"Mathias Township," she echoes as she looks around for something to wipe her hand on. Her clothes are out of the question, and she can't very well do it on the bulletin board. There's just more blood there, and these messages are important to the people who wrote them. She settles on one of the blank pieces of paper, though it still leaves her skin stained a red-going-brown. Good enough for now.

"New England would explain the cold." There's something bitter in her words. The cold. The cold she isn't supposed to feel and has been trying to not think about. Thinking about that gets her thinking about the silence, and that's another can of worms she isn't ready to unpack at this exact moment.

"How can no one know for sure? There has to be a-a radio station or tv news or newspaper that tells us where we are. If not any of those, then the internet for sure." Don't mind her as she stubbornly tries to cling to the idea of normalcy.