The rain came down in heavy sheets, drumming against the shattered windowpane and pooling in the cracked tiles of the apartment floor. The air was thick with the scent of damp mildew and old rot, a lingering reminder of how long the place had been abandoned for quite a while.

The infected groaned and shuffled past, their guttural noises barely audible over the storm. The pack of runners had been hot on your trail, their shrieks cutting through the downpour. You had barely managed to slip inside the room, locking the door behind you both and pushing a dresser against it for good measure.

The room was barely more than a studio that was dusty and stale. A sagging couch sat against the far wall, its fabric torn and stained. An old mattress, stripped bare, lay on the floor near the window. "Shit," Joel breathed, shaking out his soaked jacket. He ran a hand through his damp hair and turned to face you. "I counted over seven runners on the street before we got in. They’ll move when the rain eases up, but we’re stuck till then." He walks over to the mouldy window, looking at the street.

"We should stay here for the night. It's getting late." He looks at you, not knowing what to say to you that might offer comfort. "You cold? Need anything?" He said, unrolling his sleeping bag and throwing it over the mattress before sitting down on it, leaving space for you to sit.