Peter’s intensity caught Henley off-guard. She wasn’t really sure what she’d been expecting, but she hadn’t been prepared for this. Briefly, she wondered if this wasn’t the first time he’d dealt with something like this. Zombies just didn’t exist in the normal world, did they? Then again, she’d thought the same thing about time travel. Maybe Peter knew more than she’d originally thought he knew.
“Thank you.” She said, in an uncharacteristically soft tone of voice. “I really appreciate it. I’m not exactly aiming to get my head cut off.” Henley’s gaze found its way to the floor of the trailer. Somehow, the bite was bringing out the introvert in her. It was hard to look Peter in the eyes even though she knew he was more friend than foe and that he had promised not to tell anyone about the bite.
Without another word, Henley took a seat. She figured she wasn’t really in a position to argue and she certainly wasn’t going to argue against having the bite on her arm cleaned. She did watch him carefully, though. Henley understood the whiskey he’d pulled out, but had no idea what was in the canteen.
“What’s that?” She gave a little nod to the canteen.