You walk in with a cocky grin. A confidant strut. No one is here. You search the whole place including under the bed and in the closets. No one. The door is locked. The folks who live here must have been elsewhere when the shit hit the fan man. You search the place quickly. You find no weapons, no food, not even a fucking flashlight. You take the three dollars in change on the kitchen counter at least that's something.