Zoe, without thinking, stripped off the jacket and vest; she hadn't felt any soreness as she moved, so she didn't believe there was anything to worry about. Her lips thinned as she saw that a corner of her jacket was closely resembling what some would call ruined, blood and rips, her leather vest beneath it was scratched by what she could only guess had been tips of the finger bones. The muck on both suggested that what had gotten her wasn't alive.
She didn't say anything just tried to twist and see how much damage she'd actually taken. This had been the shirt she'd worn upon arrival, and now it was probably gone, the pants too. There was no way for her to tell how bad it had gotten, and she hadn't looked close enough to see that she'd actually taken hits than she felt.
Her sides and other places would be bruised, and she probably had more than one set of scratches from fingers and nails. It was wasn't good, but she wasn't going to die. From the way she turned her attention to loading guns, she'd had to be mended up like this before.