[Carlisle, in his momentary fright because an undead just came out of nowhere and nearly took a chunk out of Qubit's arm -- and it would have been his fault, because he's supposed to be the one keeping them at bay with all these horrible, necromantic powers he didn't ask for and thanks he hates being undead, by the way -- thinks Qubit is accusing the zombie of nearly getting him, and Carlisle shirking his duties.]

I said I was sorry! Couldn't see him back there, but I got him before he got you, didn't I? And I've still got these.

[He gestures to the ones behind them, glancing over his shoulder. Oh huh, weren't there only four of them a minute ago? That's six now. Seven if he counts the half-skeleton frozen mid-crawl. The attacking zombie lowers his arms stiffly, his feet repositioning for balance as he waits idly beside the truck, his head lolling to one side as any and all aggression dissipates from his milky eyes.]