Empire

30 Under

"What about food?" Wendy complained.

Voorhees dragged the plastic sheeting over their heads. "It can wait. None of us are starving yet."

Standing over an unfinished basement, Lauren watched rain pool at its bottom. Jenna gently brought her away from the edge. Duncan watched them confer in hushed tones.

"What's with her attitude?" Voorhees asked him. "She's not a goddamn rock star anymore."

Duncan was surprised at the words from his own mouth. "Don't pigeonhole her as a spoiled bitch. She wasn't making demands, she was looking for answers. Like the rev said."

"Doesn't matter. You'd better take her aside and let her know that she better listen to me, for her own damn good." Voorhees pressed a finger into Duncan's chest. "Unlike the rest of you, I still have a job."

Duncan stared silently at the finger between his ribs. The P.O. removed it, saying "I'm not trying to come off like a sonofabitch here. But I won't compromise anyone's safety. Got it?"

"Tell her yourself." Duncan muttered.

Lauren pulled away from Jenna and walked out from under the scaffolding. "Come back here!" Voorhees yelled. He grabbed Jenna's arm. "Go get her!"

"For fuck's sake-"

"I won't tell you again."

Jenna threw his hand off. "We made it long enough without taking crap from people like you."

Palmer wedged herself between the two of them. "This isn't accomplishing anything."

"No shit." Voorhees snarled through gritted teeth. Then he saw it, from the corner of his eye: Lauren stiffened and came to a dead stop in the rain.

Climbing over a concrete abutment, Zaharchuk trained his Desert Eagle on her.

"Stay there," he coaxed, hands trembling, the gun jerking from side to side. Lauren whimpered, but remained still until he was able to slip his arm around her and turn her to face the others.

Voorhees' hand flew to his empty holster. "Fuck." He reached behind his back for the widowmaker.

"Leave it, old man." Zaharchuk called. "I've seen you, I watch you when you're not watching me. I know all of you."

"He's crazy." Duncan whispered. Voorhees stepped out from under the plastic. "STOP!!" Zaharchuk barked.

"Okay." Voorhees held up his hands. "I'm unarmed. Why don't you lose the gun?"

"I know you've got a cleaver strapped to your back, shitheel." The mouth of the Desert Eagle dug into Lauren's neck. She closed her eyes. Zaharchuk pressed his cheek against her shoulder, peering at Voorhees as if from a foxhole.

"Tell me what you want." The patrol officer said. There was silence in response. "We don't have any food or drugs. We don't have anything to offer but shelter. Safety. Is that what you want? Do you want to travel with us?"

Zaharchuk's eyes narrowed, but still he said nothing. He adjusted his grip on the rain-soaked pistol.

"We're all in the same situation here," Voorhees continued. "If you want our help, you need to let that girl go. Put that gun away."

Jenna stared hard at Lauren, trying to send her strength through her eyes. Just hold on — don't move, don't cry, don't make a fucking sound.

Zaharchuk wiped his nose on Lauren's shoulder. "This is my gun! I'm the one who's safe!"

"Then get out from behind that girl."

Zaharchuk's fried logic had put him in a corner, Duncan knew, and the maniac would only try to shoot his way out.

Wendy screamed from the back of the group. Zaharchuk yanked Lauren's hair back and pressed the Eagle to her chin.

Voorhees, glancing back, saw Wendy teetering on the edge of the unfinished basement; Sawbones had come up and grabbed her by the ankle. Sawbones, the one they'd left behind, the one they'd crippled, had her leg. She shrieked and reached for the others.

Then she lost her footing and dropped into the cellar.

"What the FUCK was that! WHAT THE FUCK?!" Zaharchuk shoved Lauren forward. The gun was trained on her head. He was going to shoot.

Voorhees whipped the widowmaker through the air; it buried itself between Zaharchuk's eyes, and he flopped back into the mud without so much as a squeal.

Palmer dragged Kipp away from the edge of the basement. Sawbones was on top of Wendy, tearing at her clothes, her flesh. He pressed his gaping maw into her throat, and the puddle beneath them turned dark crimson.

Voorhees tore off his trench coat and made a running leap into the basement. Pain stabbed through his legs as he landed with a splash. Sawbones, the horror under the mask revealed, turned and grunted.

He had the axe. Voorhees was driven back by a wild swing. Clambering over the earth like an infant, Sawbones swept the axe through the air, scant inches, then millimeters from Voorhees' knees.

Duncan landed behind the rotter and ran to Wendy. Her throat was an open wound brimming with blood. Her eyes, unblinking, collected rainwater.

Voorhees moved in a wide circle. Sawbones followed. Did he remember the cop? Of course he did, and he knew that Voorhees was his greatest threat. Nothing would stop the undead from taking him out. Except… "GET THE WIDOWMAKER!!!" He screamed at those standing topside. "THE BLADE!!"

Jenna ran past a sobbing Lauren and wrenched at the handle jutting from Zaharchuk's face.

Duncan grabbed Sawbones' leg and pulled it from beneath him, sending the rotter facefirst into a puddle. Sawbones sputtered and rolled over — heaving the axe with both hands.

It spun past Duncan, and searing heat lanced his thigh; he saw the bloodless gash open wide and turn red in the space of a second.

Voorhees fell upon Sawbones and locked his arms around the rotter's neck. SNAP-SNAP-SNAP-SNAP went vertebrae and still it clawed at the cop's eyes.

Jenna jumped down. She saw Duncan lying in a red-and-brown paste. "Mark!!"

"KILL IT." Duncan groaned through white lips.

She ran at Sawbones. "Move, Voorhees!"

He released the rotter and rolled through the mud.

Sawbones stared up at Jenna, at the widowmaker, followed the gleaming steel through the rain and into his throat.

She straddled him and hacked away at his face, driving the blade all the way into the ground, again and again, blending the pulverized remains of Sawbones' real skull with the earth under him.

Voorhees ripped a sleeve from his shirt and tied a crude tourniquet around Duncan's leg. "She's still…" Duncan pointed at Jenna's frantic chopping. She was chopping nothing. Voorhees laid Duncan back. "Don't talk."

"I could hear you from a block away!" Someone shouted over the edge: Mike. Then the scope of the carnage below hit him, and he fell silent.

"Wound's not that deep." Voorhees said to Duncan. He heard a slapping sound and turned. Sawbones' head was gone. Jenna was attacking a slick of gore.

She fell into the mud and screamed.

A moment later, Shipley's voice rose even above hers.

"Where's the kid?

WHERE'S KIPP?!"

Had any of the survivors scaled the skeleton building and stood at its peak, they would have seen the boy stumbling out of the construction site, heading west toward the Jefferson Harbor Museum.

Turning east, they might have also seen a cloud on the horizon, not in the sky, but on the ground.

Feral undead converging on the pillars of smoke that rose from the city.