"We can get to my boat," said Bobby one night. Everyone was already asleep except for him, Joe, Miguel, and I. "Take the children. The others. We can make it."

"You own a boat?" Miguel asked.

"It's not that big. But I have one."

"Since when?"

"Not the point," Joe interjected. "Is that true?"

Bobby rolled his eyes. "Yes, damn it. I have a boat. It's docked near Pier 62. A forty-footer."

Miguel scoffed. "That's all those Rolex, Gucci-ass motherfuckers' nest."

Bobby shrugged. "It's overrated."

"How far is that?" I asked.

Bobby thought for a moment, but Miguel quickly added, "twelve blocks: less than two miles."

"That's not exactly a stroll," I said.

"No. It isn't. But it's worth it. Like what Joe said, the military's shutting us off."

"They're helping everyone. They're going to," I said, though my voice cracked a little at the end.

"No offense, kid, but I don't think that's happening. Have you seen what's going on outside the past couple of days? We hardly saw any people anymore. And those things roam around freely now. I'll take my chances for the boat than stay in here like a pack of sardines waiting to be eaten."

"Do you even have the keys to this boat?" Joe asked.

Bobby turned pale, and then he shook his head. Joe sighed, adding, "Well, that's a pile of shit rain right there."

"I have the keys."

"But you just--"

"I have the keys. Well, not with mine physically. I know where we can find one."

A sudden realization dawned on me. "It's not your boat, isn't it?"

Bobby glared at me, and I could tell he was annoyed that I called him out. He turned a deep shade of red and clasped his hands close to his belly as he shook his head. But I already knew the answer.

"What of it? It belongs to my boss. But he's in Paris banging a French chick behind his wife. It's not exactly like he'd miss the thing."

"And how are we going to Paris, huh? You nut?" Miguel jeered.

"It's in his apartment! I was the one who just took it back from the shop to replace its rotors, okay? We're on 26th street. His place is only three streets up north around Chelsea. We can get the keys and then get to the boat."

"And it's as easy as that?" I said sarcastically.

"You, Miguel, and that Logan kid managed just fine out there. Why don't you do that again?"

"Bitch, we just got lucky! We almost died with those things biting our asses trying to get into this church," Miguel seethed and jumped right out of his seat. "You know what, I need some fresh air before more crazy enters my head."

I didn't say another word. I was too tired to argue. Though, a part of me believed he was right. It's been two days in the cathedral — two days of hoping for rescue. And for two days, we heard nothing.

We found a radio in one of the rooms near the chapter house, but we couldn't hear anything from the other side. I suspected they must've blocked the radio towers, or they got destroyed during the chaos.

At least the main church was safe, including the Chapter House and the cloister. We also checked the small library, and we didn't find any vectors there. The only concern we had was the Catholic school connected to the church, and the doors had remained locked since we got there for fear vectors were waiting from the other side.

"We should go check it out," said Miguel. "There might be a way for us to call the authorities. A radio."

"Radio's busted. They're blocking the signal. We can't call anyone from the outside. The internet is down, and all our phones are dead. They even took out the electricity. I don't think we're going to find anything helpful there," I said.

Miguel sighed defeatedly. But a second later, his eyes lit up with an idea. "But does food sound like a good idea?"

Miguel told us that the church held a Food Drive a month ago, and they had been feeding the homeless around the neighborhood for their soup kitchen program in the school's cafeteria. With the Food Drive ending only days ago, all their haul was still inside the kitchen storage. Intact. If we got that, it'd feed us for more than a couple of months--maybe more.

It wasn't a bad plan. No. It was perfect. Last night was the first night that most of us didn't get to eat at all. I could still hear the others' gut rumbling and groaning across the nave, and due to the cathedral architecture, it echoed loudly.

Then, my smile dropped. "But what about the children?" I asked him.

Miguel's grin dropped as well, replaced by a frown. "Oh. Shit."

I knew he remembered that boy on the street and how he dispatched his mother. What was frightening was how it commanded the other vectors to do it.

"What kind of students are in there?" I asked.

"One wing is middle school, and the other is a high school. It's a small student body."

"The outbreak started on a Saturday."

"Well, let's hope those kids weren't there."

"Unless they have Saturday detentions, band meetings, afterschool projects..."

"How about let's not think about it that much. Food takes priority."

I sighed. I didn't want to be surprised once we're behind those doors. Miguel mentioned a small student body, but he did say earlier that the school carried about a thousand students per year. I wouldn't call that a small student body.

Everyone gathered around the altar as Miguel told him of his plan to raid the school's cafeteria for food. The mention of the latter almost made everyone leap out of their chairs with excitement until Miguel dropped the bomb that half of them had to accompany him to get it. They would be out of their minds if they believed he could carry all the cans by himself. I could see the facade breaking on their faces.

