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Lieutenant Thomas Westfield kicked down the door of the building in front of him; it was impossible to tell what the building was for - the sign was covered in blood. Inside, there was much debris spread across the wooden floor. The wall had been partially knocked down.

Westfield hurried up the stairs, a Desert Eagle handgun drawn in case any more of those things, whatever they were, decided to try and tear him apart again.

The young army lieutenant tried to make sense of what had just happened - first the green gas, then the dead Russian soldiers returning to life, and finally the disappearances of all his fellow men.

"Aaarghh!!" A corpse was spread out across the landing; its wounds too disgusting for words.

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