I never understood true boredom until the apocalypse.

Grimacing at the jumbled pile of yarn in front of me, I attempted to settle farther down into my couch to work on my latest project – baby booties.

Ugly baby booties.

As I held the peach-colored sock up to the light, I could spot at least three places where the yarn had snagged. I regretted that I'd ever offered up that I could knit. So much of my time was now spent on altering clothing and knitting winter outerwear that I was dreaming about it.

It wasn't like I had anything else to break up the monotony. My entire life revolved around the small projects that I was assigned each week. They were my only source of entertainment.

And the bane of my existence.

I let out a long sigh when I managed to snag the fabric yet again. Stretching, I made the executive decision to take a break for the day. I had been at it almost non-stop since Chris had left for his guard shift early that morning.

He was the one shining light in all of this, and after two months of not being allowed to leave our assigned apartment, his return home each evening was the highlight of my days. He was not just my companion and husband, but also my only real connection to the outside world.

Malinda came once a week to pick up my work and give me my newest projects, but she wasn't what I would have called a friend. Unfortunately, being deemed a non-essential worker meant that I couldn't even go out into the hall and meet our neighbors. Chris even got to be the one to pick up our food each week on his single day off.

With little else to pass the time, I started walking laps. The apartment was old and cheap. Whoever had lived in it before had put up few decorations. Our main room held a dull-grey couch, a coffee table, a TV that was now useless, and a lamp. Closer to the apartment door, there was a small table with two chairs and a hideous painting portraying a vase full of daisies. There were a few windows that gave us a small view from the third floor, but it was mostly of the parking lot.

I hummed as I walked down the hall to where the single bedroom and bathroom doors sat open. Wanting to prolong the walk, I went into each room, maneuvering around the furniture in an attempt to touch all four corners. I then went back down the hall to the kitchenette where I did ten jumping jacks before repeating the entire process.

My mind drifted off as I kept doing laps. I missed my house in Utah, but my thoughts were with my family back east. We'd tried so hard to get to them only to be wrangled up by the military when our journey had taken us too far north. They had stuck us in Milwaukee and gave us a home and jobs, telling us it was our duty to help keep society going.

What they would have liked us to forget was that zombies had all but destroyed both the East and West coasts. We were sandwiched in and disaster was slowly encroaching closer and closer to us. The collapse of our government left us declaring a Senator from California as President. Evidently, he was leading the different pockets of society all over the United States via some military radio.

Not that I would know anything about that.

All of my information came from Chris. A lot of which he supposedly got from our neighbor Ian, who served as a guard right alongside him. I tried not to be jealous of him having a friend, but I craved human interaction like a fish craved water.

I would have made friends with a paper plate if I thought it would talk back.

Bored with walking, I checked the time.

7:06

I smiled.

Less than thirty minutes to go.

Chris's watch was one of only a few items of value we owned and we religiously kept it on the small kitchen table for my use. I placed it back with care and went to the kitchenette to make us our dinner.

I opened the pantry, examining our cans as I tried to decide what Chris might be in the mood for. Moving them around, I realized that we seemed to be a can short. I was instantly confused. Since we'd arrived, the number of cans and the single loaf of bread we picked up each week had always been uniform, always just enough for two. We were never short.

Discomfort made my skin itch. I hurriedly went over to the box where we'd put all of our empty cans and counted.

We're short.

For a second, I didn't know what to make of it. I was baffled by the small change. There was no way Chris would have taken a can. He was fed while on shift during the day and had no other reason to want it or need it. That could only mean one thing.

We were given less food this week.

That hardly made sense to me. Food was the most strictly regulated resource and they had different groups of people all assigned to gather, maintain, and distribute food. A missing can would mean a failing somewhere along that chain.

Disturbed, I shook off that thought and pulled out a can of spam. I made us plates of spam on bread, giving Chris a slightly bigger portion, and set the plates on the table. I then settled in my usual chair, opting to simply wait. When it seemed like too much time had passed, I checked the watch.

7:39

I could feel myself getting antsy. I hated it when he was late. It wasn't like I could even go outside and wait for him. I remembered my mousy brown hair was still in its ponytail. I quickly removed the elastic, letting the shoulder-length waves fall into my face. Tucking it behind my ears, I jiggled my leg under the table. Eventually, I had to cross my arms to prevent myself from reaching for the bread and eating to calm my nerves.

Hurry up. Hurry up. Hurry up!

Finally, I could hear voices outside the apartment and I shot to my feet. The voices were deep and masculine. They were laughing. All good signs. I went to the door and waited, only just keeping myself from bouncing on my toes.

"I'll see you tomorrow," Chris said in a muffled voice. The knock came next – three long knocks followed by two short raps. I had the door unlocked and open before he could even take his hand off of it.

"Hi honey," I greeted my husband with a beaming smile. "Kill any zombies today?"

I heard a chuckle come from behind Chris and spotted Ian. I had only ever seen him on three other occasions, but never for long as no one was allowed to linger. He was right around our age, maybe twenty-four, but maybe a year or two older. Like us, Ian had been caught and brought to Milwaukee while trying to move east.

His laughter was no surprise. No one in Milwaukee had killed any zombies. Or, at least very few had. It was a long-standing joke that the guards had seen more zombies in movies than in the field.

I waved to him. "Hi Ian."

"Hey Kate." Ian smiled and I was able to catch a flash of white teeth.

"Hey babe," Chris interrupted. "No zombies today. But let's get inside, yeah?" He gave me a gentle smile as he pushed past me into the apartment.

I felt more at ease than I'd been all day once he was inside. I gave a final wave to Ian who nodded in return.

After shutting the door, I made sure to lock it. When I went to take my seat at the table, I was surprised to see that Chris already occupied it. He was raising the bread to his mouth, ready to take a bite.

"Wait!" I yelled much louder than I intended.

Chris instantly dropped it, looking up at me alarmed. "What? What is it?" His eyes darted around the room and I immediately felt bad.

In a small voice, I said, "That's my plate." I hadn't been prepared for Chris to switch seats on me. For some reason, tonight he had opted to take my chair that had its back to the wall.

Chris gave me a bewildered expression for a few seconds before it seemed to dawn on him. "You gave me a bigger portion again, didn't you?"

It was pretty much a rhetorical question. We both knew the answer. Even still, I attempted to lie. "No, I put a little salt on my spam. You know there isn't much left. So, can I have my plate please?" I held out my hand as I sat down in the seat across from him.

Chris seemed to contemplate for a moment, but switched plates with me. Without waiting another second, he dug in. I watched him in satisfaction.

"What?" he asked as he chewed.

"Nothing." I shrugged, starting in on my own food.

We ate in a peaceful silence for a while, but I couldn't help but notice that Chris kept glancing at me.

He put his food down. My heart sped up as I watched him seem to have an internal debate with himself. Something wasn't right, and the longer he looked at me, the more I began to fear what he would say next.

I couldn't take it.

"Is everything okay?" I asked.

He took a breath, seemingly resigned.

"No."

I opened my mouth to ask what had happened, but he answered before I could.

"The President has been declared dead."

Shock hit me like a full-blown freight train. Out of all the things I thought he might have said, I never expected that. My mouth went dry and I lost my appetite completely. I attempted to swallow. After a minute of tense silence, I asked, "What happened?"

Chris looked conflicted, setting me further on edge. "He's been missing for a while."

What?

I blinked. I didn't know how to react to this information. "For how long?"

"A few weeks," he said, going back to his food.

A small prickle of anger flared somewhere deep in my chest. "How long have you known?"

Chris didn't look at me.

Breathe.

I took a few deep breaths in and out until, quelling all my rising emotions. When he finally did look at me, I could already read the answer by the expression on his face.

