It was difficult to really process the fact that this was where she used to crawl into bed at night. There was a dried handprint on the door across the hall that led to old Mrs. Humphrey's creepy apartment full of clown dolls. The print had obviously been made of blood, but she had no way of telling if her elderly neighbor had made it, or someone else. People who used to live here were dead. And what was even stranger was the fact that nobody, nothing, remained here. Not a single soul, living or dead.
It was a relief, of course, not having to deal with an attack that could've left them trapped in her apartment. But until O'Brien responded and told her to come inside, Rory had nothing but negative thoughts to keep her company.
She nodded once he spoke, though, walking into the dark apartment and closing the door behind her to turn both locks. It was almost like autopilot, walking through the dark space to the kitchen. Instead of flicking on the lightswitch like she might've had this been pre-apocalypse, Rory pulled open a drawer to extract all the emergency flashlights and batteries her roomie had insisted on stocking up on.
"I figure it's as good a place as any to stay the night. It's getting dark already," Rory said, turning on one of the lantern flashlights before setting it on the counter. The light didn't travel far, but it added enough light to the kitchen to make navigation through the space a little easier. "I've got a bunch of flashlights and batteries here. And the curtains are blackout ones, since my hours were always weird and I slept during the day a lot. But if you don't think that's enough, I'll look for something else as well."