"Follow me," Layla said shakily, moving ahead--not very far ahead, not far at all, but leading the way nonetheless.
And at least nothing like rigor mortis had hit Sharley--yet. Though she was literally dead weight, she was no more difficult to carry than that, though even more blood poured from her nose and her mouth as soon as she was moved. It was cold now, cold and sticky, and it made Kurt swear.
"Stab that fucker with his own stick," he muttered, as they moved on. "Jimmy, dammit, make yourself useful and go find some zombies or something. And don't get lost like a fucking moron."
Jimmy didn't respond, but apparently he went, leaving the rest of them to navigate the cloudy twilight--the red light of the Other's sky had by now been wholly obliterated by those terrible thunderheads, livid black.
"We're a little ways out, but we'll be there before nightfall," Sinsemilla said, as encouragingly as she could. "Tanya can keep her safe until Jary arrives. Keep both of you safe." She had no idea what this could possibly be doing to Spocklar's mental state, other than nothing good, and hoped they'd be in the Swamp before she had to find out.