Heather lingered in the warmth of the car for a moment longer before opening her door with a sigh and stepping out into the cold once more. The short drive back had been relatively quiet and it had given her mind a chance to catch up with events. She had been running on autopilot, responding to things as best she knew how: with a detached, clinical manner.<br/><br/>Her back ached low, above her tailbone where adrenaline had caused muscles to tense and she paused, searching the back seat for her purse and the Aleve she'd had. She didn't have water to wash it down with so she suffered the feeling of the dry little pill slowly moving to her stomach. There was always the stream, but no telling if the water was drinkable or not. They would need some way to boil it for safety.<br/><br/>With a solemn face, Heather joined the rest of the group to help with dragging the dead man from the wreckage. The wallet he was carrying identified him as Rudy Bunyon, and a bracelet tagged him as diabetic. Heather heaved a sigh, then glanced up at the others as the loaded the man into a trunk, to take him away to dump. "I hate to be the one to say it, but we really ought to keep his clothes when we dump the body. He doesn't need them anymore."