"A few weeks."

It wasn't hard for me to understand why he hadn't told me. He hadn't wanted to worry me. As much as I wanted to be angry, it was water under the bridge. I just needed to take the time to process the new information.

"So, what does this mean for us?" I asked gently.

He sighed. "I don't know. I don't think anyone knows yet. It seems like we might be getting some weird reports out of Chicago, but we're okay for now."

My heart sank, but I did my best to shake it off.

"Okay." I nodded.

Chris gave me a half smile that didn't reach his eyes. He stood and started to clear his plate, but I stopped him. I quickly stuffed the last bite of food on the plate into my mouth and stood, taking our plates to the sink. I started to wash them, highly aware that Chris was standing just behind me.

"I'm sorry for not telling you sooner."

He touched my back and I looked over my shoulder at him, giving him a smile in reassurance.

"It's okay. I understand. Really, I do," I said, rinsing the soap bubbles from the plates. Once done, I set them on the rack to dry and turned to face Chris. His frame was hunched and his blonde hair was falling limply into his face. When his blue eyes met mine, he looked exhausted.

I wanted to ask him more about the state of the world and what kind of situation we were in, but I couldn't. Not when he looked so run down. Working twelve-hour shifts six days a week meant rest was essential and I knew he wasn't getting enough.

"You need sleep." Despite using a quiet voice, my tone was firm.

He opened his mouth to protest, but I was already pushing him towards the bedroom. "Nope," I said, not giving any leeway. "You need to at least lay down."

At the door of the room, he set his feet, refusing to budge. "I can stay up a bit."

"No. No, you can't. I know you haven't been sleeping well. Tomorrow, after your shift, we can talk for hours. For now, just get some sleep." I put my hands on my hips, determined to make sure he was well rested before another long shift.

He gazed at me for a minute as we had a silent war of wills. Finally, his expression melted. He gave me a peck on the lips. "I'll talk to you tomorrow."

I smiled. "Talk to you tomorrow."

Sitting myself back out on the couch, I was determined to shut down every worry as I picked up my yarn and focused on my task. Every time a worry popped up, I dismissed it. Worry wouldn't fix anything and there was nothing I could do with it. I had to put it away.

Before I knew it, it was past midnight and my eyes were straining in the dim lamp light. My shoulders were still tense, but it seemed that most of my stress had melted away in the practiced, repetitive motions.

I put my project down and got ready for bed, trying to move about as quietly as I could. It wasn't necessary, for when I eventually climbed into bed, Chris was so deeply asleep he didn't even notice me coming in. I snuggled in and felt at peace. The last thought I had before sleep took hold was of baby booties.

---

I awoke the next morning feeling refreshed and re-energized. I turned over thinking of greeting my husband only to be met with an empty bed. I shot out of it so fast that my feet got tangled up in our sheet and I stumbled my way to the door as I disentangled myself.

"Chris?" I called out but was met with silence.

Damn.

I walked over to the watch and saw that it was already half past eight. I could have kicked myself. Chris had left for his shift and I hadn't even gotten the chance to make him his breakfast or anything.

I'll make it up to him.

Screw it. Who needed perfectly managed food? I'd crack open the canned peaches after dinner. That would surely brighten his day.

As I looked around my sterile apartment, I mentally prepared myself for a long day. Starting with stretches, I set out headlong into my morning routine. Malinda would be doing her usual stop by the day after next and I had fallen a bit behind. I needed to get focused in order to make the quota.

I settled in and by lunchtime, I managed to finally finish the baby booties. It was a small accomplishment, but I was still strangely proud of the hideous things. They would be going on someone's small feet and that thought was enough to keep me going.

I moved on to working on a red scarf. As the day progressed into the afternoon, and then evening, I found myself feeling somewhat enamored by that particular yarn. It was thick and soft with a deep, rich coloring.

If only I could keep it.

It was getting colder all the time, and while the heating still worked in the building, oil was the resource we'd likely run out of first. Even now, the apartment was only kept just warm enough to be tolerable.

I wished I could have kept a scarf or gloves, but given that I never went outside, they denied my request when I'd sent it through Malinda. Then again, given that it was Malinda, there was a possibility my request never even made it to her superiors. I scoffed at that thought and continued on, stroking the yarn longingly every once in a while as I went.

The day had felt endless by the time seven rolled around. I had managed to complete more task work than I had expected. It was a great feeling and it put my mind at ease as I prepped our dinners.

At 7:30, the dinner was ready and on the table. It took every ounce of my willpower to not break open the peaches before he arrived.

At 7:45, I began to pace.

At 8:06 I made myself sit by the door.

By 11:01, I knew.

Chris was never coming home.

I didn't sleep that night. I sat vigilantly on the floor by the door, waiting for voices or sounds, anything to indicate life on the other side. There was nothing.

Our dinner sat untouched on the kitchen table, but I couldn't even bring myself to look at it. I couldn't bring myself to do anything but wait. It felt hard to even breathe.

By sunrise, my head throbbed from strain. Even still, I couldn't leave the door. I wanted to know everything that was going on in our building and, luckily, the thin walls helped. As people woke up for their day, I was able to be tuned in to every little thing that happened outside of my door. That's also how I knew Ian also never came back.

I would have heard it.

From what I knew, Chris and Ian were the only day shift guards on our floor. Chris had mentioned a night shift guard was on the other end of the hall, so I hadn't been too alarmed when I'd heard a more distant door open and shut as they left and came back. It had still been seriously tempting to poke my head out into the hallway and check, but I knew the consequences if I was wrong.

We all knew the stories. People who showed any signs of dissent would end up being yanked out of their apartments to live in a camp. They were forced into hard labor as scavengers for goods on the fringes of the city under twenty-four-hour surveillance. It was dangerous and there were even rumors that people had been dying between the long hours, the physical labor, and lack of food. It wasn't worth the risk of being caught by a building guard.

Yet.

I groaned, putting my head in my hands.

What am I going to do?

The thought repeated itself over and over again as morning shifted from midday and then to evening. Before I knew it, night had settled in again and I found myself frequently nodding off. I had to pinch myself to stay awake.

At one point I jolted awake, completely disoriented. My heart hammered in my chest as I took my reality in yet again. I reached out and picked up the watch from the table.

3:18

I felt sick. It was near pitch black in the apartment and every part of my body hurt. I rolled my shoulders back and stretched my neck. I knew I couldn't keep just waiting next to the door. I needed to think and sitting wasn't going to make Chris come home. I made a move to stand but flinched.

Well, this is going to be unpleasant.

I'd been dumb and sat cross-legged for so long that my legs had gone completely numb. I stretched one leg out and a strong sensation of pins and needles shot all the way from my toes to my butt. I tried to massage my leg, but that only made the feeling worse. When it got a bit better, I managed to wiggle my toes. It helped, so I repeated the same process with my other leg.

A door slammed somewhere in the building, making me jolt upright. I could barely hear it, which meant it probably wasn't on our floor, and even more likely, it was probably a building guard on patrol. It didn't matter, though. The sound gave me momentary hope.

Ignoring the overwhelming stinging that came from my legs as I moved them, I crawled closer to the door and put my ear against it.

Please.

I waited. Maybe they were back. Maybe Chris had just gotten held up. Maybe he'd gotten injured and Ian had helped him out. Maybe he'd had to help Ian out. Maybe if I wished it hard enough, maybe if my will was strong enough, he'd come back to me.

Please.

I sat on the floor for what could have been five minutes or thirty. Nothing came of it. Letting out a sigh, I stood up. My legs were shaky at first, but they got stronger with each step I took. I needed to think, to make a plan, to... I had no idea. My mind blanked as I looked around my small, empty apartment. I was at a complete loss.

