Once the unwilling sacrifice of Ali and the good doctor secured the newly formed group a few seconds reprise, the man responded to Sylvia's query. Benches! Benches seemed to be the best solution to their immediate need for protection-- a properly placed pile could ensure their safety from the feasting group of shamblers in the gymnasium. Of course, he added, that would mean they'd need to actually to gather and place the benches, in close proximity to those crowded infected, and for that, he and Angie would need protection.

Sylvia knew she was up to the task, and indeed, as the Irishwoman, 'Blondie,' set to work, Sylvia had her trusty revolver aimed at any heads that might prove troublesome to her safety. She lived in Chicago before the outbreak-- the gun was practically an extension of her body to her, and it's use the past week had even begun to rekindle that insurgent skill she had possessed in her youth. She occasionally needed to remind herself of the dangers of becoming overconfident. She knew how to use the weapon, sure, but that didn't guarantee survival here. She was protecting Angie, she needed to focus on that...

"Where are we going next?" Sophia, the youngest survivor, practically whispered from the door, "Doris needs a head start."

"Where are we..." Sylvia began, processing how tired Doris must have been, "Doris, this'll take a minute; why don't you catch your breath?" Forcing a smile, Sylvia cast her glance to Sophia for a second, "Keep an eye on the man for her, alright? If it looks unsafe, just tell Doris, so she can shot it away..." 

Turned her vigilance back to Angie, casting sidelong glances to the man, Sylvia mused to herself, "[i]Oremos que no será necesaria...[/i]"