Oh, no, no one was dying, not Locus, not them, no one. Tucker wasn't giving up on finding the damn machine; he was looking around as best he could, but everything just seemed so weird to him that it was hard not to get distracted. Blood everywhere, and the chains almost sounded like a part of it now; it was easy to forget they were connected to Locus. You know, until Tucker smelled him.

He barely registered what York was saying until he tore off past him. Fuck was all he heard, was all he need to hear, already turning, already to look where he was running to. And then--

"Oh fuck."

And that was the shared sense of commonality every time they saw him, wasn't it?

But he should have known. He should have because Zombies always came back until you shot them in the head or something. Tucker started to run over, then stopped. There was something visible through the undersuit, something glowing, and--

"York! His chest!"