“Roomba?” A puzzled frown crosses his face. It rings a bell, unexpectedly, but all he can think of is of some silly cordless vacuum humming its way across a stretch of carpet. This must be something else because he can’t imagine that putting a scare into Clementine. “…The hell’s that?”

He drops the thought though, nodding his relief to know she’s doing fine and carefully letting out a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding in. It seems like nothing short of a miracle that she has come away unscathed thus far – and with a low, sick throb in his gut he understands that it might take just as much to keep it that way.

“I heard somethin’ too. Sounded like… squealin’. I don’ know.” His brows settle low over his eyes. “Whatever's bangin' around in them vents ain’t human, that’s for sure.” A muscle flexes tensely in his jaw and he looks to the shard of metal in his hands, his only weapon. “You’re gonna need somethin’. We can double back quick the way I came an’ get you armed. Figure there’s plenty a' scrap metal left lyin' around an' up for grabs.”