Chris was the planner. I was more impulsive, trusting in the idea that things would usually work themselves out. I never thought that I'd be here alone, without Chris. Now I was alone, so completely and utterly alone.

I felt something crack within me, like a tiny piece of my heart shattered. The tears hit my cheeks before I even realized I was crying. I quickly stifled my sobs with the back of my hand.

Suck it up. Hold yourself together.

Taking three deep breaths, I managed to pull myself together long enough to stop crying. I went to the bathroom and splashed my face in the sink, letting the icy water shock me back to reality. Wiping my face on a hand towel, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. The whites of blue-grey eyes were filled with angry red veins, looking more bloodshot than I'd ever seen them. I needed to sleep, to eat, and frankly, I needed to pee. It felt like I was coming back to my body and I needed it to stay healthy and strong.

What I really need is a plan.

With that thought in mind, I went through my morning routine despite it being the middle of the night. When I was showered, refreshed, and alert despite my lack of sleep, I set back out into the kitchen and turned on a light.

I tossed our now soggy dinners in the trash and grabbed a slice of bread. Placing it on a plate, I left it on the kitchen table and then went back and filled up a glass of water. As soon as the liquid touched my lips, I realized how painfully thirsty I was. I gulped down the first glass in seconds and quickly filled it up again. I made myself go a bit slower on the second glass, feeling the pressure of it hit my stomach made me have to breathe through a wave of nausea.

Filling up the glass again, I brought it to the table and forced myself to sit and eat. Tears immediately filled my eyes when I took the first bite, I had to work to swallow down the lump in my throat and focus.

Focus.

I needed to think. There was no possible way for me to rest until a came up with at least a semblance of a plan. I rubbed my forehead vigorously as though that would somehow magically fix everything.

It didn't.

I needed to find Chris. I had to. The only way to even start to do that would require contact with someone on the outside.

Malinda!

I gasped, letting my hands fall uselessly to my sides. Of course, Malinda was coming. I looked over at my pile of projects and cringed. While I was nearly done, there was no possible way I would be able to finish before she arrived later in the morning. With Chris missing, though, it was hard to give a damn.

After another bite of bread, I gave up eating and left my plate on the table. I decided to not even bother trying to finish my assigned tasks. Instead, I spent the next twenty minutes rearranging the furniture in my apartment. By the time I was done, I was sure I had thoroughly irritated my neighbors with all of the noise, but I'd created a much better setup.

The couch was now where the kitchen table used to be, making it so I could sleep by the door more comfortably. I would now be able to swing the door open at a moment's notice even if I was lying down as my head could rest right by the doorknob. The kitchen table and chairs had moved to where the TV and its stand had been, so I'd have more room to maneuver if I ever needed to duck behind the door. As for the TV and stand, I'd pushed them all the way into the bedroom, leaving them to take up the floor space by Chris's side of the bed. I'd worked up a sweat getting it all done, but it was worth it.

I plopped myself down, and let my eyes drift shut. I would sleep until Malinda came and make plans from there. Until then, I would let myself be at rest. I was able to take peace in the thought that, come hell or high water, I would find my husband.

---

Struggling to stay in a restless sleep, I was woken up too soon for my exhausted body by a soft, rhythmic rap at my door. Frazzled, I stumbled into a standing position and hastily opened the door. I was greeted with the short, middle-aged, Malinda.

Despite being of average height, I seemed to tower over her. Everything about her was petite and soft. She always seemed to smile, but she was a woman with no laugh lines. Something about her always kept me wary and today was no exception.

"Good morning," she said brightly. When I didn't immediately move to let her in, her smile faltered for a fraction of a second. "Can I come in?"

"Oh." I shook my head and stepped out of the way, making room for her to enter. "Of course. Sorry."

She walked into my apartment and I could tell she was looking around. With nothing else to do, I always managed to keep it in pristine condition. Seeing the room through her eyes, food left half eaten at the kitchen table and my week's tasks haphazardly tossed together in a mix of yarn and completed projects, I felt a bit self-conscious. The feeling only got worse when her eyes flicked back to me and her smile tightened.

I awkwardly patted down my hair for bedhead, then tucked it behind my ears. "Um, can I get you anything?"

"I'm fine," she answered as she walked over to my couch at promptly sat. She placed her overly large tote bag next to her, keeping her posture rigged as her eyes continued to analyze the room.

Right. Down to business, then.

"Uh Malinda," I started, feeling a little unsure of where to begin. "I, uh, I didn't finish all of my projects this week." Somehow, her smile went ever tighter, looking near shattering. I quickly continued, "Chris didn't come home after his shift on Thursday. He hasn't been home since."

Her expression morphed into something akin to sympathy, but it never reached her eyes.

"Oh dear, I'm so sorry." She held out a hand for me to take and I internally recoiled. When she didn't withdraw it, I placed my hand in hers. I had to hide the shiver that ran through me as her overly long nails dug into my skin. "I'll put him in my prayers."

"Thanks," I said, feeling relieved when she released me from her grasp.

"Did they say what happened?" She asked as she pulled out her clipboard from her bag.

What?

I stared at her blankly for a moment. "I'm sorry, I don't know what you mean."

"The guards," she said slowly. "Did that tell you what happened?"

I guffawed and she instantly looked offended.

"Sorry," I said again. "I really have no idea what you mean. No one's come by to tell me anything. He just simply didn't come home."

A look of understanding came over her face.

"Well," she huffed. "My Donny always says those guards forget the most important parts of their duties. I'm very sorry for your loss."

"What?" I gasped. "My loss? No. No, no, no." I started to frantically pace the room. I picked up my yarn and chaotically sorted through it to keep myself from looking at her.

I death gripped my now very knotted yarn before facing her again. "He might not be dead. He could be perfectly fine. I said he hasn't been home. He's missing."

Malinda was giving me a look of bewilderment and it was only then that I realized how hard I was breathing. I let out a long exhale and set the mess of yarn on the kitchen counter. I slowly and carefully sorted through it.

Malinda cleared her throat. "Alright, you're right. He could just as easily be missing."

I didn't respond and for the next few minutes, we worked silently as I one-by-one passed her my completed projects. My mind was all over the place. It had never occurred to me that other guards should have shown up and given me information about Chris's whereabouts. The fact that no one had only disturbed me more.

After handing her the second baby booty, she checked it off on her list and then pulled out a stack of pants that needed tailoring. I eyed it with disdain but kept my mouth shut.

"Well, as you said, you're a bit short." She paused to make a note on her clipboard before looking back up at me. "You'll have to make up for it this week."

"Okay." As much as it frustrated me, I had a feeling she was going easy on me. Not meeting the quota would likely get her in as much trouble as me, but she mentioned nothing about it as she began to pack up to leave.

When she stood up, I took a step closer to her. "Malinda?"

"Hmm?"

"Have you heard anything about what's going on out there?"

She evidently didn't like being put on the spot as shift shifted from one foot to the other and hitched her tote bag farther up on her shoulder.

"Not too much," she started. "I'm assuming that you've already heard the news about the President's death."

I nodded. "Anything else?"

She looked around the room, then waved me to come even closer.

"Now, don't quote me on this," she said quietly, keeping her voice just above a whisper. "My Donny says things might be getting bad out there."

What the hell does that mean?

She leaned in closer, looking me dead in the eyes. "It might be wise to try and start saving up on your cans. You might need the food later."

I found myself helplessly frozen in shock as I watched her straighten herself back up, painting her face with her usual overdrawn smile.

She went straight for the door. "If there's nothing else. I'll see you next week."

"Sure, next week." I gave her a half-hearted wave as she exited, then sunk down onto the couch where she'd just been sitting.

What the hell is happening out there?

