For the next three days since our little brush-in with death, there was little I could do but wait, eat, and sleep.

Our meals consisted a lot of chicken noodle soup out of the can, some dried meats, and the stew Felipe cooked that used all the expandable foods we have, all the cold meats, fruits, and vegetables in one pot for the next two days. They wouldn't last out of the freezer for too long, so we had a fantastic feast three times a day for the next three days.

I ate, slept, and waited. Occasionally, Margot would treat my wounds and put new clean bandages on them. She kept a close tab on me due to my injury, which got annoying. My sleep almost lasted twelve hours a day, and my waiting consisted of me tuning in the radio and hearing a few tidbits from the news and other radio DJs who were still trying to salvage what little airwaves they could muster away from the authorities who were blocking it. It was frustrating a few times when I couldn't get anything away from it, so I kept watch on the roof instead. The fresh air was always lovely in the body's system, except for the smell of decay and fires raging across the city.

The military was a different matter. I often hear their patrols at least a couple of blocks away. I wondered why they even bothered scouring the city if they weren't going to help us. We've been in the cathedral for days, and none of them ever bothered to check us out.

I thought that the SOS we painted might help distinguish us from the military flying above. Many helicopters were hovering over the city, a few fighter jets, and sometimes, news choppers, but none of them ever stopped to rescue us. We even wrote the days, Sunday to Saturday, each on a piece of white cloth, and we would spread it out on the roof for that given day. Anyone flying by would know that anyone inside was still alive and still sane.

Three days of arguing about everything with the others, making plans about what to do with our situation, how to get out, how to survive, only to end up back in square one. It was maddening.

Natalie and Bobby continued to be shunned by the rest of the group. I felt a little sorry for them, though my brain would remind me why. They caused Jonas's death, and I reverted to my angry self, wanting to punch Bobby all over again. He still hadn't forgiven me for what I did to him--his nose had healed---but I didn't want his forgiveness, anyway. He could go to hell for all I cared. I reminded him why I hated him with my death glares every time he appeared.

Natalie was different. She knew Logan had been sleeping inside my room. Everyone already knew that instantly when he came out it, half-dazed, and let's say, half-naked, strolling down to the ground floor for breakfast and then proceeded to tell Miguel where he slept when the other man asked.

So, in a close-knit group like this, rumors spread fast. And what Miguel interpreted that morning when I was still upstairs sleeping after four hours of watch, was that Logan and I slept together--slept as in sex.

It was far from that. What went down was probably a lot of snoring, a few farts here and there, accidental or otherwise, and then maybe waking up from a swift nightmare about vectors clamoring for your throat. But what irritated me was that Logan never even corrected Miguel about it the first chance he did.

Logan was about to, but not until Natalie decided to throw her glove in the fire, then all bets were off in Logan's eyes. Natalie was furious when she heard it. She grumbled and moaned on Margot, who got stuck as the de facto best friend's "ear" after Aria quit as her number two. I felt sorry for Margot. With Natalie at her wits end that a faggot--me--slept with her boyfriend (now an ex), Logan thought it was a hilarious punishment for her after what she did.

"And besides, I am bored," Logan explained after two days of the charade. "Now, I finally find something that made her squirm."

"You haven't before?" I asked incredulously.

"That woman is a hard soul to reach and read."

"What? She's the devil incarnate ever since freshman year. She's easy to read, and she loves torturing people, bathing in everyone's misery. How could you miss this?"

"You don't know Nat," said Logan. "She had a rough life."

"Getting Gucci, Balenciaga's, or Hermes at least once a month is not what I call a hardship."

"Her folks are getting a divorce, been separated for a few years now."

"And we're dying. So what's your point?"

Logan didn't say anything after that. Maybe I was a little harsh, perhaps it was all that painkillers Margot gave me that loosened my tongue, but I wasn't the one who decided to tease Nat about the supposed "shared night" of Logan and me.

Logan would go so far as to sit next to me when we gather for our daily meeting, sometimes when we eat over breakfast or dinner. He would joke around by putting his arm behind my back, whisper that made me lean forward to hear him clearly, and would make sure to let me know that he was ready for bed and that he'll be heading to our room.

It was clear as day what he was doing, but I didn't think Natalie realized that behind her fuming lenses. I knew I had a target on my back. I dealt with her for many years. Then again, no matter how I reminded Logan how stupid he was, I knew he still had feelings for her. They dated each other for many years. That kind of relationship wasn't hard and quick to sever. Logan denied having feelings left for Nat, yet I could still see that it was still there, even after what she did.

It was then, in the early hours of Friday, a light tap on my bedroom door roused me out of my sleep. Logan was a heavy sleeper and didn't hear it even though he was closer. I climbed out of bed, still groggy and annoyed that someone interrupted my sleep. I tiptoed across the room, making sure I didn't step on Logan by accident.

I opened the door, and Luke was on the other side.

"Yes?" I asked.

"We have a problem," he said. He took a deep breath. "It's about Nat and Bobby. They're gone."

"Gone? What do you mean gone?"

"They took off. Left. They brought most of our food and weapons with them."

It was as if everything suddenly went dark. Luke disappeared in front of me, and so did the hallway behind him. I stood there, frozen, my muscles aching from the roiling adrenaline coursing through my veins, and then all I saw was red.

Red as dark as blood as I marched across the room and grabbed my shotgun.

"What the hell are you doing?" Logan said, stirring on the floor, wiping the sleep out of his eyes as he looked up toward me. "What's happened?"

I grabbed the pair of jeans sprawled on the chair and then put on the jacket. I strapped the police vest last. It was the latter that made Logan shot out of his bedroll and scrambled to dress up. I didn't answer him.

"Bren. What are you planning to do?" Luke asked. "You don't know where they could be by now."

Logan, confused, shot me a look of bewilderment. "Who? Who?" He asked.

I turned to face Luke, frowning, and said, "I know where they're exactly going."

Luke processed this for a moment and held his tongue before asking me again what I was planning to do.

"Hunting, Luke," I said. "I'm taking back what's fucking ours."