I wake up in the morning feeling extremely groggy. I've been here a few days, and I haven't talk to many guests. I keep running into the red-haired woman from the bus. She keeps offering to help, but I keep declining. She seems friendly, but I'm at the point where I trust no one-especially someone who hasn't told me her name.

I yawn and climb out of bed, stretching with one arm as I walk around the room. The whole building-ignoring the height-reminds me of a hotel. I assume it's to make people feel more comfortable.

It just reminds me of the things I lost.

I pull on my shoes and make my way downstairs. My legs are burning by the time I reach the first floor. It makes me feel bad for those higher up, even though they aren't injured like I am.

Downstairs, everyone is eating breakfast. Some are sitting alone, some with family or friends, but they're all talking quietly or not talking at all.

I limped into the line and receive my rations. We're all given a slice of toast and a helping of scrambled eggs. They aren't bad, but I feel like if they hadn't dumped so much cheese in it, it'll have been much better. Nonetheless, I still scarfed it down, enjoying something that isn't plain hospital food.

I swallow my last bite of toast as Elf sits down next to me, her hair an absolute mess. She pokes at her scrambled eggs and frowns. "It looks like someone threw up on my plate," she says.

"They're good, if you can get over all the cheddar," I say.

She pushes the plate towards me. "You can have it," she says. "I'm not hungry."

I consider giving the plate back to her, but I decide against that and pick up my fork. Elf nibbles on the toast and looks around. "How many people do you think are here?" she asks.

I shrug. "Forty-ish, maybe?"

"That's a lot," she says. "How do they have enough food for them all?"

"I think the soldiers bring in supplies," I say. "They aren't gonna run out of room, though, that's for sure. I think there's a floor for everybody."

"It's not just guests," she says. "The second floor is storage for food and weapons. The third, fourth, and fifth floors are for soldiers and staff. Up to the sixteenth floor are the guests. There are twenty-five rooms on each floor-enough for three hundred guests alone. But I've just counted, and there are only forty-two, including us. Only a few people here have a family member also. I think they're expecting more."

I shrug and push back my chair. In doing so, I accidentally bump into the red-haired woman from the bus. "Sorry," I mumble, standing up.

"It's fine," she says. "I never did introduce myself, did I?"

"Not that I remember," Elf says.

"Oh. I'm Constance. I kinda forget these kind of things. And you?" the woman says.

"I'm Elvira, but you can call me Elf," she says, sticking out her hand. Constance shakes it and looks at me, clearly expecting me to introduce myself. When I don't, Elf pipes up. "That's Nathaniel."

"Pleasure to meet you, Nathaniel." Her voice is still polite and I can tell she wants to continue this conversation. So I just shrug and turn away. I just want to go to my room but then something catches my eye.

I go to look at it. Constance and Elf follow me. It's underneath a table, and when I bend down-with some difficulty-to look at it, I realize what it is. It's a trapdoor or something. It's cut into the carpet, and it blends in a lot, but I've always have a good eye. I tug on the carpet a little, but it doesn't budge. I go back to my table and grab the crummy plastic fork left on my plate. I wedged it into the crack and try to use it like a lever, but it breaks. By this point, the people sitting at the table-and, for that matter, so are Elf and Constance-are looking at me like I'm crazy. I don't care. 

Clutching the table, I stand up. "I wonder what's in there," I say out loud.

Constance shrugs. "Oh, I can already tell life in here is going to be so interesting!" she says brightly. "Some mystery, some crazy people...."

I glare at her and make my way to the exit. Both she and Elf follow.

I make it to the stairwell without saying a single word to them before I finally realize I'm not going to be able to shake them off. I turn around. "Look," I say with a hint of annoyance, "You don't have to follow me like lost puppies, alright?"

"I was going to go check out the game room I heard someone say was on the seventh floor," Elf says as Constance says, "I thought you might need help. Jeez."

"Well, I really don't." I slowly begin climbing the stairs. I'm on the third step when she catches up to me. "Are you always like this?"

"Not since I lost everything I loved," I grumble. "It's kind of hard to act happy and cheerful when my wife is dead and my brother is MIA."

"You seem open about it," Constance comments. "Why is that?"

I pause and turn around to look at her. "I've always had to talk about things that are on my mind," I admit. "No matter how painful it is. It's helpful, okay?"

She nods, then quickly changes the subject. "It stinks not having an elevator, doesn't it?"

"You think?" I ask. I can just hear the rudeness in my voice, and I flush a little. I continue, "It's a pain trying to walk up the stairs with stitches in my leg."

"I can only imagine," she says.

We're on the sixth floor now. Constance begins to go down the hallway, then pauses. "Are you sure you don't need help?" she asks.

I nod and continue to limp up the stairs. By the time I'm on the ninth floor, I'm practically forcing myself to walk.