The lower basement was alive with voices. Edward and Blaine were back from their search of the city and with them they brought the wounded, the barely-alive and the walking dead. Each face echoed the last as they filed in, carrying with them the stench of death and despair. I went among them, silently tending wounds but without any clean running water and with limited medical supplies on hand, the best I could do was bandage them up and leave them to bear the pain. One young woman refused to let me help her. Clutching at her side where a ragged tear ravaged her flesh and blood had saturated her torn shirt; she shook her head vehemently, staring at me with wide, terrified eyes. Her companion, a slightly older-looking man, his hair tied back into a loose pony-tail and greying at the temples,
