There was a temporary hospital inside the resettlement shelter. The thirteen people who had died from festering wounds caused by the poisonous sun had already been carried away. The rest were crammed into a small ward, their faces pale and their gazes vacant. The sores on their bodies were still spreading, but the physical pain was nothing compared to the terrifying fear in their hearts. They had witnessed the state of those thirteen as they died—a state so gruesome that "horrific" was not enough to describe it. At the thought that they would end up the same way, some people suddenly broke down, some curled up in corners whimpering, and one person suddenly leaped up and slammed their head against the wall.
