The gym fell silent for a moment, like someone had turned every conversation down at once.
At first it was only a sound, long, rough scraping, something heavy dragged across the floor. Then heads started lifting, people turning toward the café entrance in slow, uncertain waves.
Leon stepped in at an unhurried pace, hauling a makeshift "load" behind him, several thick layers of fabric torn from the café's back area, bundled into a crude sled. On top lay ten dead zombie bodies, tangled together in a chaotic mass of limbs, gray skin, and clotted blood.
The fabric hissed against the polished court, leaving wet streaks in its wake. The smell hit hard enough that a few people covered their mouths on instinct, and others turned away, swallowing back bile.
