World of the Dead [REWRITING]

"Alright, we're almost there. Just two more turns."

Quinn blinked, not realizing she had been about to doze off. This is not the time for a nap, she chastised herself as she straightened. The drive had mostly been in silence, since Spencer needed to focus on the road. Apparently, the drive would've only taken twenty minutes to get from his apartment to the store. But a combination of crashed cars, knocked over light poles and power lines, and dead bodies (walking or not), made the trip take three times as long. They'd been lucky though; no infected or people had tried to attack or get in the way.

But don't worry, Spencer had told her, the road I've been taking has stayed clear this entire time! Well, unless you count the insane amounts of garbage.

Still, Quinn thought it best to allow his attention to be entirely on driving, especially when they crossed the bridge that went over the Willamette River. There were three total, but according to him the other two were choked with abandoned cars and infected. The one they took was bad already; Spencer had to go painfully slow in order to weave around the crashed and haphazardly parked vehicles. The fourteen minutes spent on that bridge was nerve-racking, all she could think about was how easy it would to get trapped. Then that thought led her to think about the chaos when it all started, how terrifying it was for the people trying to escape using the bridges, only to find themselves trapped.

She had never been so glad to get off that bridge.

"Okay, we're here!" Spencer said cheerfully. 

"Woah," Quinn said as she saw the building come into view. "This place looks nice."

Well, it used to be nice. The apartment was about five stories and was painted black and dark orange. There were garden beds near the front bottom windows, though the flowers were withered or being strangled by weeds. Many of the windows had been shattered, heir curtain fluttering out of them. Quinn counted maybe eight or nine apartments that didn't look obviously broken into. But even those were filthy with dirt, blood, or a combination of both. And of course, there was garbage littering the sidewalk around the building. It still shocked Quinn how little time it took for things to get so filthy.

"It is. Well, my place is since I'm still around to keep it clean. Actually, that reminds me."

He swung around to the back of the apartment and parked near some dumpsters. Then, after turning off the engine, he turned to her with a serious expression.

"Alright, before we go in I should tell you that a bunch of apartments aren't empty. They have zombies in them," he said, looking a bit nervous.

"Wait, what?"

"Yeah. There were a couple times that I got chased and had to just...lock 'em in. The others probably got trapped during the start of this," he paused before continuing. "So, when we go in, we need to be quiet until we reach my apartment. If they hear something they all go off, screaming and banging on stuff for hours."

"Wow. Okay, noted. And how many are in there?" Quinn asked as she hopped out of the truck, grabbing her backpack.

Spencer did the same, locking the doors behind them. "I've trapped five in, and there's about six more that I know of for sure," he must have seen her make a face. "Don't worry, I marked the doors with spray paint."

Quinn nodded, trying not to feel too worried. Every place she'd been to at that point had infected around, so it wasn't much different. Except for the fact they'd be separated only by thin walls. But she pushed those thoughts away; she wasn't about to be ungrateful. 

Spencer took the lead, heading for the front door. His steps were as cautious as hers, both of them avoiding kicking any garbage and glancing around the eerily quiet street as they made their way to the front doors. They were, unfortunately, made out of glass. Glass that was cracked and filthy with dirt and blood, similar to the large windows near it. With one final look around, Spencer pulled out a key and quickly unlocked one of the doors. The door softly scraped across the tiled floor as Spencer pushed it open, the slight noise seeming much louder than it was to her. But the lobby was deserted, with knocked over chairs and papers scattered across the floor. There was what used to be lamps, now lying broken on the floor. And the scenic pictures of nature and landscapes were in no better condition; some were knocked crooked while other had fallen, their frames broken.