The relief at the realisation that the patrolman is done posturing with the gun to his head makes him sag, even as the Dog King moves closer to him. The patrolman backs off and suddenly an arm is hooking around Gray's shoulders. He tries not to hiss too loud at the touch, even though it's across a few of the cuts on his back.
Then he's being hauled up and it nearly knocks the breath out of him. He grabs onto the Dog King for lack of another stable support, drawing in deep breaths and trying to come up with the energy to stand on his own power.
He's about there when the Dog King speaks up. Fanclub? That means one of two things: backup, or horde. Either way, Gray's not begging his odds are good. He turns his head and spots the first chewing mouth. And then he's done. He'll gamble with his life with a bunch of humans, but having had a bunch of those goddamn rotten teeth in his arm, Gray is officially done.
He feels the knife on the Dog King's belt and grabs it, fist tightening even through the pain. And in case you're curious? It fucking hurts to have a scrawny little bitch drive a knife through your hand and try to grab something a week later.
"I'm guessin' you ain't really a fan of your fanclub, though," Gray says, forcing his words out to distract himself from what hurts.
"What are you doing?" The patrolman gets a little closer, just in Gray's peripheral vision, and that's good enough. Gray takes a deep breath and rocks back like he's lost his balance, pulling the knife free as he goes. He knows he doesn't have speed on his side, so it's gotta be surprise.
The patrolman steps a little closer. "Did he pass--"
He doesn't get a chance to finish his sentence. Gray falls back against him, drawing the knife up so that he can stab it in just beneath where he estimates the patrolman's sternum should be. The knife buries, and Gray twists it. He roars through the pain in the hand, the pain in his back. Doesn't fucking matter. Get rid of the patrolman, get moving.
Gray won't still be standing there when the zombies get close.