The disease is killing off people left and right. Some people, like me, are extremely sick for a few days, then are fine. Other die in an instant. More soldiers come up to bring more supplies (clothing, food) and I ask them about the fighting. As it turns out, the fighting isn't ceasing, and they're still attacking as hard as possible.

"They ran out of bombs, but I think they called for reinforcements," the soldier says. "We've been taking advantage of it to bring you supplies and stuff, but we don't know how long we'll be able to. It's been absolute hell down there. We've been getting sick."

"So have we." I tell him about the disease and how it affects us differently. "I think it's similar to the one that created the Creatures."

"Certainly acts the same way," the soldiers sighs. "Now, we weren't sure about sizes or how much clothing we should bring up, so you guys can figure it out."

I thank him before he goes downstairs to join the fight. I pull open the crate to see it crammed to the top. It's a good thing he brought the clothes, because ours all look worse for wear. I find a pair of jeans and a flannel in my size. When I come back, people are looking through it to find something in their size.

It feels good to wear something not ragged and worn out, but it's only a small comfort. The building has started shaking again, all the time. And I keep on hearing scuffles downstairs. Elf's noticed too, and she's worried that they're in the building.

"They won't get high," I reassure her. "They hate heights, remember? So..."

I falter, because I just realized that if they continue blowing down levels, they'll be able to reach us.

"They'll get to us eventually," Elf argues, as if she read my mind.

"Eventually. They still have a long way to go," I say. "But in the meantime, we should stay up here."

But it seems like they're blowing up the base with renewed vigor. A week later, we're down another level. But it's also forcing us to move around, because the floor does fall apart in places. People are continuously dying, if not by sickness, but by being crushed to death. Elf, Mike, and the other medicals are working around the clock. It keeps us busy, which means less brawling, but people are still dying. We're down to about twenty-five people. Almost half of what we started off with.

What worries me the most is how close the fighting sounds. Each day it sounds louder and louder, and it frightens me. We receive another crate, but it's not food. It's weapons.

"As a just-in-case," she says, which only confirms my fears. They are in the building, and they are getting closer. I thank her and leave them in an inhabitable room on the second floor, so they're easily accessible.

I find an intact mirror and find myself staring at the reflection. I don't look like me anymore. My cheeks are sunken and my face is mostly smeared with dirt. My hair has grown into this awful mess. I decide to spend some time trying to get myself looking normal. It's not that I care about my appearance- we all look worse for wear- but it's irritating whenever there's dirt or hair on my face (which is why I try to keep my hair somewhat short-Becca used to make fun of my "buzz cut"). I leave the bathroom to find Constance waiting outside.

"Hey," she says hoarsely, standing up. "You took forever."

"Were you waiting for me?" I ask.

"Yeah," she says. She seems to be looking me over. "You cleaned up."

"It was bothering me."

"Mmm." She looks down the hallway. It's entirely empty. "Isn't it terrifying?" she asks.

"What is?" We start walking down the hallway without entirely realizing it.

"The fighting. The weapon crate. Everything. Like we could die any moment."

"Don't say that," I say, even though that's exactly what I've been thinking. "What happened to the cheerful 'oh life here will be so fun' attitude?"

"Life here became rocky and disease ridden," she mutters. "It's hard to stay cheerful when people are dying."

The building trembles so hard dust showers onto us and we lose our balance. I climb back to my feet, coughing, and hold my hand out to help Constance. To my surprise, after she's on her feet, she still holds onto my hand.

"You look beautiful," I say in an attempt to start another conversation.

She smiles and looks down at her black tank top and skinny jeans "It's not really me," she admits. "I never really liked tight-fitting clothes."

"I don't know why," I say. It's true. I've only seen her in over-sized shirts and jeans, and she looks a thousand times prettier in this outfit.

"It's the same reason you cleaned yourself. Because it's irritating."

"Mm."

We stop in the middle of the hallway by Constance's room. She wraps her arms around herself as the building trembles. "I'm so scared," she whispers. "Scared for my life, for our lives..."

"We will survive," I tell her. I put my hands on her shoulders and she flinches, then relaxes. She's shivering. I meet her eyes and pull her towards me to hug her and warm her up.

She comes willingly into my embrace. Somehow, I'm not sure how, her lips meet mine.

It feels like a hundred volts are coursing through my body. I can feel Constance trembling. I pull away from her and meet her eyes. She watches me steadily before her cheeks flush red and she buries her face in my shoulder. I hold her tightly in the deserted hallway, swaying back and forth. We stay like that for a while before she lifts her head up. "I don't-I'm not-" she stammers. "Nate, I-"

I silence her by crushing my lips against hers. There could be every eye in the building on us through the peepholes, and I couldn't have cared less, because she and I both know we could easily die the next day. So I hold her close and kiss her deeply, because I know I might not get another chance.

Her back meets the door to her room, and somehow we manage to stumble into there, still kissing. I'm not letting go, because I want to savor every moment. And she's not pulling away either, because I know she feels the same way.

This night is possibly the best one I've had since entering the hotel.