Irrepressible Perserverence

Three full out running strides and Sam was flying out the door, only slowing down enough to reach down and grab the young woman by the scruff  of the neck and yank her to her feet.  To her credit, she didn't protest, just holstered her weapon and lengthened her stride to match his.  He slammed his uninjured shoulder into the exit door and they barely paused, feet speeding now over asphalt as they made for safe ground.

Five minutes later and he finally slowed the pace, head cocked and senses on alert.  No sounds of pursuit, no soft shuffling noise or grating howls...it seemed like they were safe.

For the moment.

Sam turned toward the girl and suddenly felt...old.  She couldn't have been more than 17, 18 at the most, and yet here she was, in this hellhole, fighting for her life.  He blinked.  Well, he knew how that felt.

She was pulling in deep breaths, hands on her knees, but it wasn't the gasping of the unfit.  Hell, even he was feeling winded.  That had been one hell of a running away they'd both done.

"Sam," he introduced after a moment, leaning his back against the rough stone of the building.

"Claire," she returned.  And then she turned and answered his unspoke question.  "I'm looking for my brother, maybe you've seen him -- Chris?  Chris Redfield?"

He shook his head, watching as her face fell for a moment before she pulled it back into a neutral look.  "Sorry but I know the feeling..."

If he had to kill every fucking zombie and look in every damned building in Raccoon City for Dean, then so be it.


(Heh heh, Supernatural/Resident Evil potentially.)