Edgar looked round to where the sound had originated, and, upon seeing Keepa do something similar, pulled the gasmask that was hanging from his neck onto his face, adjusting it so that the rubber and leather straps fit closely to his head. Each breath through the filter was difficult, but at least he was drawing breath. Blue eyes peered through the lenses of his mask, examining face and colourful hair of Keepa, realising he had not yet appreciated the idea she might be gifted with ammonia based colorants; it was rather useless underground, so scavengers steered clear of it, but it had its uses. That would mean she would have to have so scientific understanding, and Edgar highly doubted that to be the case.

He saw the crowds surge in panic, and voices and alarms were raised. A pang of guilt struck a deep chord in the essence of Edgar’s being, and for the first time in a long time, empathy struck him like a freight train; the fear, the confusion, he understood it all, and he felt a remorse that he had not expected. The fact was, these people were likely to die if the horde got through, and he found himself caring; years of being integrated into their society and ingrained a symbiotic appreciation and partnership. These conditioned feelings took Edgar off-guard, and caused him to hesitate, not so entirely certain that leaving would be a good idea.

“What do we do?”