I felt like I was running blind with only wisps of information.

Is it zombies?

I thought we'd been prepping for that, but with the President gone... I had no idea. I felt a bubble of anger at my lack of outside knowledge, but I quickly shut it down.

Saving up on cans wouldn't be hard now that a few days had gone by without any being touched. I wave of apprehension crashed over me when I remembered that, without Chris, I had no guarantee I'd be able to get more. No one had stopped by to inform me about Chris, but they also hadn't come to give me the slip I'd need to leave my apartment to pick up food on pick-up day.

The ink on my ID was red, not blue, and without blue, I was utterly screwed. That small difference in color would have told guards and distributors that I was allowed to be outside for an official reason. Without it, my leaving the apartment would be considered an act of dissent.

Simply put - I'm screwed.

I squeezed my eyes shut. When I opened them, I had nothing but the hell hole that was my home to contend with. Rather than dwell on it, I picked up my work for the week and took some pleasure in the fact that I still got to work on the red scarf.

Before I knew it, day had become night again and I had gone another day without eating. I was exhausted and shaky and my lack of sleep had developed into a killer headache. I placed my work to the side and rested my head on the back of the couch. That was when I heard it.

At first, I thought I was losing my mind, but there was no mistake. The sounds of someone walking came from just the other side of the wall. I jumped up and practically threw myself against the door, ripping it open.

"Ian," I said breathlessly.

He froze as he was about to step into his apartment. Our eyes met just before he turned away and shut the door.

That didn't just happen.

I stood in my doorway with my mouth agape.

Did he really just close the door on me?

I felt a wave of anger flood over every single one of my rational thoughts. There was no way I could let Ian ignore me. He hadn't been back in days. He had to know something. Before I could even fully process my own actions, I was pounding on Ian's door.

My fist hit the wood so hard that I could feel the vibrations all the way up my arm, but I kept knocking. When my fist started to hurt, I switched to open palms, slapping both of my hands on the hard wood.

A door opened at the end of the hall, making me pause. I could see part of a woman's face peek out at me, but once she saw that I'd noticed her, she slammed her door shut. The silence reverberated in the hallway as I rested my hands on Ian's door. My anger drained as I realized what I'd done.

I'd left the apartment.

First time in fifty-seven days.

I could feel the color drain from my face. Taking a step back from Ian's door, I looked around the dimly lit hallway, but no one else had dared to stick their heads out. With all the noise I'd made, it was only a matter of time before a building guard showed up.

Giving Ian's door one last hard kick, I dashed back into my apartment and locked the door. I couldn't believe what I had just done. I had just risked everything by stepping outside.

And it felt good.

All it took was that tiny taste of the outside world and being back in my apartment felt suffocating. With everything that had happened in such a short amount of time, I felt overwhelmed. It was a kind of sensory overload after so much rigorous monotony.

I needed to do something.

Focusing on the simmering undercurrent of anger that still pulsed through me, I stormed over to the kitchenette and yanked open the designated "special" drawer. The space held the only spare items we had of value: a miniature screwdriver that was only three inches long, a flashlight that didn't have any batteries, a stub of a pencil, and a small pad of paper with a dancing fish pattern. All had been left behind by the previous owners.

I snatched up the pencil and pad of paper and slapped them down on the kitchen table. I was going to make a plan if it was the last thing I did. I sat for a moment, taking a few calming breaths, and then scribbled down my ideas.

1. Catch Ian – Find out what he knows! 

2. Start saving up on food. – And stuff? 

3. Plot escape. 

4. Find Chris. 

5. Go east.

My hand stopped moving as I stared down at my handiwork.

Well, that's pathetic.

My list turned out to be more like goals than actual plans, but it was a start. What surprised me was number three.

Plot escape.

It was dangerous to think, let alone write down. Yet, as I looked at my own writing, the more I realized that that was the only logical next step for me. No one was coming to tell me about Chris which would mean that I wouldn't be able to find him without taking some big risks.

There might still be some hope with Ian – especially because there was no way he was going to get off so easily – but it wasn't enough. The reality was that without Chris, staying would be unbearable.

I have to leave.

Catching Ian was the first step and he wouldn't be able to avoid me forever.

---

Freaking weasel.

As it turned out, catching Ian was much harder than I'd thought. For some unfathomable reason, the man was determined not to face me, but my determination was just as strong as his.

The first morning after he'd come home, I'd heard him leave and was ready and waiting for him. As soon as I'd heard him on the move, I opened my door, but he'd already dashed past so quickly that I only caught a glimpse of his back as he fled down the stairs. Much to my distress, that evening didn't fare any better.

Throughout the day and night, I'd noticed an uptick in the building guards' activity. They were patrolling with more frequency and it made me wonder if that fopdoodle of a neighbor had reported my temporary insanity from when I'd attacked Ian's door. I knew I needed to be more careful while trying to catch Ian, but as the next morning shift approached, I came to a very different conclusion.

If there was risk, I'd freaking weaponize it.

In my hands, I held a piece of paper with his name written on it in giant, block letters. Fifteen minutes before his shift, I slid it out into the hallway, making it impossible to miss.

Try running past that.

It was simple but methodic. If found by a building guard, we would likely both be questioned for inappropriate conduct, accused of dissent and would end up in a camp. I was walking a fine line right on the edge of disaster.

It's going to be worth it.

As time ticked by, I had to resist bouncing on the balls of my feet. Each second felt unbearable and grated on my nerves. At two minutes past, I heard the creak of his door swiftly opening. I could hear him running and I hurriedly yanked mine open in turn.

He stumbled to a halt in front of my door just as I opened it wide. I couldn't keep the grin from my face as he snatched up the note, his brow crumpled in confusion.

"Ian."

His head whipped towards me. The confusion melted away, leaving in its place a look of shock. His dark brown hair had fallen into his face, but he didn't bother to push it back. Instead, he shoved the note deep into his jean pocket, shaking his head at me all the while.

"We need to talk," I said firmly, making a move to step out into the hall.

The instant I moved, he took off again at a brisk pace for the stairs.

"Ian!" I yelled, too desperate to care about the danger. He stopped mid-stride at the top of the stairs. "Ian, please."

He turned and his eyes met mine. They were such a dark color that they almost looked black, and that made his stony expression look almost haunting. Before I could say anything else, he gave me a shake of the head and an empty smirk. With a salute in my direction, he disappeared down the stairs, taking with him all of my hopes of finding Chris.

Son of a bitch.

I slammed my door shut, grabbed my pillow from the couch, and screamed into it. When I was done my throat burned. Chris had been missing for almost an entire week and I was no closer to finding any answers. I sat down at the kitchen table and cradled my head in my hands.

I was left with no other options.

Tomorrow was food pick-up day and I'd be going.

Red ink and all.

---

Ten minutes before it was time for me to head downstairs and I felt like I was having full-blown heart palpitations. I'd skipped breakfast and still ended up puking from the nerves. As much as I'd steeled myself to head to the first floor to pick up the food for the week, I was absolutely petrified.

I was, of course, terrified of being sent to a camp, but that wasn't my only fear. Strangely enough, I found myself afraid to leave. As much as I craved to be outside of my apartment, the prospect also left me shaking. It was an unknown and I wasn't sure how to handle it.

The time came to head down and I was still at war with myself when I heard the first apartment door open. People on my floor were headed downstairs and I had to go with them. I let out a long shaky breath.

Fuck it.

I grabbed up the box that held our used cans and small trash bag then slid my apartment key and ID into my pocket. Before I could psych myself out again, I opened my door and stepped out into my hallway. It was empty. I needed to hurry.