Bobby wasn't one of them. He grinned with glee upon the news and hauled out the bags in front of the altar that was big enough to shove things inside them. That included the police duffel bags and some of the sacks found in the rectory.

"I think these are big enough for the two of you to carry," Bobby said, pointing at me and rest his hands on his hips as if to say mission accomplished.

I glared at him, said, "What makes you think I'm going?"

It didn't faze him. "Out of all of us, you are a much capable fighter than me. Or him."--He pointed at Miguel--"I mean, how old are you? Fifteen?" He laughed. He was the only one laughing.

"Seventeen."

"Right. Right. Well, these are strange times, and we owe our lives to the skills of a teenager--no less--to help us against what the fuck is out there. The way I see it, Miguel will have a better chance of getting food back in here with your guns."

My mouth hung open for a second, but then I closed it. The guy had the nerve to volunteer me without my say and even dared to insult me. I caught the way his eyes flicked at me judgingly when he mentioned my age; disappointment gleamed on his irises. It didn't help that I was smaller than him in stature, which juxtaposed both of us when standing side by side, and drove home his plan for everyone. I already saw some of them nodding in agreement.

"Besides, you've killed one of those things," he added.

And I wasn't the only one. But who's counting? I was annoyed that at the moment like this, when we need food the most, we had a dick measuring contest. Bobby still wore his gray jacket, though he showed the tattered matching gray suit and red tie underneath that screamed Wall Street. I saw right through what he was asking. He wanted to stay within the safe walls than stalk the school halls for food. I am not going to bite.

I turned to Miguel, asked, "How many boxes do we have to sift through?"

"A lot."

"Hm. It seems like we need more people than two," I said, turning my gaze back to Bobby. "We need more than two."

"I'm not coming with!"

"It'll save us time going back and forth, dragging those boxes in here. Might as well sweep them in one go," said Miguel.

"But those things might be in there!" Bobby exclaimed.

I walked toward him and gave him a knife. "Safety in numbers, right?"

He quietly growled at me between his snarl, and I thought he was going to jump on me right then and there. But that didn't happen. He shivered as he grabbed the knife out of my grip and held it tightly as his life depended on it. Bobby walked away in a huff, throwing curses under his breath. I shook my head, knowing he could handle himself just fine. Bobby's not too old. Mid-thirties at best. He'll be fine, I told myself.

I sauntered back to Miguel and asked anyone else to volunteer, stressing the fact that we needed as many people as we could get. Luke volunteered, of course, and still hadn't let go of what we talked about yesterday, and naturally, Yousef joined in with him.

Jonas, the bookstore employee, weakly raised his hand, and once I called for him to move forward, he flinched as if my voice burned him. Miguel handed him a knife, though it seemed he didn't know what to do with it.

Maybe I shouldn't give him a gun, for now, I noted.

I landed my gaze on Aria way at the back. She lowered her head. I knew the cue. She didn't want to go. Carson's death hit her harder than the rest of us. I suspected she must have deep feelings for him. She never admitted it. She hasn't talked to Natalie, either, which was highly unusual for her since I considered her Natalie's shadow. I ignored her for now, making a mental note to talk to her later.

Margot joined in, surprisingly. She noted that we also needed medical supplies. If we could get to the school nurse's office, we might find valuable medicine if anyone of us got sick or worse. Margot was still busy combing through the last haul from the pharmacy, but more medicine was better than nothing at all. Felipe joined in with her. She protested for a second, but something in Felipe's eyes made her silent. Margot smiled, and she gave Felipe a quick kiss on the cheek and a reassuring squeeze on his biceps.

"Tout ira bien, ma belle," said Felipe. I hardly speak French aside from doing poorly in school at it, but I recognized the phrase. All will be well, beautiful.

They gathered around the altar as they picked up the weapons I laid out earlier in the day.

At the corner of my eyes, I saw Logan shuffled up the altar, but Natalie grabbed his arm and spun him around, hissing, "What the heck are you doing? You're not thinking of going with them, are you?"

"What do you think, Nat? They need me," Logan said.

"I need you here!"

I shouldn't eavesdrop on them like this, but I was the closest out of the others. I tried my hardest to move toward the altar table and picked up my stuff, but gravity rooted me on the marble floor.

"Let's be real here. We need that food. Plus, I know how to handle them already."

"No, you don't! You almost got killed the last time!"

"I don't have time for this!" Logan raised his hands and whirled around toward the altar.

"No, we are talking about this Logan Hardy! And don't turn your back at me!"

"Now's not the time, Nat. Do you want us to go hungry?"

"Send Bren. He can handle himself. Besides, if he got killed, who cares anyway? Like nobody's going to miss him," said Natalie, rolling her eyes.

My heart sank a little. I moved toward one of the pews where I last laid my vest on and started fiddling on that. From the corner of my eyes, I saw Logan snapped his eyes at me for a brief moment, filled with annoyance and disgust.

