"I think I know how this is going to work." Mike murmured. "That first shot was Shipley. He popped you with your gun, the one I gave him. The second shot is me killing him."
"Is this what you wanted all along?" Voorhees asked. The widowmaker's sheath on his back was unclasped; he faked shivers and tried to drop the blade into his hand. "You wanted to take control of the group? Have those women relying completely on you?"
"Well, I didn't plan it out like this, but it works."
"Sure it does. You'd need to get rid of me, of course, wouldn't you Mike. Because I'm stronger than you, because they listen to me even if they don't like me. That's real power, isn't it?"
"Oh, FUCK YOU." Mike spat. "They'd turn on you just like that. I could turn them-"
"We'll never know, will we? You're gonna kill me and go back there with some bullshit story that makes you look like a hero. Bullshit, bullshit-"
"SHUT UP!!"
"Bullshit, Mike. You're full of it. Cheryl knows you raped her. What're you going to do about that? How're you gonna walk away from that a hero? Think fast, Mike!"
Voorhees hurled the widowmaker. It glanced off Mike's knuckles and he dropped the gun with a howl. Just as quickly, his other hand dropped to scoop it up.
Voorhees delivered a knee into Mike's forehead with a CRACK. Weisman went sprawling and Voorhees grabbed the Eagle. His knee gave out from under him and he rolled toward Shipley.
Mike got up, screaming, and found the widowmaker. There was a thunderclap, and he spun wildly through the air before landing facedown.
Shipley could barely hold the gun. He dropped it in his lap.
Voorhees cradled his kneecap and fumbled through his pockets for a handkerchief. "Hold tight Shipley."
"No." Wheezing, the man rolled over and struggled to a standing position. "What are you doing?" Voorhees demanded.
Slipping the Eagle into his jeans, Shipley pointed west. "I'm gonna get my boy. Then we're gone."
He staggered off. Voorhees fought to get back on his feet. "I'm sorry!"
Shipley gave him half a glance and a dismissive wave.
Jenna came over the hill where Mike's body lay. She took the widowmaker from him and, searching her surroundings for any sign of the undead, descended toward Voorhees.
Shipley left the construction site. He crossed the street and headed up the steps of a museum with its doors hanging open. About halfway up, he stopped to catch his breath, to stem the pain radiating through his entire body, and he saw Kipp come out.
The boy's gaze, which once had bespoke nothing but love, was now only hungry.
He shuffled down the steps with arms open to receive his father.
32
Empty Places
Down a set of stairs at the rear of the police station, through a locked door and into a dark tunnel beneath the three-story structure, Voorhees led the others to the PD's only unbarricaded entrance. The door had a new lock and four bolts, for which he had all the keys.
The others were silent. They'd heard the gunshots, heard Jenna and Voorhees' accounts of Mike Weisman's death and what had preceded it. Shipley and Kipp were gone. Cheryl was in shock, and Palmer drew her coat around the girl and held her close.
The only light in the lobby came not from the many doors and windows, which had been covered with every available board, desk and shelf; but from a shattered skylight overhead. Rain pooled on the floor and Voorhees led them carefully around the water. "Up those stairs." He tossed his keys to Lauren. Jenna was supporting Duncan, but Lauren turned and handed the keys to her anyway.
"It's the first hallway, first door on the right. My name's on it." Voorhees walked to the barricades and reached between two overturned desks, pulling out a pump shotgun. "There's a first-aid kit up there too, in my desk. Clean Duncan's wound."
"How?" Jenna asked from the bottom of the steps. Voorhees sighed. "Hold on."
Leading them upstairs, he unlocked a room marked HOMICIDE — EVIDENCE and went inside. A second later, he appeared with two jugs of distilled water. "One of these is for drinking. Conserve it." He handed that to Palmer. "Use the other one to clean his leg. I'm gonna have to stitch it up."
"Whoa, whoa." Duncan swayed in Jenna's arms. "Let's just dress the leg and call it a day."
"It needs to be closed up."
"Just bandage it. I don't want stitches."
Voorhees reached back into the darkness of the evidence room. He pulled out a dusty plastic bag with pills in it, some crushed. "You'll forget all about the pain. Deal?"
Duncan shrugged helplessly. Voorhees stuffed the bag in his pocket and locked the room up. He brought everyone into his office: chair, overturned buckets stacked with files, a water jug and a can which purported to hold coffee beans. Sure enough, it did. Voorhees popped one into his mouth and gestured to the open can. "Eat up."
Cheryl stared blankly at the can. "Sorry, fresh out of roast duck." Voorhees grumbled. "Leave her be." Palmer said sternly.
Duncan was rested on the floor, back propped against the wall. Voorhees handed him a few pills. "What are those?" Jenna asked. "You don't recognize these babies?" Voorhees answered. "I thought you kept bowls of them backstage." Before she could retort, he said to the others, "The squeamish need to wait outside. Don't leave this floor, don't mess with locked rooms. Okay?"
Palmer took Cheryl out of the room. Lauren looked from Jenna to the door. "I'm staying, Laurie." Jenna said quietly. "Just hang out in the hall. Okay?"
Lauren nodded glumly and left. The door clicked in her wake, and the room was silent.
Duncan took the pills with a mouthful of water and closed his eyes. "How long?"
"Ten minutes and you'll be under. You'll feel like it, anyway." Voorhees fished the first-aid kit out from under his files and, removing the tourniquet from Duncan's leg, pressed a wad of gauze against the wound. "O'Connell, there's a little bag under the chair. See it? Needle and thread are inside."
Jenna opened the bag. "Are you kidding?"
"What?"
"These are for mending socks."
"You got another idea? Kiss it better maybe? We need to close this gash up before it gets infected."
Infected…what a choice of words. Jenna threw the bag to Voorhees.
Duncan's breathing had relaxed, and he looked like he might be unconscious. Jenna sat in the chair and watched Voorhees thread his needle. "I don't know what kind of person you think I am, but I was never a drug-addicted slut."
"Every professional musician since the plague has been a drug-addicted slut." The cop replied flatly. "It's their escape from the world."
"So what's yours? Playing policeman in a ghost town?"
He didn't say anything for a few minutes. Duncan moaned slightly, then his head fell onto his chest.
"I stayed here to help the residents who refused to leave. It's their right to stay and it's their right to be protected."
"Did you ever ask yourself why I came out here?" Jenna felt something rising in her throat, a sob maybe; she choked it down and went on. "Why would I come to a coastal city under martial law if I was just a party girl? I thought maybe…I don't know, I thought I could make people smile a little. There's nothing wrong with forgetting about the hell we live in for just one day. If all we're doing anymore is surviving, what's the fucking point?"
Voorhees removed the gauze from Duncan's wound and shifted to sit beside the unconscious man. "You've got me there."
In the hallway, Cheryl and Lauren stood quiet while Palmer rummaged through another office. She came out with a pair of gloves. "Anyone cold?"
The girls shook their heads. Palmer went to put the gloves on, and a crumpled cigarette pack fell from the left one.
She knelt and picked it up. There were smokes inside.
"Mother of God." Cheryl whispered.