Taking the stairs two at a time, I made it to the bottom floor in no time. It took my eyes a few seconds to adjust to the bright light. The front of the building consisted of large glass windows with glass double doors, filling the room with more sunshine than I'd seen in months. The light was made brighter by the off-white walls and white, faux marble floors. The room still had a sleek reception desk set between the stairs and the opposing wall that had the no-longer-working elevators. Other than that, the room had been cleared. All furniture had been replaced with three folding tables that stretched the length of the room.

The people from my floor stood in a single file line, evidently waiting to be called forward. The tables were half-full with what I assumed were our new boxes of food for the week. It looked like some guards were already removing the trash-filled boxes that had been left by the bottom two floors, taking them out to one of the trucks that I could see beyond the windows.

It all looked very efficient.

I moved quietly towards the end of the line, eying the food distributors as I did. They weren't looking at us, seemingly busy checking over their notes before distributing. That was fine because at least ten guards flanked the room and their gazes never left us.

Well, this is great.

Alarms were blaring in the back of my head, but I silenced them and forced myself to stand still. While waiting, I took the chance to side-eye the rest of the people from my floor. There was a grand total of eight of us – one for each apartment. I caught sight of Ian at the far end of the line, but, as to be expected, he was actively ignoring me.

I was just about to face forward again when I met eyes with a girl who was no older than sixteen or seventeen. She was short and had frizzy brown hair that swallowed up most of her face; however, it was her bright green, wide eyes staring openly at me that caught my attention.

What the hell is she doing here?

If she was picking up food, it meant that she was deemed responsible for her household. I couldn't fathom how that was possible. People who were considered infirm for one reason or another all lived together in a hospital, so what reason could there be for her to take responsibility for her family?

Unless she's alone.

I gave her a thin-lipped smile and she returned it. She looked away and I did as well, noticing as one of the distributors gave a nod to a guard. The guard, a large man with a scraggly brown beard, waved the line to step forward.

"IDs out," he said, walking to the far end of the line.

My hands shook as I pulled mine from my pocket. One by one, he checked peoples' IDs and then let them approach the table as the person in front of them finished. I watched bitterly as Ian picked up his new box and left for the stairs. My hopes of catching him were once again dashed.

I was last and as the room cleared out of my fellow residents, I suddenly started to question the logic of my being there. The red ink might as well have been a neon sign for how much it seemed to stand out. By the time the guard approached me, all I wanted to do was flee.

"ID?"

I passed it to him.

He looked confused for a moment before his expression transformed into something like recognition. I don't know what I was expecting, but it wasn't that. I wanted to ask him if he knew something about Chris, but I couldn't formulate the words in time.

"You're all set," he said, passing my ID back to me. He then turned his back on me and went over to converse with another guard.

Shell shocked, I stepped up to the table. The distributors were keeping themselves busy, prepping themselves for the fourth and fifth floors that would be coming down respectively as soon as I'd left. A thin, middle-aged man with a clipboard moved over to me.

"ID and box please." His was void of emotion, sounding almost bored.

"Hi," I said hesitantly, adjusting the box in my hands before putting it on the table. "My name is Kat-"

"Just your ID and box please, ma'am," he cut me off, taking the items from me.

I watched in awe as a similar kind of recognition came over him when he saw my ID. He attempted to mask it, but couldn't hide his feelings as well as the guard. Then, he too turned from me.

No one will look at me.

I didn't know how much more shock I could take, but I had to say something. I couldn't let the opportunity pass again. I swallowed down my fear.

"I'm from apartment 307. My husband, Chris Thompson, usually comes to pick up the food. He's a guard and..."

The man ignored me. Instead, he compared my ID to his clipboard and then moved farther down the table. Refusing to be deterred, I followed him.

"My husband," I started again. "He didn't come home from his shift last Thursday. No one has come to tell me anything. Have you heard anything?"

The man looked up at me then, but he didn't meet my eyes.

"No," he answered, pushing my new food-filled box across the table in front of me. He held out his clipboard. "Please sign your ID number here."

I gaped at him for a good ten seconds before finally taking the pen and signing. As soon I was done, he took the clipboard from my hands, handed me my ID card, and walked away. Unsure of what to do, I looked down at my box. I gasped.

It only had rations for one.

I felt hot and cold all at once. I didn't know if I wanted to scream or cry, so I just stood there quaking. The man never turned back to look at me. No one did. Just as I opened my mouth to say something, I could hear the footsteps of the next group as they started to arrive for their pick-up.

They aren't going to tell me anything.

I needed to think. Between Ian and this, it was too much. Forcing myself to go through the motions, I picked up my box. I was about to put my ID in my pocket when something caught my eye.

Blue ink.

The distributor had managed to replace my old ID with a new one. One that designated me the new head of my household. One that declared Chris would no longer be available to fulfill that role.

Too much.

They had all already known. They'd known he was gone and had planned everything. I squeezed my eyes shut and breathed through my nose, trying to hold myself together and reign it all in.

It didn't work.

"Ma'am, you need to return to your floor now." I recognized the voice of the guard who'd taken my ID earlier.

I opened my eyes to see that the room had gone still. It was as if they were all waiting for my next move.

"Sorry," I said through clenched teeth, but I couldn't will my feet to move.

"Ma'am." The guard stepped closer to me, placing a hand on his belt. "You need to go upstairs. Now."

"Where's my husband?" I didn't know why I asked it. It almost felt like it was ripped out of me. I stepped closer to the guard, holding out my ID as if it would explain everything.

I saw the movement, but it took me a moment to process what was happening.

There was a gun.

And it was pointed right at me.

Not a single part of me could move.

This. This is what I was afraid of.

"Ma'am! You need to back up," the guard shouted, his pistol staying fixed on me. "Leave right now!"

I couldn't. I wanted to, but my body wasn't agreeing with me. He was visibly getting more agitated and I knew I was in serious trouble.

The guard took a step closer to me, but then stopped. He was looking at something past me. I nearly dropped my box of food when a hand seemingly came out of nowhere and slapped down on my shoulder.

"I got it from here." Ian's deep voice echoed in the otherwise silent space.

For a couple of heartbeats, I forgot to breathe. I was stunned by his appearance, thinking he'd already gone upstairs.

Evidently, not.

He had his box of food balanced in one arm while his other hand was on my shoulder, squeezing it almost painfully hard. There was absolutely no reason for him to have lingered as long he had.

Unless he was waiting for me.

Ian broke the reverie.

"I'm a guard," he said confidently as though there wasn't a gun aimed in his general direction. "I'll escort her back to her floor. Do you need to see my ID?"

The guard with the gun hesitated, looking between me and Ian. After what seemed like forever, he slightly lowered his gun. "No. Just go. And do it fast."

Ian didn't wait for the guy to change his mind. He moved his hand to my elbow and guided me towards the stairs. I let him, grimacing the whole way as the room watched our hasty exit.

My knees were wobbly, but I was finally coming to my senses by the time we reached our floor. My emotions were all over the map despite how hard I was actively trying to get a grip on them.

I guess I'm not used to having a gun in my face.

"Thank you," I whispered as we reached our end of the hall. "I was just trying to-"

"Are you insane?" Ian cut me off. He glanced over his shoulder to check that we were alone, and held out his hand for my apartment key. I pulled it out of my pocket and passed it to him. With deft fingers, he hurriedly got my door open and pushed me inside. And in case I hadn't had enough shocks already that day, he followed me in.

The moment the door was shut, he spun on me. "Seriously," he said as he dropped his box on my couch, never breaking eye contact. "Are you certifiable?"

"Excuse me?"

"Do you have any idea how close you just got to getting yourself killed? You've been acting like a complete psycho! Do you have any idea how risky some of the shit you pulled was? Chris..."

I was furious. "Chris? Chris what? Finish your sentence."

