His first thought was that camp smelled delicious, woodfire and barbecue. The situation was bad and all but shit, that smoky scent was making his mouth water. Guilt tapped him on the shoulder as he indulged for a moment; reminded him that it wasn't the time. He was just crazy hungry. Dealing with Mack's constant sarcasm and Ellen's general 'better-than-them-at-everything'-ness had kept him from dwelling on it all day.
His second thought was that Ellen was fucking nuts. "Are you kidding me?! Ellen!" Spencer hollered after her. Not because she was running toward the fire like some freebasing martyr, although yeah that too, but because she dumped literally her entire armful of junk on the ground. Junk that, in light of current events, might've as well been gold. The disrespect of their efforts and meager rewards picked at his sense of contribution like it was a scab.
There was a lot of commontion in the camp right now. People yelling, doors slamming, folks running across his field of vision like their asses were on fire. And hey, they might've been. From here he could see two people trying to throw shovelfuls of dirt onto the fire to absolutely no avail. Strips of the roof were breaking apart, falling to the ground; the walls around the door were nearly gone, foundation exposed. Food was a goner. Nothing left to do but let it smother itself out. With the way she was booking it, Spencer didn't think Ellen realized that grim truth. Actually he was pretty sure she was going to fling herself into the storehouse to try and "save it". But, he was also sure they were going to need every scrap they'd found today, that if he didn't grab it and make sure it got shared, someone else would grab it and keep it. And also, Ellen was an adult, damn it. Let her dumb ass go off half-cocked.
Picking up the pace, Spencer stooped to grab all her discards. And promptly snatched! his hand away, as a hissing opossum threw itself at his fingers, snapping for them. He clutched his hand to his chest like a scandalized soccer mom, feet shuffling back, steps fancy, as he tried to avoid it. "Bitch, what?!" What the hell was this! The thing was frothing at the mouth. Had a big, clotted bite wound on its back and a thick, murky white layer over its eyes. The only thing that made Spencer feel better about drop kicking the fucking thing was that it didn't yelp like he'd expected it too.
He watched the thing tumble ass over heels, and then watched as a fucking gang of raccoons- what were they called? pack? murder?- popped out from around the nearest building and started tearing after Ellen. He didn't have a gun, and he wouldn't catch up to her. Spencer cupped his hands around his mouth. "ELLEN! Your left! Your-!" shit, fucking analog clocks, three-six, "-your seven!"