Safety. [COMPLETE]

Chapter 2

Mercy's POV:

I open my eyes and squint them almost immediately. Light is pouring from a window high up on the wall.

I stretch my legs and yawn.

In the daylight I get to see the house properly, it's small, really small.

Theres a toilet and a shower in the corner in front of me. A mirror stands on the wall before me.

A bed is standing next to the man who blew his brains out, the sheets sprawled all over the bed and little blood dropplets staining them.

A table sits on the center of the room and the remaining corner is a small kitchenette.

I scramble to my feet and walk into the kitchenette.

I open the drawers and the tiny fridge but the only things I find are bottles of beer.

I groan, this is not my day.

I open the last drawer and find at least six bottles of soda. I almost close the drawer when an idea pops into my head.

I grab all the bottles, the aren't big but they are plenty. I shove two of the bottles with the transparent soda inside my bag.

I walk over to the sink and open the sodas one by one. The sweet smell of soda fills my nose and I take a big gulp, it's not exactly water but I like the taste.

I open the tap to check if this house has water and I almost cry out in joy as I see the steady stream of water.

I dump the four bottles of soda into the sink and rinse them out various times. I fill the four bottles with water and shove them into my bag.

My bag gets considerably heavy but still manageable.

I look around the house for anything that could help me out.

After like thirty minutes of doing an almost pointless scavanger hunt I come up with, two kitchen knives and some pieces of gauze.

Well, great.

I feel tempted to get out of this small house but the infection has just spread out and I'm not in the mood to die.

I sit on the floor and count my things.

Two shirts, sans the one I'm currently wearing, a single pair of pants, a pair of shorts, five panties, two bras, a sports bra, my tooth brush, my tooth paste, my running shoes and my brush.

I open the zipper where all my toiletries are stocked. I have enough pads and tampons to last me five months (A.K.A five periods) and enough tooth paste to last me about three months.

I zip my bag shut amd look at myself in the mirror.

My hair was a little too long for my liking, just over my elbows. The bags under my eyes have never left.

I look down at my hands, they're a little scabbed since I had to jump over my fence, probably cutting them in the process.

I huff, I should've packed a book.

My eyes slowly drift to the man in the corner, I wonder what his name was?

He looks like a Phil...No wait, more like a Bill, yeah totally a Bill.

He looks like the typical man who's life had gone a little downhill, his beer belly was prominent, how his head hanged, or what was left of it, made his double chin look more like a triple one.

His beard is peppered with white and I bet that if I opened his eyes they would be bloodshot.

He is wearing what looks like an undershirt and simple boxer briefs, like he was just going to go to bed.