I sat up slowly on the hard mattress and stretched my arms up, cracking my back. It appeared that I was alone, but in my grogginess I was unsure. I slowed scanned the room with my eyes, looking over everything. I looked at the wallpaper that was slowly starting to peel from the walls after a pipe had broken just above the one wall. There were a few faded posters left, clinging to the walls with the little effort they could muster. There wasn't much else left aside from a few misconstrued books, the room most likely having been picked clean by whoever had first lived here.

Blake was not in the room. I rolled off the mattress onto the ground, pushed myself up off the ground and sighed. I sauntered over to a book that lay open in the corner of the room, the pages face down on the floor. I leaned over and picked it up, the thin papers having turned yellow from age and light exposure. It had apparent water damage, the one page crumbling under my touch. The words were in a different language, possibly French, which gave me the impression that this was once Ms. Rupert's class. She had a thing for languages such as Italian, Greek, and French. I placed it back down on the ground, closing it, then went over to the door.

I decided to go look for Blake, leaving the old classroom and entering the dimly lit hallway. It was oddly quiet for a place with people, my footsteps echoing down the hall. It reminded me of my old high school, except there was less broken glass and dust. Hopefully, though, there were no unwanted dead hiding around the next corner. As I approached it, out of instinct, I went for my knife as I walked past. There was nothing there, my instincts wrong. Something was off, they were never wrong. I guess it was just my overactive imagination instead of my gut. Oh well, I thought, closing my eyes for a few seconds. I sheathed my knife back into my boot and continued through the hall I was in.

It seemed the hall had been cleaned, any sign of dirt swept away. I passed by what I remembered as the old principles office, when the flood gates to my memories opened. It was like I was having an out of body experience, watching Taylor's and I's younger selves.

There we were, right in front of me. Little Taylor and I had been running through the hallways to avoid the teachers. She was wearing a pair light blue overalls and a bright neon pink shirt. Her hair had been up in a ponytail, clean and nicely cut. I was running right beside her, wearing a yellow sun dress and some white legging. I wasn't wearing shoes, because I used to hate them with a burning passion. My father was always mad because my once white socks would be a pale brown by the time I got home from school.  My hair was in pig tails, two little yellow bows holding them together. Our hands were locked together, as Taylor yanked me forwards and into our favorite hiding place.

We had been the troublesome kids teachers feared they would have to teach in the next coming years. This memory was from grade two, and by that time, Taylor and I were inseparable. Our mischievousness didn't stop after grade four like it did with other kids. It kept on growing wilder with the passing years. I believed it had stopped as the apocalypse started, but one could never be too sure.

Coming back to reality, I saw a light flicker from the corner of my eye. I noticed that there were candles that had been placed approximately every 5 meters, lit up and shining like a glowing path to the treasure at the end of a metaphorical tunnel. I wondered how they were lit, if it had been by a lighter or a match. I then remembered how Taylor carried a flint and steel and smiled. I followed the candles and began to hear many different voice, then started to wonder just how many people were staying here in the school.

"Blake, this is Kathy, Marshal and Bishop." Taylor said from around the corner. This hallway led to the old gym where I always hated being as a child because I wasn't an active kid. It wasn't that I didn't like running around and playing, it was more so the organized sports that got to me. I hated anything and everything to do with rules. I "accidentally" threw a football at my teacher in grade 7 because I "couldn't throw straight". I proved my point, and landed myself in detention for a week.

To my surprise, there were a few things that I didn't expect in a gym. The gym had been turned into a camp ground. Tents had been set up around the gym, and there were a lot more people than I had seen in a very long time. Some people sat in circles chatting away, and others traded stuff for their own goods. Others were sitting with pails full of water and plastic bags full of salt and other things, purifying it for drinking water. There was one tent at the far end where woman were seemingly selling their bodies to anyone who would give them something useful.

Blake turned and saw me standing near the entrance, his lips curling into a slight smile at the sight of me. He motioned for me to come over to Taylor and him. They were standing over three people who were sitting on the ground in front of them. I made my way over to them, glancing around as others from the gym quieted and watched me closely.

It was if I had just walked onto a darkened stage and a spotlight was shining  directly on me. Again, my shoes echoed off the walls as the silence allowed it. It was only when Taylor glared around that the silence disappeared and went back to the quiet chatter.

"Lisa, nice of you to finally wake up. You were always one to sleep in through breakfast." Taylor said, smiling. Today, she was wearing a dark pair of khakis and dark green crop top, her artillery on full display for anyone who wanted to see. It looked like one of my father's old utility belts that she had modified to attach her weapons. It was quite impressive. Her hair was up in a tight bun which fell slightly to the one side. I glanced over at Blake who sported a new shirt, and I wondered what he had traded for it. I stopped when I reached him and nudged his arm with my own.

