The usual shuffles and groans roused us all from sleep.

"Who was it?" someone asked.

"Who's missing? Sound off."

No one offered a name. I cleared my throat. "Nathan?"

"I'm here."

"India?"

Someone was stating the obvious. I sighed. "Here."

"India?" the voice asked again. I recognized it as Caroline's.

"I'm still here."

"Then sound off."

I rolled my eyes, not that it could be seen well in the dark. "India Aronson."

"Nathan Boudreaux."

"Dr. Caroline Mathis."

Now others chimed in.

"Chloe Noth."

"Timothy Robichaux."

Silence.

"Kimmie? Kimmie!"

"It was Kimmie. We lost Kimmie."

Someone began to sob.

I had no idea who "Kimmie" was. She had not been part of the library staff. When the illness hit us and we were quarantined, some of us made it into the basement. The ones who made it below included some librarians, a couple of techs, and several guests, including a group of scientists who had been studying the same illness that led to our current imprisonment. Apparently it took hold sooner than they had expected.

"Keep moving," Caroline said.

"Jerome Smithson."

"Cameron Spates."

"Amelia Villere."

"Patrick Young."

The basement fell silent. That was the end of the roll, which made nine survivors left. Given the two or three weeks that had passed since the illness forced us underground, it did make sense that we had lost so many people - by my count, seven survivors had gone since we instituted our current system, and some larger number before that, before we were able to make anything resembling sense out of all the calamity.

"Nathan? Nathan, where are you?" Chloe's voice was rising to a panic. There was shuffling; she was making her way across the basement floor.

Someone else cried out, "Chloe, don't! You can't see where you're going!"

"I need Nathan!"

Something crashed. Emptiness followed.

"Chloe?" Nathan asked.

There was no answer.

Caroline said, "Chloe, did you just knock over our rations?"

"Maybe," was the meek response.

"Chloe!" the doctor snapped.

"I'm sorry!" There was more scuffling as Chloe inched back into her place.

"It's fine. I'm sure Kimmie brought us something," Nathan said. "I'll take a look at it. Until then, everyone focus on your usual tasks."

We each had a role within our little survivors' community. Some roles were more vital than others. Although the scientists had been the smallest group, they had also managed to stick around the longest, with Kimmie being their first loss. They were most familiar with the still-unnamed illness. The locals had the next best luck. Since the scientists were from out of town, they relied on us to pinpoint where the best places to look for supplies and rations.

We set about our daily tasks. The scientists had a setup that still functioned due to running on a generator powered by solar energy. I was a researcher, so my main job was to keep up with what was happening around us and in the world. It wasn't easy, and most days I went without solid proof of anything. There was always that hanging threat that the news would stop altogether one day.

"There was a massive explosion off the East Coast," I told the others a few hours into that day's research. "Apparently some country or another, every source is different, is trying to stop the illness by wiping out major cities."

"Yikes," someone, maybe Cameron or Jerome, said.

The best thing about being trapped in a basement with mostly strangers is also the worst thing: with no electricity, it's impossible to see anyone. Nathan might have been over there cheering for stuff blowing up and none of us would have known. The only regular light was what came from the screens of our few laptops. But the basement was large and included many bookcases and small rooms; we could find privacy when we wanted. I had made use of the dark and the separation myself, for comfort, to the knowledge of no one else but Nathan.

Every now and then, someone on a supply run would find matches, which we would use to light a few candles; but none of us were sure where to find matches. None of us had ever been on a supply run, as evidenced by the fact that we were still living. As yet, no one had come back from a supply run in one piece.

"I've set up a live link that might communicate with our office in Boston," Caroline announced. "If they're still operational."

"I'm glad to hear that," Nathan replied, "because I only have more bad news."

There were grumbles around the room. "Hit us with it," Cameron said.

"The granola bars that were knocked over are crushed beyond use." Nathan's tone was flat. "We're gonna have to set up another supply run tonight."

No one spoke. The only sounds for the next few hours were of pencils scratching and keyboards clacking.

We made it through the day on nothing more than water. When night fell, Caroline asked, "Does everyone have paper and pencil?" When no one replied, she said, "Good. You all know the routine."

I stopped searching for articles and closed the laptop, throwing my area into darkness. Then I waited for a bit. After some time passed, I scribbled "Chloe" onto a scrap of paper and added it to a pile at the middle of the room.

She had knocked over the rations in the first place. It only made sense that she should replace them.

A few hours later, the sound of a scuffle to my left woke me up. I heard two voices murmuring - a woman's in complaint, a man's in sterner tones. I closed my eyes and drifted off again.

Another morning came. "Roll call," Caroline said. Exhaustion laced her voice.

I opened the laptop and said nothing.

"Fine," Caroline said. "India?"

"Here," I muttered.

"Sound off, India."

The room felt more tense than usual.

"India Aronson," I said.

"Nathan Boudreaux."

"Dr. Caroline Mathis."

There was silence.

"Keep moving," Caroline said.

"Timothy Robichaux."

"Jerome Smithson."

"Cameron Spates."

"Amelia Villere."

"Patrick Young."

"So it is," Cameron said softly.

We went about our work. I searched through more propaganda and speculation until I came across something that looked real. If it was, it would have meant fresh hope for everyone. "I've found a few articles about this," I told the others, growing more excited as I spoke. "The government has been dropping MREs and some other supplies on various cities. It looks like we're on that list—for today."

