There's a significant pause. Like most issues involving the upper classes, the appeal to a powerful authority figure with the ability to ruin one's reputation does wonders.
"Wait, hang on," the voice says. "Even if that's true…the head's not exactly been acting rationally recently. And no one's seen him in hours. How do we know that's what he wants now?"
"Because it's what I'm telling you, Duncan." Romilly's voice is unyielding. "I was the last person the headmaster spoke to, and I think that I would know whether or not he was in his right mind, wouldn't you agree?"
There's another one of those long pauses, and you let it continue, hoping that Romilly's interjection will give your lie more credibility.
"You…you mean he really said that we were to go to the gym?" the voice asks finally. "He actually said it?"
"'As soon as possible,' he said," you report, inventing quickly. "I can't imagine how cross he'd be if he knew you were still here."
There's a third pause now. Within the silence, you can sense the struggle between a desire not to get ripped apart by the creatures of the night and the wish not to be stood in front of a large and serious desk, explaining your actions.
"Look…all right," the voice says after some clear consideration. "We'll tell the others and get them moving. Just…give us a moment? Please?"
You glance at Romilly, who shrugs. How many moments, you wonder, are left?
Aware that there's not much that you're able to do here, and even more conscious of the fact that the world as you know it is on the verge of coming to an end, you and the others move towards the forest. It's a great, dark shadow, crouched in the distance like a huge animal full of malice and hunger.
"We have to go in there, don't we?" Romilly asks in a small voice. You remember, belatedly, that she hadn't come with you the first time.
"Yes," you say, starting to walk forward. The rest of the group follow you in something of a reflective silence. You glance at her, taking in the paleness of her face and the definite set of her expression.
"Are you doing all right?" you ask. There are, you have to admit, more helpful questions that you might have chosen. Ones with less obvious answers, for a start. It has not been a good day, in any sense of the expression.
Romilly shrugs dully. "I'm scared," she says simply. "Terrified, I suppose." She looks at you. "Are you not?"