The others are awake when I return, already sorting through the last of the food that's even remotely edible. I manage a hunk of bread that's fairly clear of mold and a small slab of what smells like salted ham enough I risk it, the round, orange fruit I peel when I'm done unfortunately rotten to the center and inedible.

I discard it in disgust and return to the fountain to rinse my hands and drink deeply, two scoops of clear coldness doing wonders to restore and refresh me. ...