She drops her rifle the second Talbot’s out of sight, lets it fall to the ground with a sharp clatter so her fingers are free to find the outline of his split jaw. The act of lifting it is gentle— she isn’t sure if his throat is bleeding or his mouth or— no, there’s the gash, warm against her palm and easy enough to press shut. It’s then that she catches the cold bite of metal against her thumb, spots the needle stuck in and plucks it free. She’d hoped she’d never have to see him like this again. No such luck, it seems. No luck at all for any of them.
"Come on, baby, come on. Look at me. Breathe— it’s okay. It’s all okay."