They took bullets like something out of a DC comic and could recover even faster given the right amount of time and blood but it doesn't take a genius to figure that out. Things that take 22s in the skull and still have the same level of fight in them weren't normal, and the teeth marks on the girl that's strung up match the teeth of heads that Sam left on the floor in the foyer.
She's in bad shape, she's been fed off of for days, and she's pekid and cold, if they hadn't gotten here when they did she probably wouldn't have made it through the night.
Sam heads straight for her and cuts down the rope she's been strung up with, she slumps into his arms as dead weight, almost unconscious.
"Hey, hey. It's okay. I got you. I got you." Sam moves her hair from her face and takes a long look at her cataloging injuries that gave way to the judgment call that she hadn't turned, and she didn't take in any blood. A lot of the bite marks are old, so they hadn't gotten her to agree to be changed or hadn't gotten around to doing it themselves yet. "Just hang in there for me. Tell me about who took you, how long have you been here?"
Her words are slow. Drawn out and dry from dehydration, she's almost through with the first four leading into an obvious warning when Spencer goes on and Sam turns his head away from her to address him. "You can't do that, you'll just be putting them in danger too. I said I'd come with you so do me a favor and help me get her out of-"
Sam's words are cut short by a grunt of pain, nails are in his skin, blood is trickling down from his shoulder staining the blue and white plaid shirt he's wearing crimson. Behind him, another girl, a victim who'd gone through the change and is freshly reconfigured is standing there behind Sam with blood-crusted lips and dark eyes, teeth fully exposed from the gum line for seconds that feel like hours when those razor-sharp pearly whites make contact with Sam's back as he throws his body over Tara to give her a fighting chance. He's got more fight left in him than she does, and he's not sure that she could survive another feeding.
The other girl, whoever she was, bites into Sam's flesh through his canvas jacket and drinks like he's a living reservoir and Sam, steeling himself against the pain scrambles to adjust so he can grapple for his blade and get the right angle. A losing battle, there was no possible way for him to behead her at the angle, not even with the height difference he had on her.
no subject
She's in bad shape, she's been fed off of for days, and she's pekid and cold, if they hadn't gotten here when they did she probably wouldn't have made it through the night.
Sam heads straight for her and cuts down the rope she's been strung up with, she slumps into his arms as dead weight, almost unconscious.
"Hey, hey. It's okay. I got you. I got you." Sam moves her hair from her face and takes a long look at her cataloging injuries that gave way to the judgment call that she hadn't turned, and she didn't take in any blood. A lot of the bite marks are old, so they hadn't gotten her to agree to be changed or hadn't gotten around to doing it themselves yet. "Just hang in there for me. Tell me about who took you, how long have you been here?"
Her words are slow. Drawn out and dry from dehydration, she's almost through with the first four leading into an obvious warning when Spencer goes on and Sam turns his head away from her to address him. "You can't do that, you'll just be putting them in danger too. I said I'd come with you so do me a favor and help me get her out of-"
Sam's words are cut short by a grunt of pain, nails are in his skin, blood is trickling down from his shoulder staining the blue and white plaid shirt he's wearing crimson. Behind him, another girl, a victim who'd gone through the change and is freshly reconfigured is standing there behind Sam with blood-crusted lips and dark eyes, teeth fully exposed from the gum line for seconds that feel like hours when those razor-sharp pearly whites make contact with Sam's back as he throws his body over Tara to give her a fighting chance. He's got more fight left in him than she does, and he's not sure that she could survive another feeding.
The other girl, whoever she was, bites into Sam's flesh through his canvas jacket and drinks like he's a living reservoir and Sam, steeling himself against the pain scrambles to adjust so he can grapple for his blade and get the right angle. A losing battle, there was no possible way for him to behead her at the angle, not even with the height difference he had on her.