<br/><br/>Jackson was concerned about Jasmine…her mind was having trouble tracking. He knew it, but as soon as Dante got their attention, he knew that they didn’t have the luxury of hugging over the matter. Jackson didn’t say a word. Honestly, he didn’t trust himself to say shit at the moment. He hurried to the passenger side door of the car and opened it. Dante was still handcuffed, but he’d be able to get out “Dante! We are LEAVING!” he said as he drew his pistol. Jasmine, get the door to the Motel, and I swear to Christ if you’re still frozen in there, you’re going to be zombie food.<br/><br/>Like any good expendable character, Jackson had the gun trained for their retreat, but was shy about firing shots. These fucking things were dead, and anything short of something stopping them cold was useless at their present distance, but the fuckers were closing in fast. His hand sweat and his index finger stroked the trigger, wanting nothing more than to fire into the crowd if only to make him feel better. Somewhere in him the logical cop still took up residence and controlled that particular feeling. The cold bastard that helped him sleep at night hadn’t abandoned him yet…small favors and whatnot.<br/><br/>His attention was diverted by the shotgun blasts, but he couldn’t tell exactly what direction they’d came in. “Okay…so this is getting worse by the minute” he muttered as he backed towards the door. If Dante was smart, he’d go for the door. His type had strong survival instincts, and as bad as the motel seemed, it was still better than being outside in that particular moment, where the forecast called for scattered zombies, and highs around 58 degrees.<br/>