I had to move—or I’d be pushed.
Downstairs might be a trap. I went up to the passageway again.
The passageway was solid and alive with stinking bodies. Hands and teeth began to take my clothes away from me. I knew damned well I had declared myself in on something!
I was one of a struggling, tearing, grunting and groaning mob of invisibles. An eddy of them swept me toward the kitchen. Hitting, kicking, butting, I went along.
A high-pitched voice was screaming Chinese orders.
My shoulder scraped the doorframe as I was carried into the kitchen, fighting as best I could against enemies I couldn’t see, afraid to use the gun I still gripped.
I was only one part of the mad scramble. The flash of my gun might have made me the center of