"Be careful. That scar-faced guy isn't to be trusted," Molly whispered to Ray, her hand brushing against her waist. She had her gun ready.

Ray nodded, and the two of them stepped forward, entering the room.

It was originally an office, now converted into a makeshift lounge. Several beds had been moved in from the wards, thick blankets piled on top, and three space heaters were running—no wonder the temperature was tolerable.

"I'm Eugene Dole, the operator in the machine room," the scar-faced