[Hm. That is indeed a pickle. A point and a pickle. Maybe she's fretting about all this too much -- he knows what he's doing. She doesn't know how long he'd been at this before stumbling across her, but his ease of movement suggested that it wasn't anything new. The number of wounds, too. Ryder groans and runs both hands through her hair, eventually locking them behind her neck and looking around.]

I'm... Th-they could think I'm -- bitten, and that's why...I was able to. Like I didn't care anymore. [But she frowns, because then it's no good for them to see her, either. Plus she's not all splattered in old blood the way he was, and rolling around on the pile of corpses left outside is both counterproductive to his insistence on having space and super gross. She peeks up at him again, trying her best not to scowl and make it seem like it's him that's getting her all twisted up in anger -- not entirely successfully. She was concerned for him, and that was a major issue here, but that's more of a Ryder problem than anything.] If I'm staying in the car... Just make sure they don't see you. I've -- cried enough -- six months worth of tears. Got it?