According to Joanna, it is Saturday. Which means she also had reminded me of the archery lessons this morning.

And NO!--I did not forget that I had to teach today! I just...thought it was Tuesday.

Well, Joanna woke me up today already fully dressed, thinking I'd wake up at some point.

And I didn't.

So she finally woke me up when I had about three minutes to get ready.

Great, it's like my mom on schooldays when I didn't have my alarm set pre-apocalypse.

I find jeans, a blue flannel (it is wrinkled-looking, but screw it, beggars can't be choosers), and my hiking boots. Oh, and I also find my knife sheath and attach it to my waistband. I don't have a gun unless I have an outside expedition or am on wall-duty (which I am not assigned to because there is now a full staff).

I grab my new, perfectly weighted bow, knowing there will be arrows at the lessons.

I book it to the courtyard where lessons take place.

--------

When I exit the annex (from library to average-sized high school that goes through our walled-in courtyard) through a makeshift door, the conveniently-named man, Hunter, has already gotten everyone started.

Everyone is shooting and getting their arrows somewhat on their targets. Hunter nods to me and I smile sheepishly. Sorry for being late.

"Nice of you to finally join us," Nat's friend calls out. And I roll my eyes. I still don't know what his name is.

Nat turns around, looks at me unreadably, then turns back to his target.

I walk up to the bow rack and lay my hunting bow against it, ready to do the check-up rounds.

Aviva is excelling greatly. And so is Nat! He's really channeling his focus into his archery.

I stop at Aviva. "Hey, nice job." She not missed much (only once an arrow went errant) or placed an arrow in the white or black sections. "Isn't this your second lesson?"

"Well, I practice outside of this class." Aviva shrugs, not shooting until her sentence is finished. She prolongs her stance and the arrow is lodged into the red section on the lower part of the target. "I should've aimed higher..." She mumbles.

A corner of my mouth turns up lopsidedly. "Hey, you really did your homework."

"Books. I read a lot of them. And I learn from them." She explains and I slowly nod, impressed. I'd find it hard to study archery instead of learning it through pure practice and lessons.

"Nice. I like your hair today, too." I say before moving to go to the next person down the line--Joanna.

"Thanks, Edith got bored this morning." Aviva says. "I wouldn't have let her touch my hair if it weren't for that analyzation you gave me." She smiles weakly. Her hair is in a knot in the back of her heat. It's neatly twisted, purposefully not including some stray tendrils of brown hair. I'm impressed with Edith. If I cared for vanity, I'd actually have her make do with my chopped-off hair.

I see Joanna doing well as well (see what I did there? No, well...that's okay...). She overheard Aviva's suggestions, and she aims higher now and hits her target every time. One or two had landed in the white section, however, it is way better than nothing.

"Nice, Jo!" I comment as she hits her second Bulls-eye. These students really have been going behind my back to practice secretly together...Nat probably told them about cake (probably not...)

Cara is not doing so well though. Neither is Matthew. Cara has more arrows on the ground than on her target. And Matthew is hitting the targets' outskirts. He got a lucky arrow in the yellow-ring.

I lecture them both on keeping still and holding the bow up until you hear the thwamp of the arrow or see it land.

"There's no rush." I had told them. "Take your time. Get it right slowly first and then you can speed it up."

"Watch your elbow." I told Matthew. His stance isn't looking so good. His elbow is angled so upward his ear is dwarfed in altitude.

Then I get to Nat, and I see immediately that he has improved since the weekday lessons. "Wow, Nat, you are doing awesome." I tell him. And he nods, his eyes on the arrow he brings over his bow to his strong side. He pulls it back with three finger, folding back his pinkie finger and thumb. He shoots. The arrow hits the red-ring.

"Are you okay? Did Aviva's old attitude transfer to you?" I ask him, concerned. Maybe I shouldn't have added that last part...Darn my lacking filter.

"You didn't help Aviva very much." He stops shooting, lowers his bow. He turns to face me. "Should I start to shoot faster?"

"Sure, be efficient by keeping the proper form." I answer, sighing heavily. "What do you mean I didn't help her restore herself?"

