Living Dead- Breaking Wooden Door

  What civilians might call doors on a carrier were actually hatches—massive slabs of contoured steel that, once sealed, were nearly impenetrable. The chapel closet’s door, however, was wood. While Father Bill was ignorant in the ways of carpentry, the trade of Jesus of Nazareth, he knew this door rated little better than the balsa of his pornography lockbox. He was not altogether surprised when the white sailor’s hand punched right through it.

  The man hadn’t even made a fist; the hand came through patty-cake-style, palm-first, and when it burst through the wood, the tips of two fingers snapped back, popping the flesh open at the upper knuckles. Without pause for pain, the sailor snaked his arm through the hole until his biceps halted it, The Black sailor, meanwhile, kept shoving the door open. Each time, Father Bill pushed back, but he knew his devitalized legs would lose their battle soon. The white sailor’s hand and arm probed about blindly until it found Father Bill’s boot, and took to clawing at the leather, an effort hampered by its broken, flopping fingertips.
...

  The door cracked vertically, top to bottom. Two white-eyed faces appeared in the fissure. But Father Bill felt no fear. With a calm he would have believed impossible seconds ago, he surveyed the closet’s contents. Humble tools, but did Jesus have the bejeweled goblets or stained-glass glorifications of the church? Of course not. Jesus found strength in raw materials, whether those materials were objects or apostles.

  Father Bill withdrew his feet from the door and rose to his feet. The door split down the center as neatly as a cracker, and the two sailors fell into the splintered results, entangled like wrestling children.

- The Living Dead, chapter: Ocean of Blood