I rub my arms, trying to generate some warmth. The darkness presses in around us, broken only by the weak flicker of the few candles burning down the hall. Their light casts strange shadows on the walls.
At least it's quiet. The constant chatter of hundreds of survivors has died down to whispers and soft snores.
It stinks, though.
"Where's Randall?" My voice comes out hoarse. I clear my throat.
"Still sleeping." Marissa shifts beside me, pressing closer, and I lean down to tug the blanket we're sitting on over our feet. "He came in late from guard duty. He was helping someone watch the gym entrance."
Randall's officially guarding now? The chill that comes over me has nothing to do with the frigid temperature. My soul's cringing. But maybe the responsibility will be good for him. Maybe he'll rise to the occasion. Maybe he isn't broken from the womb and is just an asshole who needed a wake-up call.