"She still lacks soul." Nat mumbles. He turns back to the target, his side facing it. "You wouldn't know. She's good at psychology and uses that to act. She has strategies for everything."

I shake my head. "I think you are overthinking things."

"You don't know her. You don't know who she was before compared to now." Nat says. "She had always been intelligent, sure, and strategic. She always self-analyzes herself too--to make sure she's a decent person.

"And I want to believe she is decent--because she is, but she is losing her human self." Nat bites his lip.

I cross my arms. "Sounds like you are pouting because you both aren't dating."

Nat looks absolutely appalled. "What? No!"

I shake my head, smirking. "Just kidding."

"I just want my best friend back. You should know that more than anyone else here." A pang of guilt rises through my body. "Your entire group--your apocalypse family--is split up. Aviva and I can see that you obviously miss them with heart-wrenching passion, no matter how much you think ignoring the pursuit of search is going to cure the longing." Nat rants, keeping his voice soft. I stare at him, wide-eyed. "Sorry, I'm not usually like this."

"No, I get it." I say. Because I do. And I may not self-analyze, but it is always fine for others to do that for me.

"But what do I do?"

"It's fine. I'll try talking to her later." Nat smiles self-consciously at me and I nod.

"Okay, good luck Nat. You're a good friend." A mutter as I walk past.

That escalated quickly and de-escalated just as fast. I need a slow-down.

I walk over to Nat's friend, whose name escapes me. Frustrated and exasperated, I decide to stop beating around the bush. I just don't have to mental energy for stealthily navigating a conversation.

"What is your name, anyway?" I bluntly say. He turns his head to me. "Sorry, I just don't know your name." I clarify half-heartedly.

"My name is Darrion, you know, Everett's brother." He says, like it's obvious.

"Oh, okay."

He shoots and the arrow doesn't make it halfway to the target.

"You need to aim higher and pull the string back farther."

"Yeah, I know." He says curtly. And he does just what I said and hits the white section.

Ookay.

-------

I didn't like Darrion's attitude. Give me Aviva's soulless gimmick any day in return for not dealing with that guy anymore. I'm pretty sure Nat isn't really friends with him. Nat's too nice.

For the rest of the day I practice my own archery. I haven't felt a bowstring since before I got sick. It's familiar and reassuring. Before I know it, the night is on the precipice of complete darkness.

I stop shooting. I haven't felt lost in time in a long while. It's refreshing--to not worry so much. To have your work load be something you love (plus scavenging).

I gather up the arrows. Some arrows had fallen off of the crappy targets, and most I had to use all of my strength to pull out of the target. I put my own arrows back into my sheath and sling the sheath across my back and over my head to wear.

I start walking back to my room.

-----

Aviva is babysitting for someone. Nat doesn't know who, but knows the eight-year-old child is Sarra Atlisen. He babysat her with Aviva once.

Sarra is painting Aviva's nails a light blue. Nat is pretty sure Aviva is forced to do this against her will. She's never one for looks. She especially doesn't like nail-painting.

Nat's head is shyly down. He is anxious because he feels it's like meeting a new person entirely.

No, he thinks. Still the same old Aviva.

He walks through the door's threshold. "Hey, Aviva," he smiles a little. Aviva smiles the same way.

"Hey. Ember talked to me on your behalf." Sarra curiously and scornfully looks at Nat.

"My sister doesn't like Nathaniel Patrick Rivers."

"How do you know my full name?" Nat asks the child, perplexed.

Aviva smirks. "Her sister, Erin, usually is the one to document newcomers." Nat frowned, unnerved that someone knows his middle name.

Nat is sort of the annoying person. His intellect and theory-sharing traits is the reason, but it's what made Aviva and Nat friends in the first place. Nat and Aviva would go climb the tree that grew through the roof of the barn in his neighbor's yard before the apocalypse happened.

"So, you are back to normal?" Nat questions Aviva as he sits down next to her, crossing his legs.

"I'm not going to be totally back to normal, Nat. Not ever as long as the dead walk the Earth." Aviva concludes. "I adapted to this world. I've become my own genius--"

"Not a very humble one." Nat interrupts and Aviva rolls her eyes and bumps into him, smiling.

"Avie, don't move!" Sarra whines as the nail brush paints the side of her pinkie instead of its nail.

