who: Sherry Birkin (open) Where: Mortuary in Brooklyn somewhere When: Early noonish
She hadn’t made contact with the red haired woman or the man who had known her name for a few days after separating from them. She had found a safe place to hide for a few days, holed up in a mortuary of all places, no one else was there which gave her room to be alone. Problem was she needed the medication she took to stay human, the virus was clawing at her screaming to be let out. Sherry Birkin checked her stash, three shots left, out of seven, she’d have to find the ingredients to make it soon, or find someone who would be able to take her out when the time came. She didn’t want to be the monster that her father had turned into. Checking her radio she saw the battery would need to be replaced too. It was low on her list. She needed the medication first. At least she thought she did, they had always kept her on it to control it before.
“No, not risking it. Too many people around, I’m not going to risk them being hurt or infected…” She muttered to herself as she picked up her gun debating packing up her gear, it wasn’t much, a bed roll, and her spare clothes, with a sigh she slid the gun away and grabbed her gear, who knows where she’d be when she decided to rest a few hours. With that Sherry Birkin slipped out onto the street tugging her pack on looking out for any signs that would tell her there was a medical facility near by.