I hustled back to the church with the key chain clasped firmly in one hand. Of the four keys that jangled in my hand, only one was the type that matched the lock on the door. It was old, heavy and shaped like a cross. I stuck it into the keyhole with bated breath. It slid in effortlessly. Now, I am by no means a religious man, but I freely admit that I muttered a quick prayer to God, asking him if I could please come into his house. I turned the key with a grimace, expecting the worst.
The lock opened with a surprisingly smooth click. I stopped myself from shouting a hallelujah and settled on jumping up and down a bit with a stupid smile on my face. I pushed the door, and it opened about half an inch before it stuck. Something was blocking the door from the inside. I groaned. This door was seriously testing my patience.
I squared my shoulders, braced my legs, envisioned myself as a charging rhino and pushed the door as hard as I could. For a moment, nothing at all seemed to happen. Then, with infinite slowness, the door began sliding open. I could hear something scrape across the floor on the other side, and as I got the door halfway open there was a sudden, loud crash and the door swung open completely. I stumbled in after it, and it was only the wooden pews piled high just beyond the door that prevented me from falling flat on my face. Someone had tried to barricade themselves by clumsily stacking half a dozen of the heavy wooden pews against the doors. It would probably have kept out the walkers, but not me. No sir.
I closed the door behind me and made sure to lock it. The adrenaline rush of that whole morning had faded, and left me aching, tired, and on the verge of a mental breakdown. I slid to a sitting position and closed my eyes. God, I could really use some breakfast.
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