Figures. She catches sight of one out the corner of her eye, and it tucks itself back into the gloom before she can get a better visual.

She's aiming to join Ellie on the other side of the room to yank the axe for her, when a shriek from right behind her sets every fine hair on fucking end, the stench of rot suddenly overwhelming.

Abby ducks.

A clawed hand shoots out over the top of her head, grasping for where her braid once was. She jams her elbow backward and hears breath wheeze out, close enough to be hot along the nape of her neck, and she gasps in horror, blindly throws the pipe away from herself and in the vague direction of Ellie.

She needs both hands to grapple this thing. Abby yanks it bodily off its feet and over her shoulder, to slam it downward, hard.