He just rolled his eyes at me, shaking his head. I curled my hands into fists, digging my nails into my palms.

"Where is Chris?"

He crossed his arms and sucked in his bottom lip. Rather than answering, he started walking around the small space, observing the odd layout of the furniture.

"Nice place you got here," he said looking mildly amused while keeping his arms tightly crossed.

"Cut the crap," I snapped. "Where is he?"

Ian stopped his pacing. He was facing my kitchenette, blocking my view of his face, but I knew from the way he straightened his spine what was coming.

"Gone."

That was it. I heard my box of food crash to the floor before I felt my arms fall limply to my sides. Ian turned to look at me then, concern etched in his frown. He took a step towards me, but then stopped, looking deeply uncomfortable.

"Are you okay?" he asked, no longer meeting my eyes. His dark eyes became fixated on a chip in the wood on one of the cabinets.

I wet my lips before I spoke in an attempt to find my voice. "Are you sure?" I whispered.

"What?" His eyes flicked to me, then away again.

I cleared my throat this time. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah," he said. "Pretty sure."

"What?" I stumbled a step closer to him, nearly tripping over a can that had rolled out of the box. "Pretty sure? What the hell does that mean?'"

Ian sighed, finally making eye contact again. "I don't know what happened. I wasn't there."

"Then how do you know he's gone?"

He crossed his arms again and leaned back on my counter. "His patrol went missing."

His patrol?

My brow furrowed. "I thought you guys were usually on the same patrol."

"Yeah, usually. Not that day."

I watched him. His Adam's apple was working overtime, giving me a telltale sign that he was nervous. He tried to play it off, casually picking at his fingernails.

I pushed on. "Okay, fine. But missing and gone are two different things. He could still be out there, right? How do you know he doesn't need help?"

Ian stiffened, his jaw set in a grimace. "They are all assumed dead."

I snorted. "That makes no sense. You're going to have to explain this to me, Ian. And stop using short answers. I deserve to know what happened to my husband!"

He held up his hands. "You're right. You do. I just..." He sighed and pushed his hair out of his face. "Chicago's fallen."

The news was like a sucker punch to the gut. It seemed like in just a week's time everything had completely fallen apart. Malinda's warning was in the back of my mind and I couldn't help but wonder if this was what she had been warning me about.

Ian continued. "I don't have all the answers. I just know that he went with a small group to patrol our southern border and they never came back."

"But... that doesn't mean he's-"

"Kate," he cut me off. "It's getting bad out there."

I could feel the blood drain from my face. "Is it zombies?"

Ian shook his head. "I don't know." He must have seen the look on my face because he continued. "People from Chicago have been showing up almost every day now. We don't have the supplies to handle any more people. So, we were ordered to turn them away - by force if we have to – but they just keep showing up. We can't keep up with it."

A clearer picture of the happenings of the outside world began to be painted in my mind. A lump of fear formed in my throat.

"They're turning hostile, aren't they?"

Ian's eyes bored into me. "Yes."

I took a deep breath. "Are we going to be able to hold them off?"

"No," he said, smiling bitterly. "I think we might be able to for another week. Two tops."

Well, shit.

I bent down and started to put the cans that had escaped back into my box, giving myself a moment to think. Evidently, leaving was the right answer given that we probably wouldn't have much of a choice soon. I knew what my next move was – to find Chris.

It was clear that Ian believed Chris was dead. I didn't know if that was true and frankly, it didn't matter. I was going to do everything I could to find him. The question was whether or not I could trust Ian.

The man was, for the most part, a stranger. I knew Chris liked him and trusted him, but I only knew him from the stories Chris told.

I can't do this alone.

"Okay," I said, picking up my box and setting it down on the couch next to Ian's. "I'm going to find Chris. I know you say he's gone, but I can't not try. I have to believe he's out there and I'm going to search until I know for sure."

For the first time, Ian looked genuinely sad. I would have even gone so far as to say he looked a little haunted. It was puzzling, but I brushed it off.

"And you're going to help me," I stated. Chris trusted him and for now that had to be enough.

Ian's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Oh, am I?"

"You need me just as much as I need you." I had no idea if that was true, but Ian didn't interrupt me, so I kept going. "The more supplies we have the better. Plus, if it's getting bad, it will help to have someone watching your back. You were going east too, right? So, if you help me find Chris, I'll help you get east."

Ian rubbed his jaw, tilting his head so his hair fell into his face. "Alright, fine. But I don't want you to get your hopes up. The area he went to is dangerous."

"I get it, but I still have to try."

"Kate, I'm serious. You need-"

"I said I get it. Why are you trying to talk me out of it?" I snapped, almost regretting asking him to come along.

"I'm not. I just want you to be prepared." Ian sighed. "He was my friend, too."

That was all I needed to hear. "Okay."

He smiled then, breaking the tension. "Okay. Then if we're doing this, we're going to need more people."

My face must have spoken for me because his smile got even bigger.

"It's okay," he said. "I have a couple of people in mind."

Thank goodness for that.

"Are they guards?" I asked, trying to think back and remember anyone else Chris talked about.

"One is. The other is a building guard. I should be able to talk to them in the next few days."

"Good. Good..." I trailed off. Trusting Ian would take a bit more than I'd initially expected, but I needed to be all in, and having more people along didn't seem like the worst idea.

"Alright," I finally spoke up. "Then we should eat only as much as we need to stay strong right now." I walked over to the boxes. There was no water, no bottles. All of our water came from our plumbing. "Actually, save your cans, eat only bread if you can. Fill your bread bag with water and be careful to not break the rubber band when you close it up, we might not be able to find more."

We still needed a way to actually pack our food and other essentials. I rubbed my forehead in frustration as I remember that all bags, purses, and backpacks had been confiscated. They were being hoarded like many other goods to only be doled out as the higher-ups saw fit.

I looked around the room.

"Use your bedsheet for a bag." It was hardly convenient, but we could at least tie it up like a sack. "Put your plastic bags of water in your pillowcase and tie it to the sheet. We should have our stuff packed and ready just in case. Do you know anything about the building guards' shifts? Like, what time of day would it be best for us to leave?"

Ian looked a bit amused. "No, but I can find out."

"Okay. Then we should aim to leave next Wednesday if we can. That should give us enough time to plan and we'll be able to take even more food."

"Whatever you say, boss." He nodded.

"Don't call me that. When's the next time it's safe for us to meet?"

He smirked. "Let's plan for Sunday. I'll come here directly after my shift."

I took a deep breath. "Then I guess we have a plan."

With that, Ian walked over to his box of food and picked it up, balancing it under one arm. When he turned back to me, he seemed much more at ease, which in turn, put me at ease. I had a plan and an ally and that meant everything.

"Alright, then I'm off," he said, giving me a nod before turning for the door.

"Hey Ian," I called, effectively stopping him. "Thanks."

He gave me a stiff nod, looking somewhat uncomfortable again, and then was out my door and gone.

---

That night I didn't sleep on my couch. I went to my room and opened the top drawer of the side table next to my bed. In it sat my wedding ring. It was a simple gold band, but on the inside, it had our initials engraved in a heart. I slipped it on my ring finger. I'd lost too much weight in the last few months and so the ring no longer fit, falling off anytime I wasn't careful.

I laid back on my bed, clutching my left hand to my chest. I curled the hand into such a tight fist that I could feel the ring digging into my skin. At first, I didn't notice the tears, but once they started, I couldn't make them stop. Too much had happened too quickly and I couldn't hold it in any longer.

Thoughts of Chris consumed me. I missed him so much that I didn't know how I'd ever take another breath. Sobs ripped through me and I let them. I would have given anything to see him again, even if it was just for one last time.

I cried for our past, filled with tender moments and laughter.

