Hobb whipped his rifle towards Jason and put another burst of stinging lead into the madman, irritating him more than slowing him down.

Kelly took off running, rapidly melting into the shadows of the forest. Before Hobb could fire another shot, Jason was on him. The machete whipped towards his face. Throwing himself backwards, Hobb felt the blade slide past his left cheek, heard it sink into the tree with a loud thunk. Off balance, he stumbled back and fell into the dirt, landing painfully. Looking up at his attacker, Hobb saw Jason roughly twist the machete, freeing the blade from the tree trunk and leaving a four-inch-deep notch behind. Jason raised the weapon over his head and came at Hobb, preparing for another strike. Frantically, Hobb crab-walked backwards. Another bullet punched into the ground inches away from him. Too damn much to think about.

The machete swung down on him.

Hobb rolled to the left. The blade caught the back of his right shoulder, going through his coveralls and shaving off a neat slice of muscle. Hobb shrieked in agony and kept rolling, leaving a trail of blood, until he was on his belly about five feet away from Jason. The killer was already coming at him again, rheumy yellow eyes blazing at him. Hobb twisted, firing a three-round burst into the unreasoning monster. It was a waste of ammo. Hurling himself to his feet, he ducked past another swipe of the machete and lurched away, trying to buy himself some fighting room. Behind the brawl, the gun battle continued to rage. None of the other Operators were aware of the situation their commanding officer was in—trapped in the open, sandwiched between gun-slinging religious fanatics and the machete-wielding, unstoppable lunatic they believed was some kind of savior. But Hobb suddenly found himself in possession of a very interesting idea. It would probably get him killed, but then again, there wasn't much that wouldn't.

Jason was bearing down on him rapidly. He's a torpedo in a hockey mask, Hobb thought. Hurriedly staggering backwards so he could keep an eye on the raging psychopath, he slammed up against a nearby tree hard enough to knock the wind out of himself. It hurt like h-, but at least he had cover from the gunfire for the moment. His shoulder was throbbing painfully and he could feel blood streaming down his back inside his coveralls. Sucking air, he slung his rifle over his uninjured shoulder and unholstered his sidearm. When the MK46 didn't make an impression on the ba-, there was no point in wasting its ammo for what he had in mind. He just needed something to keep Jason interested. Which, currently, did not seem to be a problem. The maniac lunged at Hobb, his massive arm driving the machete blade towards Hobb's chest in an attempt to pin him to the tree. Hobb spun away wildly, avoiding the machete but putting himself into the open again. He glanced around, found the nearest Operator.

"Garb!" Hobb shouted, desperate to be heard over the noise of the gun battle. "GARB!"

Garb looked back just in time to see his commanding officer dodge another swipe of the machete. If Hobb could have seen the man's eyes behind his night vision goggles, he would have seen them widen as in cartoons. Garb swung his machine-gun to bear on Jason and squeezed the trigger. The bullets thudded into the immense killer's body to little effect.

"Don't waste the ammo!" Hobb stumbled away from Jason, slinging blood from his wounded shoulder. He shouted at Garb again, gesturing towards the campground. "Give me some covering fire! When I get about ten feet past you, start leap-frogging!"

Garb nodded sharply. Turning, he laid down some lead in the direction of the church folk. Hobb's stomach twisted itself up. Cold sweat was pouring down his face, stinging his bad eye and making it hard to see out of the good one. He risked a look back towards the cabins. At least two bullets zinged past him, one of which punched into Jason's gut, spewing a crimson jet of blood. The killer glanced down at the wound, then returned his attention to Hobb. This was never going to work, he thought. Jason lunged for him again, the machete slicing through the air. Hobb jumped to avoid the attack. Hit the ground running, backwards, and into the oncoming gunfire. And Jason was still coming after him.

"That's it, ugly mothe-. Come and get me!" Hobb yelled at Jason. He passed Garb, who was crouched a few feet to his right, then ducked behind another tree. Jason slowed, eyeing Garb, whose attention was focused on keeping a steady suppressing fire on the church folk. The madman raised his machete and started towards the oblivious Operator.

Oh shit. "GARB!" Hobb screamed to be heard over the man's FN MK46. "Get the h- out of there!"

Garb turned just as Jason was about to strike. "Holy F-!" he screeched, jumping to his feet and scrambling forwards.

Hobb raised his sidearm and put a round into Jason's chest. As expected, it did nothing to stop the murderous juggernaut. It did, however, draw him off Garb and back towards Hobb. "That's it... That's it," Hobb coaxed. He risked a glance around the tree, back towards the church. Winced as he saw Hurley go down, blood spouting from his face. He looked back. Jason was closing in. Ten feet. Five... Hobb took off running again, leap-frogging Garb's position. "Watch your a-!" he yelled as he passed the man this time. Hobb ducked behind a much thinner tree. He was running out of cover as he got closer to the campground's parking area. The direct approach wasn't going to work. If he was going to avoid getting shot, he'd have to stay along the tree line and circle the parking area. That was fine. The direct approach didn't matter. All I have to do is lead Jason to those freaks and hope that he'll start cutting down the damn sinners. As far as Hobb was concerned, that meant every last one of the a-. With any luck, it would be like dropping a shark into a swimming pool on a hot Saturday afternoon.

Garb leap-frogged Hobb's position. Dropping into a crouch, he grunted loudly as a bullet slammed into his chest, knocking him backwards.

"Sh-!" Hobb left the cover of the tree and ran to Garb's side.

The Operator was writhing on the ground, gritting his teeth and swearing. His Kevlar vest had stopped the bullet, but the impact had still delivered a punishing blow. A frag grenade went off in the trees, over towards the lake, startling Hobb. He tumbled back on his ass, looking towards the explosion in time to see what appeared to be a disembodied hand hit the ground with a gruesome splat.
Hobb wondered who it belonged to. Garb made a weird sound, getting Hobb's attention. He looked at the Operator, who was on his back, grimacing in pain and pointing at something behind Hobb...

Hobb looked back and dodged away in one motion. Jason's machete came down in the dirt, nearly cutting into Hobb's leg. Whipping his pistol upwards, Hobb fired a shot into Jason's throat. That one shook the killer, at least a little. Blood spurted from his neck and he reeled back, slapping a hand over the spurting wound. Hobb was already on his feet. Taking hold of Garb's bulletproof vest, he turned his back on the man and started dragging him back into the trees and out of the line of fire. Then Hobb's movement was stopped so suddenly it nearly yanked him backwards off his feet.

Whirling, he saw Jason leaning over Garb's limp body, the machete sunk clean through his chest and into the ground, pinning him down. Slowly, the killer raised his masked head to glower at Hobb. Howling with anger, Hobb released his grip on Garb's vest and bolted for cover. Jason wrenched the machete from Garb's torso and stared at the blood dripping from the blade. Then he turned and calmly surveyed the assortment of victims spread out before him.

   Friday the 13th: Church of the Divine Psychopath, chapter 18