“Simmer down, Martin.”
Inside the church, Blake ignored Gunther and rested his hands on his big brass belt buckle. “You two shit heels knew this was coming and you didn’t warn anyone.”
“No one knew anything,” Gunther said.
“Oh, I see,” Blake said. “Go on, old man. Keep telling me I didn’t hear what I just heard and act like I’m stupid.”
“It wouldn’t be much of an act,” Gunther replied. He pointed out the broken window. More and more of the undead were congregating in the road, bumping into one another, searching for flesh to devour.
“Do you really think there was any way that either of us could have predicted THAT?” Gunther asked.
“Doesn’t matter,” Blake said. “You two knew something bad was coming…”
“We were told by the government that it was bullshit,” Gunther interrupted.
Blake poked a finger into Gunther’s chest. In his youth, Gunther would have laid Blake out on the floor for doing that, but the old man took it.
“You knew the government was full of shit,” Blake said.
“What does it matter now?” Gunther asked. “You want to blame us?”
“Yeah I do!” Blake shouted.
“That makes you feel like a big man?” Gunther asked.
“Yeah it does!” Blake replied.
Slade heard some strange noises coming from outside. He looked through the broken window only to be amazed by the sight of a large wolf man barreling through the undead, flinging them out of his way as if they were rag dolls.
And behind him?
“Bonnie,” Slade said.
Gunther and Blake were too busy exchanging unpleasantries to notice.
“Son, if it makes you think you got a big swinging dick to point out other people’s mistakes then go right ahead,” the old man said.
“Don’t think I won’t,” Blake said.
“Just finish up quick because we all need you to get the fuck over yourself, man the fuck up, and stop running your mouth,” Gunther said.
“Don’t turn this around on me, Grandpa,” Blake said. “You two idiots have killed us all.”
“We all look pretty damn alive to me,” Gunther said. “Maybe if you shut up and stop being a jackass we’ll get out of this alive.”
“I’m the jackass?” Blake said.
“Yeah you are,” Gunther said.
A fist pounded on the door. Slade heard Miss Bonnie’s muffled voice coming from outside.
“You had no right to keep this shit to yourself,” Blake said.
“Oh and you’re just so perfect, aren’t you?” Gunther asked. “You just know everything, don’t you?”
Blake thumped a fist on his chest. “I do!”
Slade fished through the drunken reverend’s pockets and found an iron key. He shoved it into the lock.
Bonnie pounded on the door again.
“Rain open up the door and get the hell out of the way!”
Blake and Gunther were oblivious.
“You really think you could have done any better than we did?” Gunther asked.
“Yeah I do!” Blake hollered. “I’m not some dumb son of a bitch who can’t tell when danger is headed right at him!”
Slade turned the key and opened the door. Miss Bonnie fired her shot.
Now noble reader, perhaps you’ve heard of Sir Isaac Newton’s First Law of Motion. In case you haven’t, it goes like this:
An object at rest stays at rest and an object in motion stays in motion with the same speed and in the same direction unless acted upon by an unbalanced force.
Miss Bonnie had fired true and a silver tipped bullet was lodged in Becker’s brain. In the last few moments of his life, the beast, or rather, the object, kept running anyway.
Slade acted quickly enough to grab Miss Bonnie and pull her out of the way. Even old, worn out Gunther looked up in time to dive out out of the aisle.
Blake, on the other hand, an unbalanced force if there ever was one, was slammed by an oncoming furry freight train, only to have each and every one of his bones crack under Becker’s gargantuan weight.
Doc, who had been resting in a pew at the front of the church, stood and walked over to survey the damage. He wasn’t feeling very steady on his feet, so he leaned on Annabelle.
The only part of Blake that remained visible was his head. The rest was pinned underneath the hairy corpse.
To Doc’s surprise, Blake was gasping for breath.
The physician’s nausea was getting worse. He coughed as he leaned down and pulled a bottle of his Miracle Cure-All out of his pocket.
“Take this,” Doc said as he poured a few drops into Blake’s open mouth.
“Will he make it?” Annabelle asked.
“Doubtful,” Doc replied. “I fear even the mighty power of cocaine mixed with spider eggs for texture will not be enough to save him.”
Slade and Miss Bonnie, the Good Reverend, and Gunther all gathered around. Even Sarah timidly walked over.
Blake’s face turned purple. “Tell…”
“Hush my good man,” Doc said. “Conserve your strength.”
Gunther knelt down and brushed his wrinkled hand over Blake’s hair.
“It’s ok, son,” Gunther said. “No need to tell me you’re sorry. You’re…”
The old man wasn’t big on emotion, nor was he even sure he believed what he was about to say, but under the circumstances, he felt it was appropriate.
“You’re my friend and I love you,” Gunther said.
Blake’s eyes looked toward Doc. “Tell Gunther…to go…fuck himself.”
And with that, the victim drew his last breath and his eyes rolled back into his head.
The group of survivors remained quiet for a few moments until Doc broke the silence.
“Deputy,” Doc said. “This man wished for me to tell you…”
“I know!” Gunther said as he stood up.
“Well, it was his last wish,” Doc said as Annabelle helped him up to his feet.
Speaking of feet, a pair of two very large ones entered the church and creaked across the floor boards. Slade turned around to see another werewolf.
This one wasn’t acting very dangerous. He was nonchalantly walking in on two feet, carrying another Winchester, and a shotgun, and a bag of ammo in his paws.
Instinctively, Slade yanked the rifle out of Miss Bonnie’s hands and took aim.
The redhead jumped in front of the werewolf and put her hands up.
“Don’t shoot! He’s really just a nice little negro boy!”