"Rain, we're starting to run low on food." the one who I assumed was Bishop said quietly as he showed her a count chart for what they had. He wore a light brown vest and a dirty white t-shirt under it. His brown hair fell to his shoulders and was pulled back into a low ponytail. He wore homemade jean shorts and was sitting on the ground with his hairy legs crossed. He seemed nervous as he handed Taylor the clipboard with a chart on it to check. Marshal sat there inattentive as if he did not care about the food issues. He was a little more gruff than Bishop, his face unclean and scruffy. His hair fell in uneven waves, as though he had cut it with a knife himself. His clothes were tattered and he had this constant smirk on his face.

Apparently, the trading and stuff in the tent village was either scavenged or saved from what they were given from their rations. It seemed to be that everyone who was here had a purpose or a job of sorts. Not one person seemed to be unaccounted for when it came to jobs. Cleaning, cooking, scavenging, organizing, guard duty, you name it. I glanced at the sheet in Taylor's hands and Bishop had been right; based off the count of people, there wasn't a lot of food left. That being said, who knew how accurate the sheet was.

Blake quickly caught me up on all the different things that they had set up here. Everyone got equal rations, no matter what. They had a stock count for everything, even the candles and spare wicks were accounted for.

When it all started, apparently the city had created a few different "safe zones" where people could go to wait out this virus and get the help they needed. Blake explained that this was the last place standing. Taylor and the others had searched for survivors and when they found some, they brought them back here to safety. The school yard had been challenging to set up at first, as there had been many dead in the area.

They had lost many setting up the yard and it was hard keeping the ones they had safe. But the bodies kept away the dead and that was what kept them safe, as Taylor had explained to Blake.

"Damn it. I thought you said we had enough to make it through the next week?" Taylor said as she aggressively shoved the clipboard back into Bishop's hands, anger piercing through her generally calm and collected face. Her hands clenched and unclenched as she gathered herself quickly. I don't know how she ended up in charge, but she was clearly the leader here.

"We seem to be eating more than I thought we were, plus we have a few new people to account for. We're going to have to make another-" He was saying when she narrowed her eyes at him.

"We have enough of our own food. We can look after ourselves for the next bit." Blake said and I looked up at him, then at Taylor. Judging by her face, Blake probably should have kept quiet. I glanced around at a few people who seemed to be eavesdropping on the conversation and realized why he shouldn't have said anything. We couldn't trust anyone and now we had given them a reason not to trust us.

"How much food are we talking about?" Bishop questioned as he looked at his clipboard. Before Blake could answer, I chuckled. Everyone looked at me and I shrugged.

"I have two granola bars and a can of soup. He has a bag of ramen noodles that he's been eating at for the past week. We're basically starving and barely have anything. " I said and Taylor nodded. I grabbed his hand and squeezed it as a warning. Hopefully I had just saved our asses. I was not one to share, especially when it came to my food. I was not going to be giving it up, hell to the no.

Marshal got up and walked away, Kathy going with him. She was a short and scrawny thing, and seemed to follow Marshal as though she were a lost puppy. Taylor looked down at Bishop and he winced, as though she were going to hit him.

"We can't risk it. We don't need to make a run yet. We'll just cut down." She hushed and Bishop shook his head.

"We've already cut down enough. Soon we'll have to share a granola bar between three people." He said, then shook his head again, clearing his mind. I was surprised we had more than their group at this point.

"We could make a run. Contribute to the group." I said, and Blake nudged me.

"And who do you suggest comes with you?" Taylor asked and I shrugged.

"You, Paul, Karen, Blake, Kye, Bev and I. We'd be in and out, fast. We've done it before and we can do it again," I said and Taylor shook her head, seemingly overwhelmed.

"That's too many." She said and I crossed my arms. How did she expect to feed all these people by sending any less? I grabbed the clipboard from Bishop and his eyes bulged at my action. I quickly skimmed it and pointed at the list of names on the board.

"If there is this many people still alive in this school and we're all supposed to contribute to it, then we're going to need as many hands as we can spare to carry enough supplies. We could get enough for a longer period of time so we wouldn't have to go back every three days." I said, shoving the clipboard back into Bishop's hands. She looked at me for a long time, seemingly lost in thought. She was considering what I had to say, and Bishop clearly took that as a sign that I was just as tough as her. She finally smiled and I kept a stoic face.

"Where have you been Lisa?" She said and I cracked a smile at her. She placed a hand on my shoulder and tilted her head to the side, puckering up her lips. She then smiled and straightened up as though nothing had happened.

"I can't go with you though. I need to stay here and keep this place running." She said and I nodded, Blake and I heading towards the exit of the gym to gathering the rest of our group to make a supply run.

"Be careful." she said, her voice echoing along behind us.

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