4th Floor

Peering down the hall ahead of her, Renée decided it would be best to stick close to her own apartment. She padded over to the closest two doors, and both were locked. She cursed in the back of her mind, and moved on to the next set. Who locks their doors when the world is ending? she wondered. Apartment 407's door was unlocked, and it opened with a small squeak, so she backed up and aimed her pistol inside. After assessing that it was empty, she inched inside, and looked around. The couple that had lived there before seemed to have packed in a hurry, things strewn everywhere, rotting food left on the table, and even a purse lay forgotten against the tv. She closed the door behind her and locked it, not wanting anyone to sneak up on her. She started rummaging through the cupboards and the fridge, still amazed that the power was on in the city. The fridge held mostly spoiled groceries, but she found a few edible items that had a long shelf life.

The bottom cupboards had been ransacked and food crumbs lay on the floor. A large bag of dog food lay in a closed cupboard, and she wondered why they'd left it. After noticing the eaten food, she realized someone must still be in the apartment. Or some animal, maybe a racoon or a mouse. She lifted her gun and crept towards the first bedroom, and checked inside. A few articles of clothing and some boxes of random junk, nothing really useful. She moved to the bathroom next, and raided the medicine cabinet, finding several things that could be useful. Painkillers, aspirin, bandages and gauze, she scooped it all out and threw it in her backpack, which was starting to get heavy. As she approached the master bedroom she could hear ragged breathing inside, and her mind entered a fight or flight state.

She approached cautiously, the safety off and her finger ready to squeeze the trigger if there was a futa inside. She needed supplies, there was no turning back. The door was slightly ajar, so she nudged the door open with a foot, and quickly found the cause of her worry. A sick looking husky lay on the bed of it's former owners, either abandoned or forgotten in the rush to escape the virus. It looked like it had run out of food a little while ago, but it was clinging on to life. The dog's eyes opened and he whined softly at Renée, too weak to move. She frowned and pondered what she should do. The dog might be on deaths door, but she might also be able to save it, and then she wouldn't be alone anymore.