He peered out into the dawn through the cracks between the boards nailed over the ground floor windows. He stood there a long time, silent. When he was sure, he went to wake the others. There were six of them. There had been eight three days ago, and now they were running out of food to boot.
“I think they’re going away. wind must have changed. Gather your stuff. Quietly.” He went back his limited view of the yard, the street.
He had begun to think they would die there, starving to death in a stranger’s house. Now? Maybe not.