Rodeo watches her strain, watches her pound her palms into Wheeler's chest like she is beating back death. She's fighting, and Rodeo wants to believe she's winning. He understands what's happening here. When he said earlier that he took her for a brawler, he wasn't wrong in the least. He watches her throwing her fists at death like a goddamn heavyweight champ, but that ol' black dog gets the knockout punch. Wheeler is just a still sorry sack on the table, the light long gone when she gives up the battle. Rodeo stares at him, then looks up to Lita. His eyes aren't dry, but he doesn't acknowledge it and it doesn't seem like he would much appreciate it if anybody else did.
He simply nods in response to Lita's condolences, dropping his gaze again because anything he might say would come too close to heartfelt and he just ain't about that. He steps in when she moves away, putting himself at Wheeler's side. He inhales sharply through his nose (he swears it's not a sniffle) and grasps his fallen friend's shoulder, a show of respect that Wheeler will never see. Rodeo looks down at his man as he says a quick prayer for Wheeler's soul, but he knows as well as Lita does that time is short.
And there's a small complication.
"I need to take his body back," Rodeo announces, turning to her. There's no way he can leave Wheeler here, served up on a table for the geeks to munch. His brother will want to bury him at home. But Rodeo's announcement couldn't come at a worse time, because just as Lita knew was inevitable, company has arrived.
The first shuffles out from the kitchen, grumbling hungrily, thick drool trailing from his mouth as he approaches them. His eyes are on Lita, which pisses Rodeo off something fierce. "Hey, asshole," Rodeo growls, hand dropping to the Ka-Bar at his hip. "Ain't nice to stare." With those words, Rodeo pulls the knife out and unflinchingly buries it in the geek's forehead, all seven inches of carbon-blacked steel sinking into the zombie's rotting gray matter. He pulls it back out with a sickeningly wet jerk, the blade slicked with rank brainmeat. The zombie falls, but it isn't alone. More begin to stumble out of the kitchen, pushing against each other blindly, teeth bared and jaws slack.
"Shit," Rodeo curses. He sheaths the knife and reaches back to take out his gun, grabbing hers off the table and holding it out to her, grip-first. "C'mon, baby, this ain't the kinda party I wanted to take you to," Rodeo says to Lita, reaching down to grab at Wheeler. Despite how inconvenient and ill-advised it is, Rodeo hauls that big ol' dead bastard back onto his shoulder, gripping his legs as he shoulders his considerable weight. He starts to back towards the door, eyes always on the zombies. "Now here's what we're gonna do. We get outside, you get in your car. You go and get right in your car, understand? Pop the trunk and I'll throw in your shit. Then you get outta here fast, 'fore this street becomes the fuckin' Macy's parade, alright?"