I pulled myself up onto my elbows and watched Clutch.
“He’d threatened to go after you and Jase if I tried to escape. He assumed I wouldn’t try it. He was wrong. He posted her outside my door. She had no training, no experience.”
I laid a hand on his heart. His muscles tensed.
“I killed her. Broke her neck so I could get out. I had to make sure you were safe.”
He jerked away, got up, and stood in front of the window.
I came to my feet. “It’s not your fault. Doyle forced your hand.”
“He didn’t force me to kill her.”
I walked over to him and watched him stare out over the dark valley below. “He did, in a way. He forced your hand. You did what you had to do. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t be alive today. I wouldn’t be alive today.”
He turned, looked into my eyes for a moment, then pulled away and grabbed his clothes and a bottle of whiskey. He paused at the top step. “She was Doyle’s wife.”
Chapter XX
Three days later
“There’s one coming up your six,” Clutch called out before diving behind a pew to reload. I twisted around and blasted buckshot into the head of an exceptionally overweight zed, pumped my shotgun, and then took out the aggressive one reaching for Clutch.
I continued shooting, taking out their legs if I couldn’t get a good headshot. Clutch rejoined, and the church was like a Tarantino film, full of gunfire and gore. I used up my last two shells on a priest wearing a collar stained with dried blood.
“Reloading!” I yelled out and scrambled back several steps. I rushed to slide the shells into the shotgun while a zed in the form of a decrepit old woman stumbled toward me, its head askew with a broken neck. I’d only gotten five shells loaded when it closed in. I swung the gun up and shot it in the chest. The force sent it flying back, and my second shot was a direct hit to its face.
I looked around for what to shoot next but saw no zeds still standing. I frowned. “We’re clear already?”
“All clear,” Clutch said as he pulled out a knife.
I finished reloading my shotgun before slinging it over my shoulder and pulling out my knife. We went around to each zed, making sure it wouldn’t come back. Shotguns packed a punch, but they didn’t always get the job done.
Afterward, we stood at the baptismal fountain, washing up under the watchful gray gaze of a statue of the Virgin Mary. “Jesus,” I said, and then glanced at the crucifix hanging at the front of the church. “Sorry,” I mumbled. “Did everyone in a ten-mile radius come to church when the outbreak hit?”
“Plenty of folks get religious when things turn to shit.”
My eyes fell on the priest. “Guess the priest would’ve had his hands full giving last rites.”
“Too bad the dead didn’t actually stay dead.”
I dried my hands on my jeans and scanned the corpses and toppled pews. “We used up a lot of ammo.”
“It’ll all be worth it if this place hasn’t been looted yet.”
I grinned and clapped. “Let’s check it out.”
****
What we discovered quickly proved Clutch right. We’d struck gold at the Catholic church in the town nearest to the park, if you could call six houses and a church with an attached reception hall a town. According to the banner hanging outside, they’d been collecting donations for a local food pantry to help the needy at Easter.
And we definitely qualified as needy.
“See if you can’t find a P-38,” Clutch said as he rifled through cupboards in the kitchen.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I called out in reply, stacking another box of canned food near the front door with the dozen other boxes. “You know, for a small town, these guys were really generous.”
I headed back to the kitchen. “Everything’s boxed up and ready to go.”
“Aha, a P-38.” Clutch held up a small metal can opener not much bigger than a razor blade. He pocketed it.
My brow furrowed. “It’s a can opener?”
“It’s a P-38.”
With a sigh, I rolled my eyes. “Ready?”