If Ren's brother, Seth, can see her right now, he would call her depressed. Then again, if her brother really could see her, that would mean he was close enough for her to stab him.
Multiple times.
But that's besides the point. Seth would call her depressed. Ren would call it relaxing while she can, because who knows when someone might turn into a zombie these days. Not that it applies to her anymore thanks to said brother. Just the thought of him has her blood boiling in her veins. And then that anger turns into hurt.
A bright ray of sunlight shines through the broken window of the warehouse she's been squatting at for the past three weeks, landing directly on her makeshift mattress of moth-eaten blankets. The glare burns, even through her closed lids, and she squints in irritation.
Is this her sign to stop being lazy and get on with her chores?
She cracks one eye open and immediately winces, blinded by the light. She scoffs.
What a silly question. Being lazy is the best part of living solo!
It's one of the few things she enjoys when she's not hiding away from the patrols and fighting against the dead when they occasionally make it past the wall.
She shifts on the hard floor, the thin blankets doing little to cushion her, and she adjusts so that her long, matted black braid isn't in her way and the sun isn't hitting her face. Comfortable again, she tunes in to the birds outside and the low hum of cicadas.
They emerged last week, and their constant buzzing has annoyed more than a few scavengers, Ren included. But not right now. Right now, the sound keeps her grounded.
Sometimes, if she focuses hard enough, she can pretend nothing is wrong in the world. That everything is the way it used to be. That the virus never broke out, the cities never fell, and her family never splintered apart like broken glass.
Her mother would be inside cleaning, her hair tied into a neat bun, her neon green apron cinched at the waist, and her yellow rubber gloves pulled up to her elbows. Country music would be blasting from the surround sound system that hangs from the wall, and every window would be open to let in fresh air. Her annoying brother, Seth, would be outside playing basketball with his friends, and Ren? She would be hiding in her room, watching WeTube videos of her favorite boyband, Two Paths.
Ren ignores the dull ache in her chest and just listens. It's easier that way, when she doesn't think too much.
Her stomach clenches, a loud growl breaking the stillness around her. She presses a hand to her stomach, trying to ease the hunger cramps, and groans.
When was the last time she ate? Last evening? The day before? Oh, now she remembers. It was a stubborn can of tuna that barely opened, and the last stale tortilla she found on top of a fridge in an abandoned house.
Her stomach growls again at the memory.
It wasn't her mother's pasta or the pizza from Marco's Pizzeria down the street. But it was good nonetheless, anything is, when you haven't had a proper meal in years. Ren used to be picky, once upon a time. Now, she would eat cardboard if it came with a side of salt.
Sighing, she forces herself up from her semi-comfortable spot, as comfortable as a concrete warehouse floor allows, and steps over discarded clothes and food wrappers littering the ground. She crosses to a small ice box against the opposite wall. It doesn't work anymore, of course. Electricity has been cut off from the outer city, reserved only for the central districts where most of the population resides. Still, it's good for storage. At least it keeps the rats out.
Ren fiddles with the padlock. It pops open, and she flips the lid.
Empty.
She frowns. How can it be empty? Huffing, she glances over her shoulder at the scattered cans and plastic wrappers strewn across the floor. Has she really gone through all of it already?
Groaning, she digs her fingers into her hair, loosening strands from her braid. "Uuugh." She should've been more careful with her rationing. Slumping to the floor in front of the empty box, she pouts. Not that pouting solves anything, but it feels like the right reaction at the moment.
She's been staying at this warehouse longer than she should've. She told herself three supply runs, then she would move on to the next place. But she got too comfortable. That needs to change.
The outer zone of Newsky City is crawling with scavengers scraping by on whatever they can find. If one of them stumbles across her hideout, her peace will be ruined. Not to mention the risk of running into raiders, or worse, ferals who never quite turned but lost their minds anyway.
She glances around, it's going to be so annoying sorting out what to take with her. If Seth could see her living like this, he'd call her a hoarder. Ren admits he would have a lot to say if he saw her.
But Ren disagrees, she just believes in being prepared. It's a mindset a lot of people adopted when the pandemic first hit. People hoarded everything: water, toilet paper, gas, especially gas. While the masses panicked, the authorities began constructing military-grade city bases, complete with high walls to keep the dead out.
Her stomach cramps again, harder this time. Her vision blurs at the edges. She doubles over, eyes closed, as the floor sways beneath her. Nausea swells in her gut.
She can't put it off any longer.
No matter how safe this warehouse feels, staying any longer would turn it into something dangerously close to home. And in this world, the word 'home' is a luxury no one can afford.
Ignoring her hunger, she hauls herself upright and starts packing the essentials into her bag.