Heather Bowman
Heather didn't need the man to tell her to stay close, she had to resist the urge to reach out and get a good handful of the material of his shirt so she would have no chance of getting left behind. But she knew she shouldn't. So she settled for continuing to crouch warily behind him, peering out at the others, her breaths short and shallow. She hadn't heard the sounds of the people being dragged off, but the expressions on the other survivor's faces were enough to make her imagine the horrible ways they probably were dying.
Studying the faces around her over Zane's shoulder, Heather's interest was caught by a pale dark haired man with a bottle of pills. Interestedly, Heather stared at him. She wondered if he was contemplating death, or just needed something to do with his hands. For a second Heather mused that if it were the former, she might ask him to share. That way she'd know how she was going to die. It would erase the limitless possibilities of death she was facing right now. That was what scared her, the uncertainty more than the creatures.
Heather sort of wanted to move over closer to where the man with the bottle was standing, but she didn't want to move away from Zane. It was safer, standing next to the 'leader'. She had to stay there. Observe what was going on, but not partake. It would be hard to partake anyway, without being able to hear what was going on. No conversation for Heather. And then the man she was taking cover behind lit a cigarette. Heather was torn. Move away and avoid the discomforting smell or stay where it was safe? Safety won. Heather averted her face, examining the young woman who was holding a hunk of metal instead. She must have pulled it from the wall.