"Good." She nodded, relieved that there would be no unpleasant disposal. Yet, anyway. Things so rarely worked out well for her and those around her. Lee, the eternal pessimist.
"Um." She looked around for anything vaguely mask-like, or barring that, spare clothes. "Fuck. I do not fucking need this right now," she muttered under her breath (which reeked of beer, as usual). "Hold on."
She put the cans down and ran back down the stairs, ransacking rooms and piles of junk as she went. "Hey, that's mine!" said a woman when Lee plucked a scarf off of the floor.
"You're donating to the cause. Shut up or leave." Lee was in no mood to argue, and the woman, having been one of the ones who had seen a glimpse of her initial attack on the zombies, shut up and sulked to herself.
When Lee came back up to the roof, she was carrying an armful of cloth: multicolored scarves, bar rags, socks, torn clothes, the works. "I'm not sure if any of it matches, but it's not like beggars can be choosers."