The zombie wasn't slowing down, just squirming. It landed a solid non-teeth blow on S.T.'s shoulder, and he lost his grip with that hand. Too many hours on small craft meant that he didn't lose the arm completely, but now he was just holding one end while it gnawed on the other, and fuck if he was doing a zombie-themed Lady and the Tramp moment.

He threw the arm away as Harvey attacked. If they could skewer it, they could shove it it up on the shelves and get the hell out of Dodge. Rack-mounted zombie. Wouldn't kill it, so if it was a patient, they wouldn't have killed him. Or her. There wasn't enough uncovered to tell, and S.T. really didn't need to know. Self-defense didn't make killing people not feel like shit, so he was all for avoiding it, whether or not Harvey cared.