Chapter 22

                                    

                                          
Chapter 22
The house was cozy in its way, small and still fairly clean considering the circumstances. I set up my pack in the corner of the living room and sat down, taking a moment to catch my breath. It was time to wait out the night and regain some strength.
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All things considered, I tried to stay still. I really, really, REALLY tried, but it was hard. Restlessness gnawed at me, and I ended up looking around the small home. I put my shoe back on, chuckling at the memory of my triumphant shout and my cute cat socks peeking out. They were my small rebellion against the bleakness, a reminder of a world that once was.
I started by exploring the kitchen. It was surprisingly well-stocked, though most of the food was long expired. Still, I found a few canned goods that looked promising. I opened a can of beans and ate slowly, savoring the simple meal. As I ate, I scanned the room, looking for anything useful. A couple of knives went into my pack, along with some matches and a flashlight. Next, I moved to the bedroom. The bed was still made, a stark contrast to the chaos outside. I checked the nightstand and found a small, dusty journal. Curious, I flipped through it, finding entries that spoke of everyday life—grocery lists, reminders, notes about a pet cat named Muffin. It was a bittersweet reminder of the normalcy we had lost.
In the bathroom, I found some basic medical supplies—bandages, antiseptic, and painkillers. I added them to my pack, knowing they could be useful for our group back at the prison. As I moved through the house, I tried to keep my mind off the grim realities, focusing instead on the small victories. Finally, I returned to the living room, my pack a little heavier with the supplies I had gathered. I sat down, feeling a bit more secure. The night outside was quiet, and for the first time in what felt like forever, I allowed myself to relax. Until the front door burst open.