Chapter Four.
Blinking and slowly sitting up in sleepy confusion, Elizabeth looked at the room she was in. She'd almost forgotten; she had a bedroom. She was safe.
She felt a little chill pass through the room and she snuggled into the thick duvet, looking out of the windows. It was a cold day, the sky a bright and cloudy white. She really must have been a zombie last night for the curtains were still open, secured as they had been when she'd been first shown to the room. She must have just slipped straight into the bed, though she couldn't particularly remember it.
She yawned. How long had she slept for? Trinkets and decorations were scattered about the room but not a working clock.
Slipping out of bed, she was glad she'd worn the leggings and sweater to sleep in. The room was freezing. She did a small leap, jumping from the icy floorboard onto the thick rug. How would they heat this gargantuan mansion in real winter? It wasn't far away. Her room had a grand but empty fireplace as well as a row of old radiators against the wall, but she assumed they would be too difficult, too power consuming to run. Glancing at the fireplace once more, she wondered if the mansion's chimneys were even in working order?
Moving to the cupboard, she opened the door. Smiling a little as she pushed aside the red dress, a pretty beaded black number and a purple dress that was definitely a product of the 80s, she decided once again to go down the comfortable route. She unfolded a thick grey hoody, raising her eyebrow at the designer tag sewn into the back. It was a serious designer brand. She shook the item out and shook her head - this silly hoody must have cost almost as much as one month's rent on her apartment. Maybe even more. It was so nondescript, too. The previous owner was definitely rich. She scooped out a pair of black jogging bottoms.
Heading to the bathroom to change, she put the clothes down on the closed toilet seat before allowing herself once more to take her time brushing her teeth, to revel in activity. How mundane it used to be, brushing teeth.
Rinsing the sink briefly, unsure of how much tap water she could use or whether that was rationed, too, she glanced at the lotions and bottles cluttering the porcelain space. Snail essence. Whitening lotion. Foaming face wash with Korean script. Everything was so fancy! She smiled, spotting a familiar apricot scrub.
That would definitely do the trick. After scrubbing her face with more force than she usually would have, scrubbing it to an almost painful degree, she looked at herself in the mirror.
Truthfully, while her skin looked a little pallid and the circles under her eyes were dark and puffy, she'd looked worse. She'd not had much chance to drink sodas or caffeine or alcohol, not had chance to cover herself in creams and masks. The infection had given her skin a chance to rest, it seemed. She snorted at the ridiculousness of it. She shook her head and looked at some of the makeup scattered on the counter and rummaged curiously in a leather makeup case before pulling out a high street brand foundation powder. She wouldn't know where to start with the expensive pallets or contour sticks but this, this she could work with. It was unopened and, luckily a perfect match. Well. Maybe not perfect, she'd never been to the makeup counter to get confirmation but "ivory" had always worked well for her. Using the small sponge that came in the compact, she slowly added a layer to her face. Nothing special but, damn was it nice to feel like her old self. As she dabbed a little blush on her cheeks, she smiled at her reflection.
She could never have imagined she would have found safety, stability in the midst of infection.
Changing her clothes and delicately folding the previous day's sweater and leggings, she stashed her used underwear discreetly between the folds of the sweater. She left them on a clear area of the counter. What was the situation with laundry, she wondered, as she settled down onto the toilet. Nervously looking at the closed door, she felt a little discomforted trying to pee, wondering if a soldier would come knocking. She closed her eyes, took a breath and let it out. Thankfully her stomach was quite settled after yesterday's dinner.
Finishing up in the bathroom, pleasantly surprised by the weak but effective flush, Elizabeth tugged her hair free from its high bun, shaking it out quickly. Tucking her hands into the baggy sleeves of her hoody, she walked towards the closed doors.
Would they still be locked?
With a small shrug, she reached for the handle, giving it a tentative twist.
After hearing a small click, she frowned, giving the door a small pull.
It opened easily.
Poking her head into the corridor, unsure of herself, she stepped into the quiet area.
"Up and about finally?" quipped a voice and Elizabeth froze. She couldn't see anyone. "I would make a joke about sleepin' beauties and laziness or somethin' but to be honest, I bloody appreciated the extra lunch portion"
She'd slept through breakfast and lunch?
"Bloody hell, how did you survive the infection?" the voice quipped again and she recognized it as Mitchell, his gruff words. Turning, looking around her, she just couldn't place him. All the doors apart from hers were closed.
