Dead Gammon Part 2

To read more about the Great Florida Outbreak, check out Hargood and the End above.

As he passed one room, he spotted a fellow resident army-crawling across the floor toward the door. Upon further observation, he realized the individual had no legs, no hips even. They had been, it seemed, ripped off savagely. At this disturbing revelation, he continued down the hall without looking into any more rooms.
To reach the rec room, Carl had to pass through the lobby. Two things caught his attention in this large, circular room. First, the fluorescents overhead were flickering, and second, the reception desk phone was ringing. Carl wondered if he should answer it, but found the receptionist lying, bloody across her desk and over the ringing phone. He considered trying to move her, that is, until she lifted her ravaged face and looked vacantly to him. At this, he decided to keep moving. The rec room was close now. And he could hear, as he drew near to it, a sound like rattling within.
The doors stood wide open, as they always were. Sunlight poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows, across the room, and out the doors into the quiet hallway. Carl approached with a quivering hand against the wall for balance. His knees were tired, his feet were sore, and his heart was overwhelmed.
He recognized the rattling now. Dice. Rolling dice.
His first step into the rec room was met with spongy, wet carpet underfoot. Plush and blood-soaked. He looked down to see the red liquid ooze out of the weave and flood his slipper. It poured into his sole and flooded up to drown his toes. He shuffled the other foot into the marsh and pressed forward, refusing to look down again. Instead, he look straight ahead into the room before his cataract eyes.
In the center of the room, sitting with his back to Carl, was a man with a combover and housecoat. In his gnarled hand, the man held a cup and shook within it a pair of dice. As the rattling continued, Carl stepped closer. His gut sank at what he knew sat before him. Still he walked forward until he stood beside the man.
"Gabriel," Carl greeted his friend quietly and took a seat across from him. Their Backgammon board laid on the table between them, set and ready to play. Carl looked across the table at his friend who died yesterday. Gabriel stared ahead, an absence of expression and greening of flesh on his sad face. The two made eye contact, but only one responded. Carl nodded silently a picked up his own cup of dice.
"Match to five?" he asked, though he knew the answer, and shook his dice to roll. "To hell with it," he decided aloud, "let's just go till one of us is broke."