I followed the mass of people into the defunct factory that was next to the ambulances.
Sheets and cloths were pulled from machinery and laid atop boxes and on the ground, so people had places to sit and lie down.
I guess the factory functions as a makeshift hospital.
Gradually, people set about the process of marking the types of wounds and the presence of glass, buried or otherwise.
“Disinfectant?” a woman asked me.
Oh yeah, got any of that in the Hive?
I turned. She was older, in her mid-fifties, roughly my height, and she had a pinched face. “What about it?”
“You’ve been pulling things out of the clouds of flies,” she told me, “Can you produce some disinfectant for us, or are you limited to art supplies and candles?”
Hah, I was right about how it looked! And it’s sort of backfiring. :p
I got the impression of a strict schoolteacher from her. The kind who was a hardass with even the good students and a mortal enemy to the poor ones.
Eesh.
I’m just gonna go ahead and headcanon that she’s also the founder of a wrestling club, based on one of the hardass teachers I had.
Krixwell Liveblogs 