He whistled, "Oi! Sherlock" she threw her hands up in frustration before he whistled again, much like one would to a dog, "stairs!"
She turned, peered down the corridor and sure enough, she could see him crouching on the top stair, fiddling with something low down.
Shaking her head, she closed her door and walked to meet him.
"I thought our doors had to stay locked?" she quipped, looking down at the burly soldier, not really minding, not complaining, but wanting to get back at him for the Sherlock quip.
"Been workin' here for four hours now, figured you'd be up an about" he cut something with a heavy looking pair of pliers before grunting and hauling himself to his feet, "if I weren't here it would be locked"
"Procedure" she nodded seriously, pretending she knew, pretending she was in the loop before the smirk broke out on her face.
He grinned and rolled his eyes, "cute"
"I'll take you down to the Major-" he nudged some tools aside with his booted foot and gestured for her to follow him down the stairs, "just don't fuckin' knock anythin', alright? Almost finished"
"What are you working on?" she asked as they walked down, side by side.
"Stuff"
"What stuff?"
"Fuckin' technical stuff"
"That's informative" she sighed as they reached the end of the stairs. He directed her towards the small room she'd taken dinner in last night.
"You won't know what I'm talkin' about anyway so I really don't see the point in wasting my time in tellin' you"
"Wasted a lot of time with that sentence, though..." she muttered, actually enjoying his gruff nature. Enjoying the banter, enjoying the normalcy.
With a deadpan stare in her direction, he knocked the door. A muffled, "enter" was the response and Mitchell duly opened the door.
She was a little surprised he didn't make her do it herself but she entered the room without comment.
"She's awake, Sir" Mitchell announced, pointing his thumb towards her, as the Major stood.
"I can see that, thank you" The Major was dressed comfortably, khaki trousers and a green turtle neck. He held himself high, with dignity and, as she saw Jim sitting on one of the sofas, she couldn't help but notice the difference between the men. The Major was tall, imposing and refined. Almost cold.
"Please, sit" he offered Elizabeth and she nodded, a little unsure of how to act around him.
"Liz, you OK?" Jim asked as the Major politely excused himself, stepping outside with Mitchell.
"Yeah, yeah I'm fine. I'm great" she smiled, moving in to hug the man before her.
They'd survived together.
With a tight squeeze, Jim broke the hug and she checked with him, "You're OK? You have stitches-"
His eye had been cut open for a week or so.
"Yeah they did it last night. Belford-"
"Bedford" she corrected.
"stitched me up, got nine in the end. Bloody hurt, too-"
She nodded, wincing at the wound. It looked red, swollen and angry but not as bad as it had been...it looked a damn sight cleaner than before, too.
"Have you seen Selena and Hannah?" she asked, sitting back in the sofa, holding his arm gently.
"Uh, yeah" he shook his head a little, "I saw them after I got patched up and had dinner but, I dunno. Hannah's a mess and Selena won't leave her"
"Where are they now?"
"Still sleeping. A Sergeant woke me up this morning and I asked to see them - sorry, it's just Hannah...I knew you can handle yourself" when she waved her hand dismissively, Jim continued, "He opened their door but they were still sleeping, totally out of it, so I kind of left them to it"
"They share a room?"
"Nah, he said we all have our own rooms but Hannah..." he trailed off.
She nodded.
She opened her mouth to ask more questions but the Major opened the door once more.
He was alone.
"Would you like a tour of the mansion and grounds?" he asked politely.
Truthfully, Elizabeth wanted nothing more than to talk with Jim, to find out about what happened to him the past night, to get his impression of their situation, but, as they both glanced at each other, they knew it would be rude to decline.
With a nod, Jim stood and waited for Elizabeth to do the same.
"I trust you slept well, Elizabeth?" the Major asked as the two figures rose from the sofa.
"Wonderfully, thank you. The room is amazing, you've been very generous"
The Major looked pleased at her words, "Are you hungry? I'm afraid Jim and I already took our lunch out at the garden"
She shook her head. She was still full from her dinner last night. She was peckish but knew she could wait for dinner. She remembered Sergeant Farrell telling her about a formal dinner tonight, "I'm fine. Thank you"
It was strange. While Mitchell seemed to thrive and enjoy sarcasm, blunt humor and almost rudeness, the Major seemed to silently demand respect. They were polar opposites. And then there was Sergeant Farrell, kind and quiet and who genuinely deserved respect.
It was an interesting group so far.
"Well then. Let's start with the third floor?" the Major suggested, seeing them out of the room.