Little things, Alex thinks, her head under her desk as it moves around her room in the dark. Writing sticky notes, taking photographs, setting alarms. Do they do that too? Do they get frustrated when their sheets slip off in the night? Do they smile?
I mean you can't blame her for this, that she stayed. When word first hit the college's online forums, when the army was still trying to get it together, people started leaving and then never came back. She called her parents; they didn't call back. She stayed.
And they - they - hadn't been around these parts for so long. She had gotten lonely and then accustomed and then sloppy. She turned lights on at night. She played music out loud.
It touches the bed that used to belong to her roommate. Alex remembers this, mainly: that they had a fight about reading too late at night, and then Alex saw her get devoured on the lawn in front of the chapel. It was an unusual start to the spring term.
She makes a quick list: four generators, one pocket knife (in the desk above her, she knows it's too far away, it is so fast), one radio, one winter coat. There wasn't much point in even bothering. The clock was ticking, see, and she had set an alarm.