Darkness closes in, haunting the hearts of men

[Namira]

((Quinn continued from Waking From One Nightmare Into Another))

The blood, while initially thrilling, was something that Quinn could do without now that the novelty had worn off. She had no interest in wearing someone else's gore as some kind of badge of honour or talisman; Quinn knew what she'd done, others would soon know what she'd done, and parading around red-handed was only liable to clue in those that didn't recognise her that she was to be avoided. Besides, it was doubtlessly unhygienic. The splatters which lightly speckled her clothing were a lost cause, but she was wearing dark colours for the most part, so in time the various spots of blood should be indistinguishable from any other kind of dirt picked up traipsing around the island. Assuming they weren't subsumed by larger stains, but no need to get ahead of herself.

Quinn unscrewed the cap of her water and poured a small amount into the palm of her hand. She rubbed at it with her fingers, moistening the drying blood threatening to cake and stain, and then wiped her hand on the duvet she was seated on, leaving a dark brown smear on the already disgusting coverlet. A few more wipes and her hand was largely clear, though some flecks remained stubbornly entrenched within the crevices of her palm. Good enough for now, as good as she could manage with limited resources. It wasn't as if these decrepit buildings were going to have shelves stocked with soap and towels and have hot running water. She'd only entered a couple of the houses and neither had been in particularly livable condition; further exploration would be a waste of time and effort, and the more places Quinn went, the more people she was likely to find. She'd had a busy day. A lot of walking, a lot of exertion. It was time to rest now. Getting embroiled in another altercation was pushing her luck, and Violet had readily demonstrated that having a gun meant little and less without the conviction or skill to use it.

She leaned over to her right and picked up the rifle, weighing it in her hand. It had a pretty good heft without being too cumbersome for her to comfortably carry. She'd see if that remained true over however many days it was on her person; just like the daypack, the fatigue would add up over time. Certainly something she needed to bear in mind.

Quinn had never held a gun before. That wasn't a unique trait amongst her peers, and despite what popular media would lead panicking parents to believe, using one in a first-person shooter didn't come anything close. She brought it up to her shoulder and put the room door in the middle of the sights, then mimed pulling the trigger, though she didn't actually put her finger on it. The ammunition was limited and wasting it on blowing a hole through a wall was prize stupidity. Quinn wasn't certain she could be effective with what she had, either. Aiming and firing was deceptively simple, the problem would be with actually hitting anything. She'd figured out how to disengage the safety, at least. Thank you for the reminder, Violet.

She set the rifle down again and slid it underneath the bed. Quinn wasn't looking forward to attempting to sleep on the hard and dusty boards, but laying herself on mouldering bedsheets seemed like a surefire way to pick up any number of infections. She couldn't afford to get sick, and she needed her rest. Indoors, in the dry and relative warmth was as secure as she could manage. She'd already stacked up a vase on top of a chair stuck behind the door. If someone so much as jostled it, the precariously balanced ornament would fall and shatter, serving as an alarm. And well, at this distance, the rifle would do just fine.

Joining her rifle underneath the bed, Quinn closed her eyes and tried to get some sleep.

((Quinn continued in Undulation Nation))