"Walking hunks of bad meat trying to eat me, or a bunch of old hags that'll un-man me if I so much as look at them?" said Buckle with a jittery smile. "I think I'll stick with you. My shooter ain't got the capacity to be poking holes in the walking dead, and besides, I think you're biggest and baddest of us all. You just lead on ahead, I'll keep well back, ya get?"

Making for the doors of the church, Buckle turned and nodded his head at the others. "Pleasure, truely. Thanks for dragging me into this fucked up situation y'all got going on here, that's real swell of ya, real swell. The money better be good, Cyrus, not every day a man has to let go of everything he's ever known and then go talk to some nightmare face to face-" Buckle paused, looking at Gavril nervously. "I mean, go stare at the ground five miles back from aforementioned nightmare whilst this big fellah does the talking." 

Stepping into the cold of night, Buckle went about rolling another cigarette with trembling fingers. He was half sure he was mad, and half sure that he had fallen asleep at the hands of some strong whiskey. Either way, he was here now, so until he got his entrails ripped out, or woke up from this bizarre dream, he was just going to have to ride it out. Clipping a match and holding the flame to the cigarette, he wondered if this was a sign from the Lord above - a twisted way of tormenting him for previous sins, and of those there were many. 

Consumed in his own deluded thoughts, he waited for his companion to come and lead the way.