"You and Constance are so oblivious," Elf says as we wander through the hotel together.

"What makes you say that?" I ask.

"Do you guys not see the way you look at each other? The way you constantly spend time alone with her?" Elf asks. "It's obvious, isn't it?"

"What is?"

"You like her." Elf states this so matter-of-factually I burst into laughter. "How'd you figure that out?" I ask.

"I said it, didn't I?" Elf says. "The way you look and act around her. The time you spend alone with her."

"So?"

"So-oh, come on, Nate. You love her, don't you?"

"As a friend," I say, stumbling slightly as the building trembles.

"I mean more than a friend."

"Maybe," I say slyly. After spending almost three days of breaking up fights and talking about the War outside, it seems weird talking about something as mundane and happy as love.

"I'll take that as a yes," Elf says, "because if it were a no, you'd say so."

All I can say is, "Huh." Then I think of something else. "Have you talked about this with Constance?"

She nods. "She kinda admitted it straight out, but she wasn't sure if you felt the same way."

"Funny," I say, "that's how I felt."

Elf grins. "I have got myself a mission."

"So do I," I say as I hear yelling. "Let's go break up that fight, huh?"

As we break up the fight, an elderly woman grabs my arm. "My son," she rasps. "He's sick. Can you help him?"

I shake her arm off as I yank a flailing woman into one of the dirtier rooms-the holding cells, we call them. The rooms that cannot be stayed in-mainly the ones that took the most damage-we would throw a person into there and have them stay there until whenever. It's basically our way of punishing the wrong-doers. I latch the door and push a ceiling tile against it to barricade it. "What were you saying?" I ask.

"My son is ill," she tells me. "Please help him."

I look at Elf. "I'll check out the guy," she says. "You go get Mike."

I find Mike passed out in the med ward. There's a couple people there, but they're all asleep as well. I feel bad for him. He's been moving constantly, not having a single break, always working. I shake him hard before he wakes up. "There's someone sick downstairs," I tell him.

He yawns and stretches. "I'll be down there," he mumbles. "Just give me one minute."

When we get back to the room, the elderly woman is standing guard outside the door, and my heart goes out to her. She's a frail person, but she looks ready to defend her ill son no matter the cost. 

"Excuse me," Mike says as he enters the room. The sick man is thrashing around on the bed. Elf and I each pin down an arm as Mike checks him out. The man's thrashing is less and less by the second until he calms down enough that we can let go of him. At least, I think he's calm until Mike mutters, "Dead."

I sink to the ground. "Is the disease that bad?" I ask.

He nods. "You were lucky. It could not survive in you. Some of us are immune, some die almost instantly."

"So it's like the virus that created the Creatures?" Elf whispers. "It reacts differently to different gene types?"

Mike nods grimly. "This is the third case since Nate got sick."

The elderly woman does not utter a single word when Mike delivers the bad news. She looks like she's in shock. But when we reach the stairwell, we hear a wailing. Mike shakes his head sadly and goes up the stairs. I pause, look back, then force myself to go up after him.

"We should set up jobs," Elf says suddenly. "Like, different assignments for each person. That should keep people busy and slow the fighting."

"That's a good idea," I agree. "We should call a meeting."

"Where?" Mike asks. "The original meeting room has no more floor."

I forgot about that. We avoid the second-to-top (well, now it's the top) floor because of all the debris. The floors below aren't as affected, but you have to watch you step or else you'll fall through a hole in the floor. This happens often.

"We could cram them into one of the clearer hallways," Elf suggests. "How many people are left?"

Mike frowns. "32 or 33."

"The hallways are large enough to hold us all," I say. "Let's find a good one and call the meeting."

We find a mostly clear hallway on the third floor before we split up and tell people. We're only in rooms in the second and third floor now, so it's not hard to get everyone. Then I pull Elf aside. "What kind of assignments are you planning of?"

Elf frowns. "I dunno. I thought...medical...cleaning up..." She looks at me. "Is there anything else?"

"The little ones," I say. "They need watching after."

"Oh, yeah. But what else?"

"That's about ten people per job. Oh, and keeping the peace. That's crucial."

"So monitors," Elf says. "We can assign one per job. What about..." she glances to the people. Mike is talking to them about how we're trying to keep the peace, and how he knows there's no telling how long we'd be in here, etc. etc. "I can't think of any others."

"I dunno. There's nothing that we can really do in here, is there?" I ask.

"True," Elf mutters. Mike motions us to the "podium" and Elf talks while I stand listlessly. I catch Constance's eye and grin at her. She returns the smile before returning her attention to Elf. It's actually working. Elf picks fourteen people per job except for "daycare" as she put it. There's only about three takers and five children, so it's a pretty good ratio. So that way, if someone gets hurt or ill, there's still more than enough people.

For a couple days, it works. People work in rotating shifts, seven people one day, then the other seven the next day. There are two exceptions in medical, so it's six people. That way, each person can have a day off.

But the clean-up crew begins to have problems. I'm surprised it's them instead of medical, since medical works longer. But the clean-up crew work harder, which makes them hungrier, which makes them mad. So they take it out on Constance, who refuses to give them more food. Supplies are running extremely low and we're down to one meal a day.

Then a miracle happens. I don't know how, but somehow some soldiers got past the fight to give us supplies. Two crates of canned food. Medical supplies. They even manage to bring up a turkey and a portable oven, which reminds us of the time of the year. One person cooks it up and makes it taste great, and we feast. It's a small one, but we're all thankful for the same things: that we're alive, that we have food and supplies again, that the fighting seems to get less and less worse.

There's no leftover turkey, which doesn't bother us, because we're all full and it wouldn't last long any ways. It fills us with hope that we would survive. The fights stop.

What doesn't is the spread of disease throughout the building.