Hall 1 was not an improvement on the corridor.
I had my back pressed against the double doors, both hands braced against the push bar, feet planted against the floor as the Infected on the other side worked at it, not smart, not coordinated, just persistent weight and momentum that didn't get tired and didn't stop. I could hold it. My strength wasn't the issue.
The issue was the dozen or so already inside the hall with us.
The room stretched back in tiered rows, two hundred seats rising up in the dark toward a screen that hadn't shown anything in a long time. Moving through those shadows, climbing over seats, stumbling down the narrow stepped aisles toward us, were the ones that had been waiting in here long before we arrived.
Maribel stood a few feet in front of me, steel rod raised in both hands, Glock in her other while also having positioned her small torch light around.
"We need to get out of here," she said, eyes tracking the closest ones coming down the aisle steps.