"People died, Nat. Mr. Ramirez. Carson. You shouldn't say things like that."

"They died because they're stupid."

It was as if something popped. It was as if seeing a thin rope dangling at the ceiling, carrying this giant piano snapped, and the entire thing fell on the floor with a loud crash. Logan snarled and took a step toward Nat, but he held it back before he could do anything more serious. Natalie flinched, but once she knew Logan wasn't going to do anything, her calm facade came back.

"Carson ain't stupid," Logan said. "He's my best friend. He might act dumb than most, but I know he ain't like that."

Natalie crossed her arms and scoffed. "You need to get over it, Logan. You and Aria. You both need to get past this. Hell, I did. Carson is dead! So, move on! There's nothing we can do about it. It's kill or be killed. You need to start thinking for yourself! If you go on this stupid mission, you are as good as dead."

Logan blinked at her for a few seconds, bewildered. Then, he started to chuckle. "If I were in your shoes back there on the bookstore, would you have left me?"

Natalie didn't say anything, but her eyes threw daggers at him.

Logan's shoulders dropped. "Ah. You know, Nat, to tell you the truth, I thought of leaving you there. The others wanted to go. But not Bren. I guess his stupidity coming after all of you put you here. It saved your ass. And if you think this mission is stupid...fuck, it might save our asses, too."

Logan whirled around and sauntered toward the altar, grabbing his rifle on the table. Not wanting to be left out with the last word, Natalie chimed, "Well, better get me the good stuff!"

I finished putting the vest on, and I turned around to face her, said, "We're not really sure what we're gonna get in there. It's a Food Drive. They don't come with labels like organic or vegan. We'll take what we can get."

"I have dietary restrictions. I can't eat chocolate, and I can't have gluten," said Natalie, looking down on me as if I should know it by now.

However, she certainly enjoyed that Kit-Kat she had last night. But I didn't say that out loud. "Noted," I said, giving her a mocking salute as I marched toward the altar and grabbed my shotgun.

"Why don't you come with us, Nat?" Yousef asked once he grabbed his weapon, a trusty broomstick that had been fashioned with a pointy end--A makeshift spear.

Natalie's mouth hung open in shock. "I can't go! I'm a woman!"

Yousef shrugged. "Margot's going and she ain't complaining. In fact, she volunteered."

"Aria might," she said meekly.

Yousef glanced at Aria, who still sulked at the back of the church. "Do you really think she's up to that? I mean, have you seen her?"

"If she doesn't want to go, she doesn't have to go," I said tiredly, stalking toward the door connected to the school.

Then, Natalie huffed, stomped her feet, and marched toward the altar, grumbling harshly between gritted teeth, "Fine. I'll do it. There. Everyone happy?"

Logan sidled next to her. "Don't worry. We need all the hands we can get. I'll protect you."

"Yeah? You just want to see me get hurt, don't you?"

"Babe. Don't be like that," Logan hushed.

And that was my cue to leave. I reached the door, and Luke, Joe, and Miguel were already there. Joe was staying back to protect the kids and kept the doors locked until we're done.

"Knock three times. That way, I know it's you," said Joe. "Who knows? It might not be one of us."

I nodded. I had no idea if infected kids like the one we saw on the street were smart enough to trick Joe into opening the door. We're not going to take any chances.

Finally, the others gathered around the door. A soft panic grew and faded on their faces, all taking deep breaths to hold down the fear bubbling up their gut. Everything hinged on what we do in there. If we failed, well, we're totally screwed. It was our only chance to get the food.

Miguel got the keys out and put them on the padlock, turning it to the side and made a very ominous click.

One less barrier down for those freaks.

Please let there be no crazies. Please. Please. Please. I remembered repeating it all over my head as I gripped the handle of the door. I looked at the others one last time to make sure they're all ready. They were staring back at me.

They wanted me to go first. Why did I have to go first? Crap. There's no time to hesitate now.

I took a deep breath and opened the door. One by one, we streamed out of the church and into a narrow hall. White walls with a few pictures of the staff hanging to our left. The other side was all windows with a full view of the burning streets outside. Down the narrow hall, there were no vectors.

"Good luck," Joe said behind us as he closed the door.

There was no turning back now. "Follow close behind me," I said. I cocked my head to Miguel, and he got the signal and sidled next to me. "Show the way."

The narrow hall gave way to the school's open foyer. Double doors led to the outside were tightly shut to our right. Large stairs led to the second floor on our left. In the middle was a reception-type round desk and half a dozen black and yellow couches hugged the side of the space. A crystal chandelier hung on the ceiling by at least three stories.

"What wing is this?" I asked Miguel.

"South. North's a bit smaller. That's where the cafeteria is."

"Okay. Let's move."

As we made our first step toward the door that led to the northern wing, a tiny shriek emanated throughout the space, rooting us down the ground--frozen.

It was loud.

And close.

And it was coming from everywhere.