I cried for our present, wishing things had been easier, wishing I had done more for him, wishing he'd hold me again.

I cried for our future, knowing that our dreams of a life together had come crashing down, with only a sliver of hope to keep me going.

The tears I'd been so desperately holding back all came pouring out. At some point, I drifted off into a fitful sleep.

---

The next day I woke up with a pounding headache and swollen eyes, but I got to work. I spent an hour laying out everything I'd need and placing them on the sheet. All of the contents from the "special" drawer in the kitchenette went in with the exception of the small screwdriver, which I'd decided was a better weapon than nothing and decided I'd carry it on me. I made sure to grab hygiene and feminine products, though the measly numbers wouldn't last more than a few months max. While I didn't have too much in the way of clothes, I still packed three outfits, all warm, in preparation for the winter months. My favorite thick, tan, suede jacket sat near the bed next to my sneakers. I planned to wear them until I could get my hands on some real winter gear.

After testing the sturdiness of the bags of water, I packed those too thinking I could refresh them later if needed. Next, I added all of the cans I was sure I wouldn't eat during the week. Last, I looked over my work projects. I had to keep doing them so as to not raise any suspicion with Malinda, but I decided that both my sewing kit and knitting needles would be coming with me.

And the red scarf.

I wanted it badly, but more importantly, I would need it to face the cold weather. I'd figure out some excuse for Malinda when the time came, but in the meanwhile, my only goal was to finish it. If I could finagle it, I also hoped I could manage to whip myself up a pair of gloves.

My wedding ring now sat securely on my thumb and Chris's watch was on my wrist. I was as close to ready as I could be. All my hopes now rested with Ian succeeding with his recruitment and all I could do was wait.

---

Friday came and went easily enough. I'd finished the scarf and took great pride in it being one of the better projects I'd done. The rest of my tasks for the week mostly consisted of tailoring jobs. A lot of it was resizing, usually taking in articles of clothing. It didn't surprise me that people were losing weight, but it did surprise me that we were being so stingy with goods that we wouldn't just simply hand out new clothing from a department store.

I had asked Chris about it once and he'd alluded to the sheer number of people who had moved into the city being the main cause. He'd told me that we were lucky to live in an apartment because houses now held two or more families depending on their size. I hadn't really thought about it much then, but now with Ian's warning about more people trying to come into the city, the stinginess made more sense.

By midday Saturday, I had made huge progress in getting my work done and was feeling confident that I'd have enough time to start organizing some scraps to make gloves. My thoughts frequently drifted between Chris and my family back east.

Chris and I had been together for three years and had moved out west shortly after we'd gotten married last year. It had been hard leaving my mom and sister behind, especially because it was just them. My dad had died when I was little and it had made us that much closer. As soon as I found Chris, I needed to continue my search for them.

They're okay. They have to be.

I was focused on reattaching a button when the lamp next to me suddenly turned off. I turned the knob on and off to no avail.

Freaking lightbulb.

It was always a pain in that ass to put in an order for an item considered essential. It would have to go through all of the proper channels and that process usually took five to ten days. I got up and went to the bedroom, planning to steal the lightbulb from the lamp on the nightstand, but then I paused.

Reluctantly, I reached out and tried turning the lamp on.

No.

The power had gone out.

And it didn't turn back on.

My mind went into overdrive. I ran around the apartment gathering up every extra thing I thought I could possibly pack. After adding everything from my sewing kit to toilet paper, I changed into my long-sleeved navy shirt, jacket, jeans, and sneakers. It was hardly enough to face the winter weather in Milwaukee, but the scarf would help a bit.

I redid my hair, putting it up in a ponytail. For the final touches, I put the screwdriver in my jacket pocket and then tied up the sheet filled with all of my goods and wore it like a makeshift rucksack with the pillowcase and the bags of water tied to it. For the next twenty minutes, I paced the length of my apartment, unsure of what to do.

Attempting to keep myself busy, I started to test out a few different ways of carrying the sheet. I ended up deciding on taking the bottom sheet off of my bed and using it as a swaddle, holding the rucksack and pillowcase together on my back and tying the ends of the sheet across my front. It wasn't comfortable, but it left my hands free.

Which I will probably need.

There was nothing left for me to do but wait for Ian to get home from his shift. As the hours passed and the light faded, it felt like simply waiting was its own undertaking. The temperature in the room was slowly but steadily dropping, acting as a constant reminder that the power was gone.

I sat on the couch with my stuff next to me, jiggling my leg as I watched the time. I played with my wedding band, spinning it on my thumb to remind myself to keep my nerves down. The small comfort helped me somewhat when I heard the first of the doors open.

Doors should never open. Not in the afternoons. Not today.

I moved closer to my door to listen and could barely make out the sounds of frantic whispers. They drew closer to my end of the hall and their heavy footfalls indicated that it had to be more than just two people. Their voices then began to fade out and I knew they had to be going down the stairs. My heart sank as I understood.

They're fleeing.

No matter how many times I checked my watch it never seemed to get any closer to 7:30. At some point, I stopped counting by the minute and instead started measuring time by the movements. From what I could tell, three apartments on my floor were now empty, the occupants having fled. It also seemed likely that two rooms on the floors above had been abandoned because I'd heard people on the stairs, but no sound of doors. What really worried me, though, was that there didn't seem to be any building guards to stop them. It didn't seem possible, but that was what was happening.

Please hurry, Ian.

I tried not to think of what I'd have to do if I had to leave without Ian. There was still a little bit of time before his shift ended and I would give him that. After that, I would reassess.

My stomach was churning by the time the sun went down. I pulled out a slice of bread and slowly started to eat it to calm my nerves, but rather than helping, it merely added to my nausea. I was forcing down my last bite when a loud bang made me nearly jump out of my skin. Without even thinking, I tied the sheet around my body and grabbed my mini screwdriver from my pocket.

The boom came again.

And again.

I could feel my breathing becoming labored, but I tried to stay centered, focusing on the sound.

Boom.

It's nearby.

Boom.

It's in the building.

Boom.

It's getting closer.

I stood, clutching my screwdriver tightly in one hand as I tied the red scarf around my neck with the other. Between the loud sounds, I could hear yelling. My time was up, I couldn't just sit and wait any longer. Taking a deep breath, I opened my door gingerly, careful to stay quiet, and peeked out.

The hallway was dark and empty, but with the door open, I could clearly hear that the yelling was coming from the floors below. I was about to step out when a door down the hall cracked open. The frizzy-haired girl I'd seen at the food pick-up stuck her head out. When our eyes met, hers seemed to go wide as saucers. We both hesitated as if waiting to see what the other one would do. Another loud crashing sound broke the spell. I moved into the hallway at the same time she opened her door wider.

Oh, no.

I hesitated. Pressing the heel of my screwdriver-wielding hand to my forehead.

I can't leave her.

Preemptively berating myself, I waved her over. I hadn't thought it was possible, but her eyes got even bigger. She looked at the other doors in the hall, held up her pointer finger indicating for me to wait, and ducked back into her room.

Cursing myself, I waited.

Another boom.

They have to be on the floor below now.

The yelling was easier to make out now. People were pleading. They were yelling, screaming - but the words bled together, becoming one loud hum of fear and panic.

Boom.

This is so stupid!

I jumped so hard that time that I nearly dropped my screwdriver. As I readjusted my grip, the girl reemerged from her apartment. She went to take a step out into the hall but came to a complete standstill when an extra loud crash sounded by the stairs. She then looked to me.

With my heart in my throat, I walked closer to the stairs. I urgently waved her over and, only after a small pause, she joined me. I didn't wait to see if she'd follow. The sounds were too close.

