"Found it!" London cried. She reached between two of the barricade's pews to grab the gun. A rotter snatched her long hair and yanked her into the door with a crash. Mike leapt atop her and struggled with the hand. "GET THE GUN!!!" Wheeler hollered.
London's head smashed into the door a second time. It left behind a bloody stamp matted with hair. Her body sagged in Mike's arms.
"The GUN, man!!" Wheeler wouldn't dare approach the barricade but he didn't hesitate to scream orders. Yeats got on the floor to reach underneath the pews. Brushing the pistol with his fingertips, he wedged his shoulder deeper.
Suddenly he screamed. As the door was ripped away, piece by piece, he felt his arm seized and wrenched from its socket, then flesh tore and muscle snapped and he was soaked in blood.
Mike rolled him away from the pews. The arm was gone. Yeats stared dumbly at the spurting stump, already half-dead. Jenna O'Connell mashed her fist into her mouth with a cry.
Shipley waved at Duncan. Together, they lifted a pew off the floor and turned it toward the crumbling door like a battering ram. "Everyone out of the way!!"
The axe burst through again, and behind it was a skull-faced monster that surveyed the chapel's inhabitants with empty eyes.
The pew plowed straight into the rotter, sending it careening into the fiery community room.
Yeats was gone. Mike and Duncan immediately returned to the spot below the vent. "Let's get outta here!" Duncan grabbed Jenna and lifted her foot into his hands, boosting her into Voorhees' grasp.
Lauren was next, then Wheeler got his turn. After Shipley went up, Duncan and Mike were alone. The undead were clambering through the doorway. Mike knelt and cupped his hands. "No, you first!" The other man argued. Mike shook his head grimly. Duncan stepped up and was thrust skyward.
Voorhees dumped Duncan roughly on the tarpaper and dropped his arms again through the ceiling. "Weisman!"
Mike started toward the ladder, then stepped back; he'd never get around the rotters if he went for it. Standing atop the nearby pews couldn't help him reach his escape route either. The dead lurched into the room, one after the next, and fixed their eyes on him; the gun was still under the barricade, it was hopeless…
He remembered Cheryl, sitting alone in his apartment. And no one knew. Voorhees didn't even know which unit he lived in.
The zombie with the rifle lifted it to its shoulder. Lunging forth, Mike grabbed the barrel, twisting the weapon from the undead's hands. He smashed the butt into the zombie's teeth and spun the rifle around to point it at the others. Smoke poured into the chapel, hungry flames close behind.
He fired. He fired and fired and fired until his hands were numb and the rifle was empty, and all the dead were flailing on the floor with chunks of flesh and bone scattered around them.
Mike hurled the rifle through the door and grabbed the ladder. A female swiped at his ankle. He stomped her face into a pulpy ruin. Staggering up the rungs, Mike linked his arms with Voorhees'. He felt himself rising into the fresh evening air.
Palmer pointed to the auto shop at their rear. "It's an easy jump." The last syllable had scarcely left her lips when Shipley leapt across the gap, dropping into a roll as he hit the steel roof on the other side.
"The kid!" He called, opening his arms.
Voorhees placed a firm hand on Kipp's shoulder. "Weisman, you go next."
Palmer knew that Voorhees had Shipley pegged as the Midtown Rapist, but what did that have to do with the boy? Maybe he thought Shipley wanted Kipp as a hostage, to secure his freedom? Hell, he could just run right now if he wanted to. The fact was, there was as much "freedom" out here as there was law.
The reverend watched Mike jump across, and he motioned for Kipp to come over. "You can make it!"
Shipley stepped aside with a look of resentment.
"Can you do it?" Duncan was asking Jenna and Lauren. They both answered in the affirmative and approached the edge of the roof. The entire shelter shuddered. "We've got no time! Move, move!" Voorhees barked. The two women jumped.
Palmer steeled herself for the leap. It was easy, just like she'd said. She bent her legs slightly, took a deep breath, and ran forward. As her feet left the tarpaper, she said a silent goodbye to her home.
She collided with the edge of the other roof, knocking the wind from her lungs with an impact that wracked her entire body. The reverend tumbled unconscious to the ground below.
24
Jack-O-Latern
Voorhees slung his legs over the edge of the roof and dropped into the alleyway between the two buildings. Lifting Palmer off the ground with one arm, he yelled "Just get across!" To the others above him.
He hefted his pistol in his free hand; a few bullets left, something to swat at the undead horde with before they overran him. He ran onto the street and saw the chained doors of the auto shop. Now there was a better use for the bullets. Voorhees held Palmer tight and took aim.
Atop the garage, Wheeler stomped on a cracked skylight. It fell in with a shriek, most of the glass landing on the roof of a rusted-out van. He jumped down without hesitation.
Voorhees emptied his gun into the padlock securing the door. A kick finished the job, and he lugged Palmer's dead weight inside. The others were climbing down from the van. Mike ran to shut the door and move a metal shelf in front of it.
"She smacked her head pretty good." Voorhees observed, laying Palmer out on the floor. Concussion, maybe, but she'd come around before too long.
As soon as Mike had stepped back, Wheeler went to the door and started moving the shelf out of the way. "The fuck are you doing?" Jenna snapped.
"We've gotta keep moving. Grab what you can and let's go." As he spoke, Wheeler snatched a wrench off the shelf. But before he could nudge the shelf another inch, Mike braced himself against the other end. "Have you lost it?"
"They'll be here any minute!" Wheeler protested.
"They're still in the shelter. Probably feeding…"
"Not with that fire raging! Look, you don't know who they are. Those are the kids from the Addison estate!"
"Addison?" Palmer sat up, looking at Wheeler through half-closed slits. Voorhees pressed an oily rag to the gash on her head. "You mean from the house in the swamp?"
"Yes! I'm tellin' you, Addison sent them out here! He wants bodies for his fuckin' research! I know what I'm talking about!"
"You want to talk about it without screaming?" Jenna said. Wheeler was ready with a smug retort. "The nice officer here says all the rotters are having dinner next door. What're you worried about?"
"Shut up, Wheeler." Palmer got to her feet and took the rag from Voorhees with an appreciative glance. "We just need to keep quiet until they're either dead or gone."
"I won't keep quiet!" Wheeler hurled the wrench across the room with an ungodly clatter. Mike wrestled the bum's arms behind his back and produced his handcuffs. "Oh no you don't!" Wheeler hollered. "You've got no right! No right!"
Palmer picked up the wrench. Wheeler's eyes met hers and he yelped as she came at him.
The window in the door exploded, peppering Mike and Wheeler with glass. The axe head swept through, only to get caught on the edge of the shelf; holding it was the skull-faced rotter.
"We saw him!" Lauren cried as Jenna pulled on her. "We saw him, remember?"
"Get into the pit!" Voorhees gestured to the dark workspace beneath the van. Breaking away from Mike, Wheeler pushed past the others to crawl under the vehicle.
Sawbones freed his axe and attacked the door with renewed vigor.
"I'm out of ammo." Voorhees told his fellow P.O. "No gun." Mike replied. Someone tapped his shoulder; it was Palmer, and she handed him the wrench. "Just split his damn head open so he can't see straight."