There isn't even time to comprehend what's happening. Zandros' human mind takes the back seat to something much more basic, and before he knows it he's scrambling through the snow on all fours until he can get back on his feet and run. He doesn't look back, doesn't stop, doesn't turn, but flees as fast as his legs will carry him. His shield slows him down, but it doesn't even occur to him to drop it. Everything he's holding he's holding tightly, out of fear and instinct far more than strategy.

Only when Harley stops and cuts the air with her cursing does he skid to a halt and backtrack those few feet to be by her side. And that's when he realizes what she already knows.

"Oh, Doctor," he says, his breaths still shaky from his fear.

He sets to shaking his head fast, and it's a good distraction from the adrenaline coursing through his body, numbing his hands and feet and weakening his knees. "N-no, no, I... I think I hit you? I'm..." He licks his lips. Sweat begins to bead on his red face. "I'm so sorry. For you, for..." No. Now isn't the time to compromise his dignity with words.

He takes the first collected breath he's had in minutes and nods seriously at Harley. "We have to find her. Quickly, I should think. Here's hoping she's sensible enough to stay hidden in one place until we can backtrack to her."

That's when he looks around to survey their new location. Where the hell are they? Does anything stand out in this garbage heap?