I took the stairs, going up them as quickly and quietly as I could, squinting to see in the dim light. Too soon were we on the fifth floor. The girl stood directly behind me. As I got my bearings, I glanced over at her. Her frizzy hair had been pulled into a low ponytail. She had on a black hoody and jeans. It might have been the darkness of her hoody in the unlit hallway, but it took me a second to process that she had a black backpack strung over one shoulder.

How the hell did she get that?

Shaking it off, I made a mental note to ask her about that later, but first, I had to get us somewhere less exposed.

Boom.

Okay, think.

I looked around the hall and it was almost identical to ours.

Think, think, think.

"Um," the girl whispered. She pointed to the nearest apartment and I shook my head. There was no way to tell if they were empty and the last thing we needed was to get trapped in a small space when whoever was coming arrived. And they would arrive.

Then it clicked. It was either brilliant or stupid, but it was worth a shot. Racing down the hall, I found myself in front of the elevator doors. I tucked my screwdriver into my jacket pocket and started to pull on one side of the doors. Nothing happened.

"A little help?" I hissed. Her mouth dropped into a perfect "o," but she went to the other side and began to pull her door. At first, I was sure we wouldn't be able to get them to budge, but then with a light pop, they separated. It was only an inch, but it was enough for us to gain the leverage we needed. When they were open enough to squeeze through, I indicated for her to stop. Looking past the doors, it was clear that the elevator wasn't on our floor. We were greeted with a yawning black abyss that lovingly held a freefall if we weren't careful.

Great.

"Have any batteries?" I whispered. The girl shook her head, but I'd already known it was a long shot. My useless flashlight would have to wait for another time.

Clinging to one door, I leaned into the elevator shaft and looked down. I instantly regretted it. The elevator had to be on the first or second floor. Taking a deep breath, I tried to come up with better options.

"Is there a door to the roof?" I asked. The girl perked up and scurried down the hall, going door to door. Near the far end of the hall, she paused, waving me over. Letting out a puff of air, I ran to her.

This can't be happening.

There was a thick chain and padlock holding the door shut. Though it was hard to see clearly in the dark hallway, it was clear that my screwdriver would be no match. The noise was getting louder again. Whatever was happening had to now be on the third floor at least. A part of me wondered what would become of my apartment, but I brushed that thought off. There were no other options. We had to go back to the elevators.

I tugged the girl's sleeve and we went back. I stuck my head into the shaft, giving my eyes a few seconds to adjust. There was a tiny ledge, no more than six inches wide, a step below where the doors opened. On the right and left of the elevator shaft, large wires lined the walls. Even better, there seemed to be rungs bolted to the wall around the largest cable. I realized then that we might just have a chance.

"Okay, here's what we're going to do," I whispered, turning to the girl. "The elevator cables are attached to the walls. We're going to climb down on the right side. There seem to be rungs about every two feet, so just take it slow and follow me."

The girl swallowed and I took that as assent. I shook out my hands and wiped my sweaty palms on my jeans as I turned back to the elevator.

"Um," the girl's voice came from over my shoulder. "I'm Abby. Thanks for this."

I looked over my shoulder and gave her the most reassuring smile I could. "Kate. And you're welcome. We've got this."

I had no idea if that was true, but she smiled back at me and that was enough. Looking back to the elevator, I let out a puff of breath and put one foot out on the ledge, then the other. There was almost no room to maneuver. I stood on my tiptoes and clung to the door for as long as I could, taking baby steps to the right. When I couldn't hold the door anymore, I dug my nails into the concrete around it, desperately trying to center my balance.

When my palm finally touched the right wall, I was shaking so badly that my teeth were clattering together. The cable I needed to grab was within arm's reach, but I took a second to wipe my palms again, one by one, on my jeans. Only when I was confident my hands were dry enough to get a grip did I reach out and grab a hold of the cable.

"Hurry." The urgency in her voice terrified me, speeding up my movements.

With one hand firmly on the cable, I twisted my body until I could grab it with the other. My feet were next. I let my weight shift to my arms and my stomach swooped at the sensation. One foot at a time, I got my toes on the thin edge of a small metal rung.

Working my arms down to chest level, I let one leg drop off the rung and blindly felt with my toes for the next rung down. It took a few seconds, but I managed to find it and lower my feet onto its edge.

"I've got it," I whispered up the shaft to the silhouette above. "Come on."

I looked back down, putting all of my energy into the painfully slow task of lowering myself rung by rung into the darkness. I could hear Abby moving above me, but rather than looking up and checking on her, I made myself keep to task to stay out of her way.

As I got to the fourth floor. I could hear men yelling just beyond the doors. Their voices were muffled, but loud enough for me to hear two words.

... kneel... die.

The message was clear enough. We couldn't get caught.

A loud boom sounded right by the elevator door, causing me to lose my footing. I gasped, swallowing my scream down as I clung with a death grip to the cable. The heavy sheet on my back swung precariously, thudding hard against me when I finally got my balance restored. Carefully, I got my feet back on the rung. I squeezed my eyes shut, giving myself a small moment of respite before continuing on with my descent.

It was then that I finally figured out what the sounds were. Apartment doors were being broken down. People's screams would come next, followed by a yelling of demands. It was enough to get me to steady my movements. There was still a tiny bit of dim light inside the shaft, but that was only because we'd had to leave the elevator doors cracked open on the fifth floor. Once the people doing this got there, it was only a matter of time before they looked inside and spotted us.

I went faster. Clearing my mind of everything except my body movements. I was panting, actively ignoring the strain in my arms and legs when my right foot touched what felt like solid ground. I looked down and could barely make out the outline of the top of the elevator.

Lowering my feet down, I dropped onto the top of the elevator. I nearly keeled sideways on my unsteady legs but caught myself on the concrete wall. Abby's movements were still sounding above me, so I got down onto my hands and knees to search for any potential opening. Abby landed next to me before I had the chance to find it.

"Opening," I said, though it came out so quietly I wasn't sure she could hear me. Even still, she must have caught on to what I was doing because she moved to the other side of the elevator and dropped down.

"Here!" Her voice, barely above a whisper, still seemed to bounce around the space. A sharp creek followed and I knew she'd managed to get whatever panel she'd found open. She disappeared into it and I quickly followed.

My feet took the brunt of the impact, but it still sent me to my hands and knees in a bruising fashion. My sheet full of cans and items twisted away from my back and slammed into my side, knocking against my ribs. I gritted my teeth from the pain.

"Keep moving!" I hissed, getting to my feet.

We had to be on the first floor. We could try and hide out inside the elevator, but with the fifth-floor elevator doors left open, there was a strong probability that the invaders would want to check the elevator. We could only pray that the majority of those people were still on the top floors.

I staggered onto my feet and felt in the darkness for the doors. This time, there would be two sets. With how badly my hands were trembling, it seemed like an impossible task, but as soon as my fingers found the slight dip that indicated the doors, my energy was renewed.

"Feel here." I reached blindly until I grasped Abby's arm, then tugged her towards me, guiding her hand to feel the door. In silence, we began to pull. To my surprise, the doors almost glided open.

Thank you, cheap apartment.

With one set down and one to go, I checked that my screwdriver was still in my pocket. We readied ourselves to start pulling when voices sounded on the other side.

"There's no chance. We can't."

"He's right. It's too late. We've got to go."

The two voices sounded anxious, obviously pleading with someone. The third voice answered in a deep familiar tone. "No. Not yet."

No way.

"We can climb up." The deep voice continued, sounding frustrated. "They might not have made it to the top floors yet."

Abby had gone still next to me, but I made her jump when I slammed my fist on the elevator door.

"What the hell was that," one of the voices said, sounding spooked.

I called out as loudly as I dared to the person who had managed to surprise me yet again.

"Ian!"