Quinn placed his reacquired, ragged poncho over the back of a dusty chair.  A sheen of sweat had developed on his brow and shoulders from and equal mix of tension and the exertion of escape.  He took deep breaths, rationalizing in his head that he was safe.  At least they were safe for the night.  Not even Blood Army wanted to face the ragged, shambling freaks that ruled the darkness.
Quinn's stomach growled and churned and it suddenly struck him how long it had been since he'd had some real, proper food.  Even something from a can would do instead of preserves.
He closed his one working eye for a moment.  He'd have to find a quiet spot to change the rags around his scarred eye.  He didn't like people seeing it, he himself had only looked at it sparingly, begrudgingly to make sure there was no infection.  

After a time he hadn't been keeping track of, he opened his eye and glanced around the room, reading the somber faces.  
"Anybody got a deck of cards?"  He asked to try and lighten the mood, even get a grunt of amusement out of someone.  It was unlikely, but where would anybody be if they didn't at least try?