Re: clem rescue - graham/shane/jack/clem
[Graham didn't give a damn what the rabid dog wearing a man's face did, so long as he aimed his teeth and claws at the dead and not the living. Back to the cot, he cut down the corpses who ventured too close; there was so much blood and bits of rotted meat that he thought he might drown in it, a sea of death, but he didn't care. And then he started shoving, shoving, forcing the dead back into the hall where the killing machine waited. Less effort, and whatever else he might be this Jack fellow was efficient. Messy, but he wasn't ending any lives that hadn't already ended days or weeks or even months ago.
For now, it wasn't a problem.
He thought Clem'd have enough sense to stay hidden, and he didn't hear her come up behind him. It wasn't until her fingers wound in his shirt that he realized she was there at all and he turned, enough to see some of her from the edge of his vision, bloody and half-dressed. He shifted the machete over to one hand and reached behind, blind searching until his fingers brushed hers, sticky and wet. A wordless I won't let anything happen to you, maybe, or just general reassurance.] Need to go. Get out of here. [A general statement; to Shane, to Jack, even to himself. Clem, he figured, wanted to get the hell out anyway. He took a step forward and tugged her with him, a nudge, just in case.]