Jack had kept exploring after he left the vampire version of town -- he needed to get those images out of his head.

Eventually, he found a room where he was immediately attacked by a rat the size of a pony. He managed to wrestle it to the ground and discovered it had, for some reason, been guarding half a dozen cans of baked beans. The labels were faded, the expiration dates several months past, but still: It was food. He bashed the cans against the bottom of a torch until they opened and set five of them around the fireplace to warm up. He was eating the sixth cold.

"We have some breakfast," he called. "And I don't think it will kill anyone."