As she approaches the guiding tent, she will hear:

a shriek, which may or may not be human,

followed by the distinct and earsplitting sound of many tons of concrete and asphalt splitting and crumbling instantaneously.

She will see:

almost immediately, almost nothing.

...well fuck.

All right! We are not freaking out, we are problem solving!

She takes a breath. She can breathe, so that's cool. It's nasty slimy in here, and hard to hear much over the distant, muffled screaming reverberating through the walls.

First things first, she should check herself for injuries... all good? All good.

Next... if there's anybody else in here, she should find them and make sure they're okay... which is going to be a bit difficult, on account of the slimy screaming darkness. Welp, no time like the present. She cautiously forays a low, "Anybody there?", prepared to get louder if results are ambiguous or quieter if anything seems to be riled up by the attempt.

She, let alone anyone who's in there with her, can barely hear the words.  She might not be able to make them out even if she shouted at the top of her lungs.

Oh that is a loud-ass whale. Or whatever it is. She's just put in mind of whales because of that bit in Pinocchio.

How about shuffling along the slimy wall, anything getting in the way of that?

She can certainly trace her hands along soft slimy walls.  Or at least, soft slimy surfaces.  Soft, slimy... folds.

Her feet are a different matter.  It's not altogether clear there's solid ground down there.  It's not completely clear that "down" is even the direction her feet are in.

Okay, if that's the baseline level of orientation available in this here whale belly, her best bet is to stay put for now. If anything starts feeling digestive she'll reevaluate. Or if somebody runs into her.

Nobody runs into her.

Something grabs her hand, though, as it's tracing.

...what kind of grab are we talking, here...

It's entirely plausible that it's another human hand!  It's not doing anything other than grabbing.

Okay cool, she can hold hands with a stranger in a big slimy whale belly, why not. Adjust grip somewhat, attempt to confirm humanity of grabber?

Those might be fingers!  That might be a palm.  That is very plausibly a wrist.

It squeezes her hand, twice.

She squeezes back, also twice.

There is no further action from the ?hand?, other than clinging.

Valid of them, honestly. She can chill out and hold hands until something else happens. Try to hang on reassuringly, that kind of thing. In an ideal world she would be able to say "can I check you over for injuries" but this is not an ideal whale so she's gonna wait on that for now because blindly groping all over their body is not going to make this a calmer or more pleasant experience for them even, perhaps especially, if they are in fact hurt.

For long minutes, there's nothing, just the soft and the warm and the humid and the slimy, and the scared desperate grip of a stranger's hand,

and the scream.

The ?whale?'s orientating might be changing, gradually.  It's hard to tell.

Probably it's up to no good. They'll find out eventually.

Vomiting is an unpleasant experience.  Being vomited is utterly singular.

The slick soft folds surrounding her and holding her in place slacken, giving her body just a moment to slide free before an enormous hot gush of air and slime geysers up from below her feet and carries her up through the creature's throat.  Was she ever knocked over and spun around by a wave taller than she was, visiting the beach?  Did it smell and taste not like brine but like bile - was the air hot, damp, blind-dark - did her wave deposit her ungracefully in a puddle of thick colorless worm-spittle on a slab of dark rock in the middle of a sandstorm.  It's like that.

Well that was all around pretty gross, but hey, look on the bright side! She can see now!

Did the person she was holding hands with make it out? Any others? How many? Is she gonna have to take charge of this situation? She hates taking charge of situations but if she's gotta do it she'd better do it right away.

The person she was holding hands with is maybe moving to hug her and start crying.

There are quite a few other people who made it out, yeah - probably everyone in the rescues tent and possibly everyone in the guiding tent too and a couple people who were nearby besides.

She can totally hug a crying person. She is so well specced for providing hugs in difficult situations.

What she doesn't see, squinting through the blowing sand, is anybody else who can reasonably be called upon to make this situation their problem instead of hers.

Welp, time to make it her problem, then.

Wiping worm slime off her face reveals that this sandstorm is godawful to breathe in. She shields her face somewhat with an elbow and tries to communicate to her new friend, mostly with mime and gesture because she's a bit deafened by worm screams and she bets they are too, that they should try to get everybody huddled up so they can communally keep each other's faces out of the wind as best they can.

Yeah.  Yeah, okay.  Crying boy can do that.  Or follow her while she does that.