Re: clem rescue - graham/shane/jack
[At least the timing was good.
What came up from the opposite side of the walkers could only be described as a bloody, angry, ugly spectre. He'd already come through a few bloody hallways, moving fast and slicing often before teeth could find purchase or nails could dig in and drag. There was blood and slimy viscera coating his forearms, and something that looked like knives in each hand. No gun, no visible protection, just a single minded fury that started off by tearing a walker clean in half at the waist.
The visit to the body-swap mall had been eventless enough for Jack, but when he got his body back it was the kind of mess he had been trying adamantly to avoid. He stank of blood and sex and death in a way that made thinking of anything else impossible, ramping up instinct and making him grate his teeth for something to sink them into. When he realized where he was and what that meant, he hadn't felt fear. He'd felt a deep and unsettling satisfaction. His physiology was screaming at him to hunt something, had been for weeks, and now there were a thousand shambling corpses to dismember. Their soft, pulpy bodies came apart like wet paper cups, thready and soaked through, and an entire prison worth still wouldn't be enough.
He moved fast. By the time the walkers were turning he'd taken a head off the net closest, and when they made an attempt to gather around and tear him limb from limb, he kicked a hole in the slowly forming circle, the force of it slamming the dead into the wall hard enough to splinter its head like a bad melon. The kick was too sharp and too hard to be fully human, and neither were the reflexes, or the fact that he wasn't actually holding knives, if you looked. But Jack wasn't thinking of any of that. In the moment, thought simplified to immediate commands, reactions, and anything that would cut them down.]