The beige carpeted floor is stained and moldy in most places. To the right, a large set of open double doors leads to a grand sitting room, and at the end of the hall is a kitchen. I start by taking off my soaked outer layers and leaving them in a pile by the front door. The house is cold, but at least the wind and rain can’t get to me in here. Even so, I won’t stick around for long. Just in case. I’ll look for something to wear, find a weapon, and leave. I need to get into the city before nightfall. I don’t want to be out walking the roads when it’s dark. The sitting room is furnished with dust and patches of green damp. But this was once a fine house: a red marble fireplace faces the double doors; a grand piano nestles in the corner; at the far end of the room hangs a huge, cracked entertainment screen. I leave the sitting room and move down to the kitchen, which has been ransacked. The back windows are smashed and the garden strewn with rotten furniture—chairs and a table, an ornate headboard, a broken high chair lying on its side.