"It's okay, pinkies are worthless fingers anyway." Aviva assures Sarra. Sarra purses her lips.

"One time, I broke my middle finger before a trip to Seattle." Sarra tells Nat and Aviva. Nat and Aviva share a glance. Nat shrugs self-consciously. Maybe intruding on her babysitting job for some scavenger wasn't the best idea.

"Well, wait. When I played with weights I crushed my middle finger's fingertip. The doctors had to remove the fingernail and stitch my skin up. I was put on a loopy thing or something. I said 'I wonder what it's like in macaroni and cheese land.'"

Nat and Aviva exchange a quizzical look. What is this kid talking about?

They let her finish her story. At its end, Aviva's nails on her right hand were done. Aviva didn't let her paint her left hand though.

"But I have to!" Sarra pouts. "It's not right."

"Then paint Nat's nails." Aviva says and Nat looks at her, bewildered.

"No." Sarra says.

"Okay, thank you." Nat smiles. Aviva smirks.

"What were we talking about?" Aviva asks Nat.

"You being your own 'genius.'" Nat reminds her. Sarra becomes bored and looks for a piece of paper to draw on.

"Oh, yeah," Aviva says, a hint of laughter in her voice, "and by that I mean I took the apocalypse too seriously and I sort of built shields around myself."

"Yeah," Nat agrees.

Aviva looks down, then meets his eyes. "I'm sorry, for being emotionless. I thought that in order to strategize things for the Legion I had to keep emotions out of it."

"It's okay, Aviva." Nat says. "I'm just glad to have my friend back."

-------

I walk into the bedroom and place my bow and arrows on the desk with the swivel chair. Joanna isn't here yet. She's on courtyard wall watch.

I undo the French braid on the one side of my head. Edith found me instead of me finding her about how to pull back short hair to keep it out of my face. My ashen blond hair looks unsymmetrical in the mirror that is in a picture frame stand on the desk. One side is wavy and the other somewhat straight. I change into a skin-tight blue graphic-tee with an elaborate white sun and navigation symbols plastered on the front. It's pretty cool-looking--I'm glad I raided a shopping mall during a scavenge this week.

Footsteps stampede outside my door and alarmed, panicked yelling shortly follows the sound.

"To Library wing, put the building on lockdown!" A man tells distantly. I rush to my door, twist the doorknob, and throw the door open.

Armed Legion fighters rush down the hall, towards the Library section. At frightening speed they sprint; the yelling grows intelligible as the sound of boots drowns the voices out. The Legionaries blur past me. I grab one's arm.

I pull him aside by his bicep. He looks about seventeen but isn't as strong as me, for he seems lanky and skinny. He stutters, bewildered. "What the Hell is happening?" I yell over the chaos.

"Idon'texactlyknow," he spews out the words swiftly, the syllables jumble together. He inhales a deep breath and releases it--calmer. "From what I heard so far, I think someone in the Commanding Family has been assassinated..."

"Commanding Family?"

"Yeah, like the Mercers. Our Leader Ethan Mercer, Kyler, Edith, Aviva—" I shove him into the hall, now empty save for a few straggling Legion soldiers comforting and reassuring confused Legion citizens who have been drawn out of their rooms by the noise.

"Go! GO!" My scream is full of desperation and urgency; my voice cracking and my throat feeling gritty and scratchy.

I sprint down the hall, my knife in my waistband sheath feeling heavy as it bumps against my hip with each brisk step.

As I near the "Commanding Family" quarters, I hear their Border Collie barking wildly and whimpering.

My hand is instinctively on my knife's handle, two Legionaries guard the door of a quarter. I relax my hand and try to retake control of my hyperventilating breathes.

I approach them, but other guards step in front of me. "Who died? What's going on?" I demand, my eyes narrowing.

A woman guard exchanges a hesitant look with Her male comrade. "Ethan Mercer." She says quietly. "His throat was slit.

And Aviva and Kyler Mercer are nowhere to be seen."

Sorry if this was extra long—tell me if I should divide it into a separate chapter.

Oh, yeah. Thoughts?

Theories?

It's going to get crazier soon.

-Katie

Zaremareth