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French toast, fairy tales and fletchettes
She had given Misty the barest of warnings. She'd called out as soon as she'd seen the movement but it had been too late. She'd tried to act as a co-pilot, steady the controls and she failed at that as well. Then everything was noise and confusion. The landing too hard. She didn't black out but the wind was knocked out of her and she hung limply from the seat. She was thankful for the seatbelt and the helmet she wore.
She was finally able to free herself and she immediately moved to check on Misty. She could tell even before she felt for a pulse the young woman was dead. She knew there was nothing she could do for her.
A tear slipped down her cheek as she drew her knife. One minute they were talking about making french toast and which Disney movie was their favorite, the next she was gone. A quick thrust through the temple and she knew Misty would have peace, no fears of her ending up one of the mindless Infected.
No time for tears. That could come later. Now she had to see who was still alive and who she was able to help. Sh didn't bother seeing if there was anything to salvage in the cockpit as she made her way to the body of the helo, starting to assess those there.