Henley wanted to object when he told her that no one was going to cut off her head. Yes, that was what she hoped for, but if she turned into a monster like the ones stumbling about outside of their trailer she knew there was no other way. There was no way they would be able to find a cure in the ’30’s for whatever it was that was bringing the dead out of the ground. Beheading was the only solution. She was just glad she was dealing with Peter and not the guy who’d seemed like a zombie expert in the journals. She doubted he’d have as much sympathy for her situation.
“No one...” She echoed, nodding as if she was trying to convince herself it was the pure truth. She gave another little nod when he offered her the bottle of whiskey and she took a healthy drink, squinting and wincing slightly at the burning sensation in her throat.
“Why are you going around carrying Holy Water with you?” It was asked casually as if she didn’t expect a serious answer. She would take anything she could get, though, and if some blessed water would keep her a human being she would bathe in the stuff and drink it regularly.
As she waited for him to return with the bandages she eyed her bite mark. She’d been trying to avoid looking at it. It wasn’t too terrible. It had clearly broken the skin and it looked nasty, but the zombie hadn’t gotten to any muscle or important tissue. It would leave a scar, but it wouldn’t harm her in the long run.