LeavesJaime Bishop
Jaime could practically hear the angels sing out in chorus once Richard reappeared on the scene. The team's badass mofo was here again, someone who could do something other than hold the horde back and run away! The heavenly trumpeting dropped off the moment Jaime saw his face, however. That wasn't determined survival, that was anger. Anger that was directed at Jaime.
Dick went to work quickly, efficiently, and like a boss, killing three of the muerte in quick succession and knocking aside more. The wire trap was holding, thank the gods! But then Dick smacked Jaime upside the head as punishment for using his real name.
"Siento, siento," he apologized, fidgeting, but there was no time for that. Richard ordered them to fall back, and Jaime was not one to complain about getting away from the hungry walkers. Jaime ran just behind Richard and could have passed him up, but chose not too (the jerk was a little touchy about that sort of thing). Once they were safely secured in the room, the Hispanic youth did what he could, hopefully with help from Dexter (because he knew Dick sure as hell wasn't going to) to barricade the door shut. Thank God for his wire trap holding them back for now.
Once that was done, it was out the window. Funny, Jaime had been climbing on the outside of this house no less than three times in the last hour. He was starting to think of himself as part of the shingles or something. Irrelevant! Think about survival, man! Whilst climbing the outside, he urged Dexter to follow.
"Come on amigo! A little height never killed anyone, but walkers sure have! Andale!"
That's when he heard it. Another glorious chorus of angels, the revving of a loud engine. Sparing a glance on his climb, he could see the vehicle speeding around the corner. People. But that came with its own risk, since more often than not other people only tried to kill you and take your shit, but hey, they can at least be reasoned with! Not at all like that tidal wave of walkers that were emerging from the trees... Jaime kicked it into high gear and practically jumped down, strategically slowing his descent with the properly handholds, grateful he had trained himself in this sort of thing. Once down, he made a mad dash toward the vehicle, hoping to become something other than a pavement pancake, or food for la muerte.
