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Being a degenerate is okay these days
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Raina almost could have laughed, but the knot in her chest wouldn't let her and going from crying hysterically to laughing in the span of a couple minutes would't convince anyone that she was smart and stable. Yeah, nearly dying "wasn't great". Neither was abandoning your friends to the maniac with a gun for the sake of an all-but-nonexistent plan.

But she'd think of something, a plan that would make the sacrifices mean something.

Raina hugged herself, keeping her eyes on the ground though she could still make out Johnny's attempted grin from the corner of her eye like a gap in a crooked, splintered fence. No, they couldn't have done anything different. Nothing that wouldn't have gotten at least one of them shot, anyway. Be practical.

"The supply depot," she said in answer to Johnny's unspoken question. "The big warehouse there, and then the buildings in the utilities compound when that opens up tomorrow." The labs in the asylum basement beckoned her again, but they were dark and cold and flooded and probably full of worse things than water by now. Later. Later, if they still lacked what they needed. If there was a later.

Still, she made no move to stand.
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
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Coward Mont Blanc · Crematorium Gardens