"She's singing again."
"I know." He could hear it just as clearly as Maria did, through the paper-thin walls: the old lady across the hall, Mrs. Aguilar, singing her hymns. "Maybe she'll stop. She stopped after a few minutes yesterday."
He got out of bed, stepped over mounting trash on the carpet, walked to the front hall, pressed his ear against the door.
Mrs. Aguilar's singing continued. Underscoring was soon provided by the shuffling and scratching and moaning of the zombies drawn up the stairs by the noise.
He silently tiptoed back to the bedroom, heart pounding. "She's not stopping."