The second time, things went easier. He carved through the roof in little under an hour. Denny moved to help him, but Max growled him away. The rapist took to squatting in the corner of the attic. He muttered vague self-righteous statements, hinged with a sick layer of racism and stereotypes.
When Max could finally poke his head free of the constricting attic, his ears were greeting with the moaning of a hundred throats. The undead were on all sides of him. Before he had even gained his feet, Max realized that as many as two hundred zombies might be surrounding the mansion.
Denny crawled through. Since he only wore jeans, the quickly chilling air had already caused him to hug his arms around himself. “Holy hell, how’re going to get past that.”
Max resisted pointing out that the entire situation was the big man’s fault. Instead he cleaned the clinging insulation off his sword and took in the layout below. Under normal circumstances, dropping to the large porch in back would be the easiest way off the roof. There was a raised rail to the right side of the porch. He eyed it. A two-by-six topped the rail and it led to the far edge of the porch and the woods that stretched north.
Max turned back to Denny. “I have an idea.”
Denny eyes darted side to side. “Will it work? What is it?”
“We have to start on this side,” Max said, while walking to the front of the house. Once he reached the southern eves. Beneath them dozens of undead gashed their teeth and lifted blood soaked arms past their moaning mouths.
Denny was turning to say something when Max pushed him from behind.
The man toppled forward. His knees hit the shingles and he started rolling to the edge. At the last moment, he twisted his shoulders and grabbed at the gutter as his body fell over the edge. Beneath him, the zombies went mad.
Denny looked up at Max as he approached the edge. Terror filled his wide eyes. “What the hell? Come on man, the few of us that are left have to stick together.”
“No we don’t.” Max raised up his sword. Denny screamed once before a blow chopped off three of his fingers.
The shock of the attack caused Denny to let go and he fell back into the waiting jaws of the swirling undead below. His screams lasted longer than Max would have thought possible.
Max raced to the center of the roof and counted to fifty. Then he hurried to the northern side of the house. As he had hoped, the zombies there had thinned as they rushed to join in on the feast Denny’s body provided. Many still lingered, but Max dropped to the railing and tight-roped it to the edge of the porch. Zombies already lurched at him, but he risked a leap to the ground.
He landed in a ball, but quickly rose to his full height and swung his sword at each of the two zombies that moved in on him. He kicked another one into a legless teen that crawled Max’s way. Hands clawed and fingers reached, but he focused on just smashing them out of his way and breaking through.
Seconds later he had reached the woods. Denny’s screams had long since ceased and Max cast a final glance over his shoulder before plunging into the deep forest.