Merrion started to protest, but he knew it would do nobody any good. At the very least, he could try to save them all from certain death by putting up the covering... if only he could figure out how.
He kept his jacket on for the time being; he could only see himself getting dirtier from the task and it was getting colder and colder, but the greater challenge was still the covering itself. How did it work? The sticks made little sense, and how they pieced together... maybe this went like that and that piece fit in here and oh, this didn't look right at all! He sneezed then, and he inwardly groaned. It was too late then. He had pneumonia. But he kept trying to get the shelter up anyway, for at the very least, he could try to prevent the others from coming down with it.