"Jeezus fucking Christ, it's cold."

Wyatt huffed where he sat, shaking his head a little as he held his hands together. Laid next to him is his Mossberg 590, the shotgun left to sit beside him while he tried to warm his hands. Presently, he was sat atop the small barracks building of Outpost Alpha, simply keeping watch for the return of his comrades and keeping any notable groups of infected from breaching the fenced perimeter.

It definitely wasn't the most lucrative job, but it was the most comfortable one for the time being. No walking, no screaming, no stressing besides keeping the fence in good condition. Perfect job for him, that's for sure.

Despite that, the biting cold was still one o the most awful things out here. He was wearing what he figured were some pretty good gloves, yet here he was, trying to keep his fingers from going numb. Though, maybe the cold wasn't really all that bad— It'd probably be better freezing to death than getting mauled by whatever's out wandering the island, be it infected or not.

Wyatt sighed, shutting his eyes as he took in a breath, letting it puff out his mouth in a cold cloud of air. He glanced down at his shotgun, pulling it to rest across his lap, his eyes giving one more quick look around at the outside of the fence. His little observation would come to a stop at the sound of activity from below his little perch, his head peeking over the edge of the roof to examine who was stood below.