Ping, dazed and bleeding from a small cut above his left eyebrow, had managed to crawl along the floor and duck under a stainless steel bar that ran between the legs of the sink to the right of the swinging doors. The creatures now pushing their way into the kitchen didn’t appear to be the sharpest knives in the drawer. They vacantly staggered around, bumping into counters, walls and the large mixer along the far wall, seemingly unable to coordinate their own limbs, much less execute a coordinated assault on the cowering baker.
Mara shook her phone in her hand and placed it back to her ear “Sam?” Talking to Ping, she said, “I think we lost him.” She turned toward the sink under which Ping hid, and yelled over the clatter of pots and utensils being knocked across a stainless steel counter