"Good," Nathan said, "because Chloe did not bring us anything."

"What a surprise," Amelia muttered.

"Wait," Cameron said. "That means either... tonight's person has to collect a bunch of boxes or randomly thrown MRE packets, or someone has to go outside during the day."

"We don't know what's out there," someone said. I figured it was Jerome, who kept to himself.

"We're gonna find out. India and I will go." Nathan shot me a glance. Or he might have; I couldn't tell in the dark.

"That's sporting of you, Dr. Boudreaux, but you said yourself that you barely remember the city. And India can't manage on her own. Take Patrick or Jerome with you," Caroline ordered.

"I'll go," someone offered.

"Who's that?" Caroline asked.

"Patrick."

The three of us gathered some things we thought we might need - paper and pencil, binoculars, empty backpacks. Surgical masks. The articles had mostly agreed that the MREs would be distributed downtown, but none of us were sure we could get that far. Certainly not on foot.

"Silence when we reach the first floor," Nathan instructed as I led the way to the stairs. "Patrick, see if you can find us a working car. If not, we'll improvise."

"I know just the one," Patrick replied.

The first floor was deserted. I was not sure what I had expected to find. But everything was in place, just without the usual sounds of computers humming and patrons browsing. It was the library after hours. That was all.

We could see clear to the outdoors through the plate-glass windows. Nothing was amiss there either. It was eleven o'clock in the morning and the day was beautiful. But there was no one in sight. Patrick headed for the parking lot; Nathan and I remained just indoors, where it was safe.

I realized I was looking at Nathan in full light for the first time in weeks. It was an odd thought considering we had been in very close proximity much more recently than that. "Care to explain why you volunteered me for a possible suicide mission?" I asked.

"You're the most knowledgeable and the most resourceful of the locals. Simple logic," Nathan replied.

"And you wanted to talk about last night in relative privacy," I said.

Nathan shrugged. "That too."

"There's no need. Everyone thinks it's Caroline who manages the supply runs." I raised an eyebrow. "Sounds more like you want to talk about how you sentenced your girlfriend to death last night."

"The vote was unanimous. What should I have done?" He shrugged again, too casually. "And no, she didn't know about us."

I smirked. It was hidden by the surgical mask. "That's a fair deal of guilt you've got there, Doctor."

Nathan took the opportunity to not respond as a car stopped at the doors. After looking around warily, we left the library and settled into the backseat. "That was too easy," I remarked.

"It's my car," Patrick replied, speeding off. "Keys, full tank of gas, and a .45 in the glove box."

The city around us looked almost normal. It wasn't falling apart or burning or subject to rioting. There were groups of people breaking into stores or stealing cars, presumably for survival, but more than that I saw ordinary people walking around, with purpose in their strides as if going to work or otherwise proceeding with life. "I thought we were quarantined," I said. "I thought we'd see people mad with illness lurching around causing destruction. This all just feels like a regular day."

Patrick grinned at us through the rearview mirror. "Been watching too many zombie movies?"

We stopped on a side street near the football stadium, which turned out to be a staging area. "Stay with the car," Nathan told Patrick.

"I'll be right here," Patrick said. In looking at the man closely, also for the first time in weeks, I recognized him as one of the library's regulars. A voracious fan of westerns and sci-fi.

The line was short. A few medical personnel checked our vitals and gave us precursory physicals before allowing us through. They all wore respirators over their faces. "Is it airborne?" Nathan asked one of them.

"Not sure yet," the young man said. "But we aren't taking any chances."

We were allotted a week and a half's worth of MREs - meals ready-to-eat. There were also hygiene items, which was nice. Nathan and I could hardly see over the boxes we were carrying. "At least we won't have to do supply runs for a while," Nathan commented on the way back to Patrick's car.

"That's the thing," I said. "Why are we holed up in the basement? I mean, the illness might be around, but it seems fine to be out here. To live like normal."

"India," Nathan said, "keep walking and never ask yourself that again."

"What?" I frowned.

"Keep walking," Nathan repeated.

Someone screamed.

I spun around. The line had splintered into groups of people backing away from us. Confused, I put the boxes down and started toward them. They backed away faster and then broke into runs, shrieking and in hysterics, some of them even leaving behind their rations. My body shuddered and tears came to my eyes; but as I cried into my hands, my fingers came away with blood.

"Shoot it!" someone yelled from the crowd. "Just shoot it!"

The sentiment turned into a chorus as more people joined in with the shouts. A hand tugged at my sleeve. I turned to find Patrick standing there. "You've been out too long. Let's go," he said, tilting his head toward the respirator-wearing guards who were moving toward me.

We collected all our packages and made haste toward the car. The ride back was silent. "How much of this is real?" I asked as the library came into view.

"You are quarantined in the library," Nathan said, "along with the rest of your researchers and scientists, to keep others from catching the illness. It's called 'Aronson's dementia,' after you, for the advancements you made in treating it. But you hadn't found a cure before it became an epidemic."

"If this was a zombie movie, sweetheart," Patrick added, holding the library door open for me, "we'd be the zombies."

I touched my cheek. There was no sign of blood, but I had not washed my face to get rid of it. "Then I should question everything."

"Yes," Nathan said, "and this is the twenty-second time we've had this conversation since the beginning of the quarantine."

We trundled the boxes out of the car and into the cool, dark safety of the basement.