Andrew throws open this door as well, not knowing what's on the other side but trusting that it has to be better -- to stop is to allow whatever's chasing them to catch up, and he's more afraid of that unknown entity than of the unknown space before them. He lives to regret that assumption as he abruptly skids -- no, slides -- to a stop, feet threatening to throw themselves out from under him as he hits a patch of ice. He regains his balance and stares, breath puffing visibly out in front of him as he gulps the cold air. One hand slides up Jodie's back, a mix between a comforting touch and an attempt to encourage her to keep her head down.

"Alright," he says, voice strained. "Alright, it's alright, they've stopped. Hold tight; I'm going to get us somewhere warm. Just keep holding on, just like that."

He can't hesitate. He can't let her know that here is something terrible, and he can't tell her not to look without making her wonder and fear why. Swallowing thickly, he takes a careful step forward, then another, working to make his strides even, deliberate. Confident. There's a door at the far end and he aims for it, glancing to each side at the corpses and at the broken windows through which some of them lay. "What's your name?" he asks softly.