Was Grif afraid? Of course Grif was afraid. He'd been standing right there when the Surfer reached out and touched somebody, and it was one of the least pretty things he'd ever seen. The Surfer had no reason to be so precise with any of them today. Part of him, the cynical part that was good at keeping his head on his shoulders, wanted to bail. Somehow, though, he couldn't do it.

They needed all the help they could get on this if they weren't all going to die eventually. Even if that help was terrified. An ugly knot of fear, rationalization, and counter-rationalization had been twisting tighter and tighter in Grif's throat the whole time, and there was nothing left to do but swallow it and move on.

"I'm going to remind everybody," he said as they moved, "that I'm not strong, I just move fast. So it's going to be up to the rest of you to actually hurt the fucker."

Despite how hard he tried to sound nonchalant, he was speaking lower than usual and his expression had settled into something unquestionably grim.