Tightening his grip on Inga, Viktor barked a response out. A simple "Deal with it!" was all he said, though to hopefully alleviate the feeling of danger, if only somewhat, he adjusted his hold on her. She was much more securely pressed against his shoulder, though the constant bumping still wasn't exactly comfortable. At the very least, temporary discomfort was better than being torn to ribbons by the monstrous beings chasing them all. Rock Hammer's sudden turn was enough to make Viktor turn with him, and hopefully the rest of the squad would follow suit.<br/><br/>The transition from snowy hill to mostly clear path eased motion, allowing Viktor to run a bit faster than he had been and stop bouncing Inga around so much. He attempted to glance over the shoulder that didn't have a kid slung over it to see behind him, but his hood was too large and obscured his vision, so he immediately turned back and kept moving. "Are those things still coming?" He asked, the question mostly directed towards Liliana. While they were resilient and deadly, Imps were the weakest of the dark creatures that wandered the land, and he'd seen a few day after sustained gunfire in the past. But even if they'd been taken out during the run, he wasn't so sure they'd remain safe, and he definitely didn't want to remain out in the open after a string of encounters like this.<br/><br/>His heart was pounding, and his lungs felt like they were on fire. The chill in the air did nothing to alleviate the pain of constant, rapid inhales and exhales, and while Inga's weight wasn't particularly burdening, every little bit added up quickly when you were sprinting nonstop. However, the Imps' screeches had been quieted. Rather than the snarling pack that had assaulted them, he could make out the yells and growls of only one above the constant stomping of boots in the snow and the gunfire.<br/><br/>-----<br/><br/>Stefan's grip on the wheelbarrow broke when a stranger crashed into the side of it. The old metal-and-wood contraption was overturned, and boxes spilled out. A few busted open, and the distinct sounds of breaking glass could be heard as all sorts of pungent, thick liquids and pastes began to flow from the splintered remains of the small crates. The others in the group, understandably, had a moment of panic and yelled at each other and Mikhail while drawing guns. As the newcomer began to speak, however, Stefan raised a hand to shush the others, the stare of his mask enough to quell some outright.<br/><br/>When guns were lowered, and people calmed, he turned back to Mikhail and looked him over. "Eh. A few hours' work, nothing that can't be made up for down the road. Are you hurt?" He asked, lowering his hand. He held it out to the newcomer instead, and after a few more moments of appraisal, took note of his eyes. A quiet grumble in the doctor's throat conveyed thought, and he soon figured that vision probably wasn't a strong suit of the man. "Let me help you up. I'm holding my hand out," He directed. Not too firmly, but at the same time, with a tone of cautiousness. Stefan wasn't one to get angry or immediately doubt people, but after being run into and having medicines ruined, he wasn't 100% sure about the person who was now sitting ahead of him.<br/><br/>"What was chasing you?" One of the other men in the group asked. Stefan made a motion with his head that suggested agreement with the asking of the question, but said nothing. The effect, emphasized and exaggerated by the beak-like construct of leather hanging off his face, would be lost on Mikhail. Wouldn't hurt to get some idea as to why he'd plowed into them, though.