Michael gratefully accepted the blanket. Self-evidently it was growing colder with every day, soon enough he would need to find himself some winter clothing. In fact, it wasn't until now that he noticed he needed a change of clothes in general, dried blood from previous walker kills had stained the centre of his shirt a reddish-brown. When he would head out with Florence tomorrow to find that group, he would need to find spare clothes for himself as well.

For now though, Michael was exhausted and in desperate need of sleep. He lay down on the hard concrete floor, although the blanket did little to warm him, in the past few months he had grown used to the discomfort that came with sleeping in unusual places, it reminded him of that one time he slept in a tree for two whole days while he waited for a herd of walkers to pass. He attempted to fall asleep, but the noises of the dead kept him up, where he would previously be surrounded by the sounds of life, people, and laughter, now he could only hear groans, gunshots, and screams. Finally - after some amount of time - as his consciousness ebbed, his mind went into free fall, descending into the oblivion of sleep.