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someone to attack, as there was plenty of blood splattered on almost every surface plus countless pieces of flesh scattered around. Curiously though, there was no body.
    The last time I saw this gallery, a short, skinny, middle-aged, balding man I knew as the warden had been in there. He wore a mustache like a badge and reminded me of the many two-bit car salesmen one can find in any town these days. He had taken a personal interest in my demise and had been keen to witness my death. I tapped the window. It was shatterproof glass. With enough effort it could be broken, giving me a potential alternative route out of here.
    A little while later I noticed that our unwanted guests beyond the door had become very quiet in the last hour or so, and being very inquisitive, I decided to take a fast look. Carefully and as quietly as possible, I unlocked the door. I listened for the slightest sound coming from the other side . . . There was nothing . . . So I pushed down on the handle and very slowly pulled the door open, just enough to give me a reasonable view of the hallway. Before me, the waiting zombies were too numerous to count. Each and every one of them stood facing me. Like statues they stood, unmoving, not a breath amongst them. They were indeed truly dead.
    In the area immediately outside the chamber it honestly looked as though someone had been fed into an industrial bacon slicer. There was blood on every surface, strips of flesh hung from the walls, and larger chunks of flesh were scattered around the area. The corridor surfaces were not merely decorated in arterial spray; it looked more like someone had thrown several buckets of congealing blood over the walls, ceiling, and floor.
    From the corner of my eye, I noticed an oddly placed object some three or four yards away. I could swear it was my mother’s head. It was! Her face retained the image of pain and anguish from her last moments on earth. Her gaze was as empty as her eye sockets, and I truly felt no loss.
    I hesitated for only a moment and was glad that I did. Had I reacted on seeing the horde and closed the door, I may have brought unnecessary attention to myself, instead I kept my motions slow and careful as I took in the scene. Most of the zombies were inmates. The rest were dressed in either civilian clothing or in prison guard uniforms. The closest zombie to me was an inmate, standing a little under five foot and dressed in the familiar blue trousers and orange top, though the color of his clothes was in reality difficult to determine, due to the copious amounts of blood that covered him. The whole scene was surreal and somewhat reminiscent of the Michael Jackson music video Thriller from the eighties, though I doubted very much that they would start dancing.
    Like our dead guard, this closest zombie who was only about eighteen inches from the door, had pale white eyes and dilated pupils, and his skin was pale to the point of being white in color and in sharp contrast to his blood-smeared mouth and chin. A huge chunk of flesh had been ripped from the side of his neck. Several strips of flesh hung from the wound, with several large veins clearly visible. This short zombie was right in front of me. He did not move or twitch, but as more of my head became visible from behind the door, his eyes found mine. Then, moving his head only slightly, he took a sniff at the air, testing it perhaps to determine what I was. It was then that I opted to close the door, and as carefully as I had opened it, I closed it, ensuring that it was well and truly locked, before turning back to face the room. Curious, I thought. Where was the instantaneous attack that I had expected and witnessed only a few hours ago?
     

 
     
     
     
    Chapter - 4
    - CIA Sanctioned Murder #1 -
     
    I was in my mid-twenties, and it was in the summer of nineteen ninety-something. She had been selected for one reason and one reason only, and that was because at her core existed the same spirit that had