Sam was a lot more together than she'd expected him to be. He could form sentences, for starters. She was not entirely sure what kinds of things the Winchesters dealt with on a regular basis, but she was starting to wonder if it wasn't worse than her life. She was tough, she'd always been, even as a human. But she had advantages now, advantages they didn't.
From within the maze, Phaedra heard twigs snapping, and then laughter. But louder than the laughter, closer, was the sound of moaning. A lot of it.
She didn't have a lot of time, here. "You're going to have to trust me," Phaedra said quickly. She wondered if she could carry him and run. "Every zombie movie you've ever seen is about to come around that corner. I need to get you out of here."
She reached down and pulled a gun off of her hip, checked the clip, and handed it to Sam. Her eyebrows furrowed. These had been people. These WERE people. Phaedra swore. "It's complicated and we don't have time but you have to try... not to kill them.</i>"
As she finished talking, the group came around the corner. There were about thirty, total, and as Phaedra suspected, they didn't seem interested in her at all. She was a dead thing.
But Sam wasn't.
She drew both daggers and put herself between Sam and the horde.