-Wednesday, January 12, 2058; 5:17 PM
-Altman Heights Apartment Complex, 5th Floor
-Franklin, Tennessee

A loud [i]crack[/i], followed by the groan of wood planks straining preceded a door bursting open, pieces of wood splintering and flying into the air. Through the door stepped a small-shouldered form heaving in air. Amira was exhausted, having tunneled her way through the massive apartment complex. Some hallways were impassable, their ceilings now like walls before her. Doorways collapsed in on themselves preventing her easy access to the treasures that were tucked away in a place like this. It was relatively safe, save for the structural integrity of the building. No marauders lived here, lest they would have came running when she shattered a window on the fire escape. 

Now, she had managed to make it up to the fifth floor. It seemed untouched, evident by the fact that there were corpses that still had belongings on them. One such corpse lay face down on the carpet in the middle of the apartment's living room. Glancing down and to her left, Amira took hold of a small flower vase that sat upon an end table. Tossing it casually next to the corpse, she watched for any sign of movement. The possibility of the undead rising to greet her always haunted the depths of her mind, having had one too many spring to life before her in the past. 

Amira breathed deep, hoping to clear her head and not think so recklessly and with sporadic caution. The apartment was like most others: peeling paint or wallpaper, boarded windows, inhabitants long dead and still clutching whatever was dearest to them. Sometimes it was money. Sometimes a gun. Sometimes a child....

The last one hurt Amira the most.

Focusing on the task at hand, the woman glided over the dead body, crouching on the opposite side where an outstretched hand grasped for something lustrous. A key, though not the type that went to any lock with any complexity. Maybe a footlocker, or a diary. No. Too large for a diary. Maybe a jewelry box. The thought caused Amira to rise to her feet and click on the flashlight mounted on her backpack's strap. The apartment now glowed with a cone of dim illumination. Scanning down the hallway opposite the kitchen, Amira took her framing hammer in hand and leaned into cautious steps. 

With her right foot, she nudged each door open as she passed. One was a guest room converted into an office, the next was the bathroom. The site of a disposable razor on the edge of the sink caused Amira's hand to bolt inward and snatch it up as if it were made of solid gold. She put the shaving utensil into her front pocket for the moment as she continued on to the room at the end of the hall.

Pushing it open revealed a queen sized bed with a the corpse of a woman, just bones now, resting eternally in fancy dress clothes. This was probably the original occupant from decades ago. The man on the floor must have been living here sometime between then and now. She had not checked what stage of decomposition he had been to tell when, all she cared was that he didn't get back up off the floor with a groan.

Moving around the large bed in the semi circle of walking space, Amira bumped into the dresser, the swinging handles rattling noisily. Turning her shoulder so that light shined atop the piece of furniture, she tightened her face to avoid smiling. Smiling would only tempt fate to rob her off the prize: a small cherrywood jewelry box with a keyhole mounted on the front just about the size of the key. 

Just about ready to slide the key into its home, she heard a rumbling noise. It was low and had a frequency that made her stomach churn. After listening for a moment longer, Amira realized that it was not a low frequency causing the rumbling, thumping sensation in the floor. It was footsteps, and lots of them. Not the brisk, measured footsteps of a raider or marauder. It was the rolling, dragging sound of a small horde of the undead. Something had stirred them to life somewhere in the building, and Amira was certain it had not been her.