It didn't work out. Delilah pushed Clair away and held them at bay with her sabre until she fled.
Sam was already moving, as soon as she was out of sight, slinging his pack over his shoulder, even scooping up the bottle of maple syrup he'd dropped when Richard had hit him. He paused for a second as he watched Clair pick up Delilah's bag. Delilah had forgotten her bag. That's what Clair was saying. Wordlessly, Sam reached out his hand, and Clair handed the bag over. He weighed it, wincing slightly as his bruises protested the movement.
Delilah had warned them not to follow.
He took a few steps towards where she had disappeared, then remembered Clair. He turned, was only a little surprised by the appearance of another girl - Holly, he remembered from school, with a gun, fear in her eyes - but that wasn't important at the moment. She could easily have been a threat with that weapon and Sam might have been tempted to try to confiscate it for safeguarding, except that might have turned out like Richard's attempts to "safeguard" their packs and he really had something else to do. Before he could even consider what to say to the girl, if anything, she was gone.
Clair was still here, though.
"Sorry," he said. He didn't know why he was apologizing to her. "Follow me."
Sam owed Delilah nothing. He'd saved her from the mines, she'd saved him from Richard, in a way. They were even. The bag in his hands, though, told a different story. Told him that she was scared, confused. Richard had died for these packs and the thought stopped him, for a moment, but he pushed it away. It was in the past. Spilled milk, except with blood. He would have all the time later to dwell on it. Right now, he needed to focus on the present.
He slung her pack over his shoulder, and he was going after her, running, tripping, almost falling, muscles burning, probably from the bruises, maybe from exertion, but still pushing on.
((Samuel Wilson continued in Snake in the Grass