Don't read this if you get offended by swearing
as you can probably see from the first line hahah 
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“Fuck’s sake hurry up, I can’t feel my fingers anymore!”
“You’ve got the thickest gloves here, so shut up. I’m nearly done anyway.” While whispering this threateningly the speaker, a faceless figure in the dark, held the lighter close to the makeshift bonfire in the fireplace, pulling his hand away quickly to avoid burning once it ignited.
The violently crackling fire lit up the faces of the five young men sitting around it. Four hurriedly leaned in, desperate for the fire’s warmth.
“Finally…” muttered one, the same hoarse voice that had spoken first, like most of the others his gloved hands reaching out for the heat of the fire. His thin face was partially obscured by a hood pulled down enough to cast a shadow over his nose, only his thin mouth and pimply chin were visible; pale and freakish in the fire’s light.
“How about next time you light the fire, Steve, instead of sitting around whining,” hissed the fire’s lighter.
“Maybe I will, Bones, ‘cause I bet I could do it better than you. “
“Shut up. Both of you.” growled a third speaker, who was unique in that he did not lean towards the fire, and was obscured by the dark. This was a show of power though, the cold needled its way into him as much as any of the others. He quietly rubbed his thickly gloved hands together, before returning the left to his jacket pocket and the right to the top of the baseball bat resting against his leg. His voice was older than the others, and darkly confident authority resonated through it. He would not have been so confident had he seen Bones’ dead-eyed stare coming at him from across the fire, hidden by the shadow of his hood; nor if he could see Bones fingering the cold metal of the flick-knife in his pocket, or the whirring of his calculating brain.
Steve and Bones had ended their argument though, with Steve watching him coldly for a moment, and then standing up. He was tall for a guy in his early twenties, and most of the group looked up at him expectantly. Bones kept on staring across the fire to the group’s leader though, who turned to Steve.
“Where you goin’?” he asked.
“Get our stuff from the truck. We’re sleepin’ here right?” Steve replied.
“Yeah. Go get it then.” Countered the leader, slightly annoyed now. Steve hurried out of the tiny cottage, thrusting his hands into the pockets of his jackets bitterly just as the wind picked up and began howling through all the broken windows again. Another of the group got up from the fire.
“I’ll go too, Mickey. Steve’ll need some help.” He mumbled to Mickey, the leader, before heading out as well. He joined Steve just outside and immediately began complaining about their situation, seemingly ignorant that those inside could hear him.
“What the fuck! There aren’t even any fuckin’ windows, why the hell are we here?! What the-” was all the three occupants of the cottage could hear through the broken windows before the screaming wind swallowed the rest.
Bones smiled lopsidedly to himself, watching Mickey’s nostrils flare angrily across the fire. Bones leaned back until he was lying on the cold stone floor. On his left Bones knew there was the ever-silent Johnny, most likely lost in his own thoughts as he looked into the fire, his chubby face sweating slightly, maybe his piggy little eyes occasionally flitting to the reassuring presence of Mickey. Bones curled his lip.
He breathed out slowly, watching his breath condense and twist away into the air; he wondered when Steve and Green would be getting back from the truck with the mattresses and food. The food! More canned shit for everyone, thank you very much Mickey. They hadn’t found a decent hit for days; Mickey’s apparently perfect leadership had quickly run out after the initial few weeks of constant hits. Even then though, Bones had thought that those few weeks were so good more because of late refugees from the towns and cities than Mickey’s new leadership. Now the refugees had dried up, most either hit or in the fucking village camps. A lot of them were coming back out as Hunters too, though thankfully very few were good Hunters, but still it was a pain. You couldn’t tell the difference between them until it was too late.
The cottage was a tiny one-room thing, closer to a hut or a shed than anything else. Most of the group’s annoyance at being led there was understandable: cold and uninviting with broken furniture scattered around the place and a harsh stone floor, it was far away from the nearest road, hidden in a small valley. This was both good and bad: good in that there would be no other gangs close by, looking for a place to stay but bad because tomorrow they’d have to drive further to get to the road, if their truck even started. Bones looked up as he heard Steve and Green coming through the door, carrying all their gear. He looked back to Mickey. Mickey had better pray the truck did start, and that they found a decent hit. Bones smiled lopsidedly.
. And thankyou soooo much Stella for the link to the dialogue punctuation thing i get so confused about it 
