She switches to her blade too, and normally she'd be more conservative about how much energy she puts into killing the dead, but that's not her priority right now. Not the important thing.

He's on his feet. Good. She snatches her mask off so she can see and crosses over to his side.

"Then do it less, asshole. Come on, let's find a place I can take a look."

"You like it," she counters, but she's already crouching, already trying to get his shirt out of the way so she can see.

"Bleed less while you're at it. Shit."

As long as she's on a mission, Cruz can hold a pokerface with the best of them.

Anyone who knows her, though, can read her like a large print picture book: she's worried.

"Bad enough. We need to find some cover, get it packed, see if we can stop this bleeding. Here -" She offers him a hand up, gives him her narrow shoulders. "It's gonna hit you hard when it does."

"When isn't he," she answers thoughtlessly, the age old tradition of razzing their superior, as long as said superiors aren't present.

She loops his arm over her shoulder, leaving them each a hand for a blade, and starts leading him back to the edge of the town they were ransacking to a bar she remembers thinking looked sturdy.

"You wouldn't know how to chill if we dropped you in the Arctic circle. I bet you're one of those types chews through morphine like it's frosting."

"I've always been a lightweight with the meds though."

Determination and good physical awareness can get her through a lot when it's alcohol. Drugs are different.

She props him on the wall by the door, makes sure his eyes meet hers.

"Cover me from right here. I have to clear the dead, yeah?"

"Stay up," she tells him firmly, glancing over his face once more, then nodding and sliding past inside.

There's a few rotters but she sees them coming, amped up on adrenaline herself. It lets her get a look at the layout though, and it's less than three minutes before she's back.

"Clear. Let's go - into the back. There's still some booze."