I turn to find Dakota standing in the doorway, arms wrapped around herself. She shouldn’t be here. Should be with her sister. Not looking at me with those too-calm eyes.
“There was another wedding scheduled yesterday,” she says. “Big venue, holds about two hundred guests.”
Cameron’s shoulder slumps. “Guess they weren’t as lucky as we were.”
I scan the yard again. The main gate stands open, a car parked in the gateway with the driver’s side door open, its metal frame glinting in the early morning light. A clear invitation.
“We need to close that gate,” I say. “Can’t risk them getting in here.”
Dakota steps closer, peering through the gap in the curtain. “They’re too close already.”
“Which is why we move now.” I turn to Cameron. “Get the keys we need from the reverend.”
He nods, sprinting back toward our makeshift camp. I brush past Dakota, heading for the main entrance.
Her footsteps follow, quick and light. “I’ll help.”
“No.”
“Why? I’ve already killed three of them. I’m not useless.”
I whirl around so fast she nearly crashes into me. Her startled breath hits my chest, eyes widening as she stumbles back.
“Because you’ve already gotten hurt.” The marks on her arms, the fading bruises on her side that weren’t from falling down any fucking stairs, flash before me. “And we don’t need any more casualties.”
Dakota’s mouth opens, ready to argue, when Cameron returns with Sienna at his heels. He clutches the fire poker in one hand, jangling keys in the other.
“Got them,” he pants. “Reverend’s praying for our souls.”
“Great.” I grab the keys, sorting through them as I swing the main door open. The groans are louder, carried on the morning breeze. “Which one’s for the gate?”
“Already removed it.” Cameron holds up a brass key.
“Good.” I nod toward Dakota and Sienna. “You want to help? Stay here with Sienna and open the door for us when we get back. Any of those things get close, you lock this door and don’t think twice. Understood?”
Dakota stares at me, her eyes telling me she won’t, but she gives a single, sharp nod.
“Let’s go.” I open the door, leaving the key inside the lock, Cameron in tow. “Move fast.”
We sprint across the church grounds, our feet pounding a desperate rhythm on the gravel path. The dead notice us immediately, their rotting faces turning in unison like some fucked-up choreography.
“Just the ones in our way,” I call to Cameron, machete already raised. “Don’t waste time.”
A middle-aged woman in a shredded cocktail dress lurches toward me, jaw snapping. I drive the machete through her eye socket before yanking it free in one fluid motion. No time to be gentle. No time to think about who she might have been.
“Ju, on your left!”
I pivot, narrowly avoiding grasping fingers from a teenage boy missing half his face. The blade connects with his temple, and he crumples.
We reach the gate and sedan breathless, sweat already soaking through my shirt despite the morning chill. No sign of the owner. Blood smears the windshield from the inside.
“Fuck,” I mutter, shoving against the gate. It moves an inch before hitting the car. “We need to move this piece of shit.”
Cameron glances at the approaching horde. “Keys?”
I check the ignition. Empty. “Nothing.”
“Parking brake might be off,” Cameron says, already diving into the driver’s seat. “I’ll steer, you push.”
