Retreats to the chapel

Retracing her steps, Annette flees down the back of the hill, back in the direction of her house and headed for her modest chapel in the hopes that empowerment via her goddess would give her a way to safely get through the latest wave of this necrotic ****. After seeing the priestess run, the undead previously conserving whatever unholy energy used to animate them broke into a horrifying sprint, the two fresher corpses in pursuit of her and the festering one behind the house in the hopes of intercepting her. While the older corpses boasted inexplicable speed, they lacked endurance and after a short burst of sprinting, it stumbled and fell forwards up the hill. While her path into the chapel was now clear, the two undead behind Annette continued gaining ground and seemingly did not share the same shortcomings as the maggot-ridden corpse feebly raising its arm from the grass below. The two in pursuit exclaimed various rasping noises as they sped down the hill behind her.

Annette sweating profusely at this point, quickened her legs with all possible haste as she passed the rotting corpse getting back to its feet, and with her shoulder, barged through the chapel's door and breaking the lock, thankful for the fact that she didn't have to contend with forcefully entering the massive, heavy doors of a church instead. Using all the time she had left between her and her pursuers, the priestess moved a couple of the pews in front of the entrance, barely getting the second one in place before the impact of the faster zombies knocked it back towards her. Pushing it back again and pressing her back against the makeshift barricade, she shut her eyes and put her palms together.

"Erena, my goddess above, I beseech thee, please provide me absolution and aid me against these reprehensible forces of evil!"

Annette's eyes remained shut, sweat trailing down her face, palms pressed together so hard it hurt, she awaited her fate, accompanied by the snapping and crunching of the wood behind her, sending fragments further into the chapel as rotting arms wrestled their way through, uninterested in the sharp edges cutting through their rubbery flesh like a knife through butter, instead thinking only of connecting their cold grey hands with the warm body of the priestess on the other side.