. If she opened this, a team of hungry soccer players might storm out, cut her head open, tuck into her brain, then head on out to the field for a game that would never kick off.
“The hell with it,” Cat muttered with a shaky grin. “It was always my dream to end up in the arms of a professional soccer star with loads of money.”
She pushed the door open and braced herself for the rush.
Nothing happened.
After a few seconds Cat stepped forward. There was a light switch on the wall. When she tried it, the light overhead flickered on, revealing a bare, dusty room. There were a few cleats here and there, some bandages, an old, crusty towel. But no soccer players, alive or undead.
Cat turned off the light–energy conscious even in these chaotic times–and carried on along the corridor. She came to a few more doors, some of which were open, but the rooms were all as empty as the first one had been.
She spotted a whistle on the floor of one room and stared at it suspiciously. There was no way to tell if this was an ancient piece of equipment or if it was the whistle that had lured her into this place. She bent over to pick it up, meaning to try it, then stopped with her fingers outstretched. If the whistle had been blown by a zombie, its germs would be smeared across the mouthpiece. If she put it to her lips, she’d be infected immediately and would turn into one of the brain-hungry monsters within a minute or two.
Cat scowled and withdrew her hand. She needed to be more careful. She had almost walked straight into potential disaster. That wasn’t like her. She was obviously more spooked than she had admitted.
Stepping back out into the corridor, Cat gave herself a few moments to breathe and relax. “Come on,” she whispered. “You’ve faced worse than this. Don’t lose your nerve now. Whatever’s going on, you can deal with it.”
The little pep talk worked and she walked more steadily after that. She ignored the rest of the doors that she came to, marching with a purpose now, determined to get to the field and find out what was waiting for her there.
She arrived at the tunnel opening a few minutes later. Daylight was streaming through it, a welcome sight after the dimness of the corridors. Cat felt like running out into it, but she didn’t. Composure was the key here.
Edging forward, she moved to the side, keeping to the shadows. She was expecting zombies or soldiers, but as she came to the mouth of the tunnel and caught sight of the field, her jaw dropped. She stood there in disbelief, then stepped out in a daze and said very softly, with no idea that she was speaking, “No bloody way!”