Jay covers his mouth with a curled fist, nails digging into his palm, as he forces down another gag. Those are people. Those used to be people and they are people, and he's watching this literal child split their skulls open, the blood spraying across her face.

And the only way he's gonna survive is if he does what Tim's doing. What the girl's already done. Alright. Okay. This is fine.

He grits his teeth and takes a handful of...some organ he can't define, shredded by rot or the ice pick or both. It doesn't sit on him as well as the intestines do around Tim's neck (and that's not a collection of words he ever imagined would go together) but it's the smell that counts. He tries to soak as much of his shirt as he can, holding the whatever-it-is like a rotten, dripping sponge.

He can't hold back another dry heave. Don't think about it. Don't breathe in more than you have to.

And then...she said walk, right? Be quiet and walk.

He catches her eye and gestures, small and close to his chest. He points to himself, Tim, and then to her. Then he points toward a small opening in the crowd. It probably won't still be there in a couple seconds, but it's a start.