"Demon's back!"

As I'm eating my lunch, the cry fills the room. Everyone is practically bursting with excitement at the very mention of Demon. She's the closest thing we have to a leader, after all — the top of the top. I'm smiling for a different reason (okay, maybe because of that, but there are other reasons). Demon is one of the only people who has accepted me here at home. There's her and some others but... the others either torment me or ignore me most of the time. Unless they need something. Then they'll suck up as much as possible to me. Since they're wimps and I'm not. Bastards. Demon enters the room and steals the room's attention at once, of course.

Despite her nickname, Nina Lopez is completely human. (As far as we can tell. Maybe?) She has a strong build and golden skin that's now tanned to a bronze color. Her eyes are dark brown, almost black, with thick eyelashes. Her long coffee hair is always pulled up in a high ponytail and she always keeps her arms covered, whether by sleeves or other means. Bandages along her arms are her signature fashion. Right now, however, she's wearing a blue hoodie to hide them.

Tristin Baker, a man with ghostly pale skin and combed blond hair, fills Demon in on what's gone down since she has been gone for the last few days (nothing, really, except a baby being born and a few pranks) and she does the same with her own discoveries. I've never really liked Tristin; he's strict and never smiles. I also think he doesn't like me, somehow. I guess I can't blame him for being a bit of a grouch, though. I've heard that his best friend was one of the first Hosts.

Most of us would be crabby, too, if we were in his shoes.

It's an unspoken rule around here not to love or have friendships, I guess — we are allies and adversaries, and the enemies are outside. Attachment makes you weak. Attachment can render you useless, make you make mistakes and expend things that we can't lose, and we are not a charity. We can't afford extra mouths to feed if they can't contribute to our cause somehow. We're not a refuge.

We're an army.

I pause at my next bite of chilli. Things are too quiet these few weeks. No news isn't always good news — too little is being reported. Usually, at least one new case of Infected comes in a month, and we haven't had one. Within a month, at least one person will contract Fūris. God damn it.

"We don't know much about the Fūris Virus," I recite to myself, as if saying little facts will help me figure out why. "We know that it's fatal in babies, the elderly and people with compromised or weak immune systems, like former cancer patients. We know that once you're Infected, you have a small chance of the virus passing. It's extremely unlikely, but possible. We know that it's a bacteriophage. We know all the symptoms, the order that they always happen in. We know that if you don't pass it within two days, you're two far gone. You'll become a Host." A Host is similar to a zombie like you see in the movies. Unlike zombies, though, Hosts aren't dead (or undead). Just sick. Hence us giving up attachment in life -- if you fall in love with someone and they go Host, you'll probably not be able to kill them like we have to. There will be nothing left of the person while they're a Host -- Fūris hijacks the brain, causing the thing that you think you need the most, more than food or water or even air, is to spread the virus. Basically, they go insane. I've seen it. Trust me on this — it isn't pretty. "And despite knowing all this, we still live this way. Our information has been the same for nearly twelve years, despite how much we research Fūris. We don't have a clue where it might have come from, how long it might have been around before the first Host attacks started, how to contain it or how it came around to our area. We don't know a way to treat it, much less cure it. And now our world is Hell the Second." Okay, that last part wasn't in the textbook, I admit, but still. And I'm no closer to figuring out why the hell there's no cases. I should be happy about that but it seems... wrong.

Fūris is the reason I'm stuck in this stupid place most of the time -- no one except Scavengers are allowed outside of our "territory" except during special training exercises. The top item on my bucket list is to become a Scavenger so I can get out of this hell hole and start beating Hosts' faces in. Scavengers are the best of us -- have to be, since they're out there, constantly facing decisions that could cost them their whole Scavenging party. So I would fit right in, I must say. They're the most at risk of being Infected since they're the only ones who go outside the fence we built around our little piece of our world. I've never even been able to see the world outside of La Grange, the suburban town we all call home. It's just an exercise of how to kill and who to kill.

The killing is easy now. We've done it for a long time. It's the part after that's hard.

I close my eyes and reel in my thoughts. Not the time. Not the place. Never, really. Just don't think about it and you don't feel guilty. I look over at Demon, who's rapid-firing Spanish at two girls a few years younger than her. The sight, although I don't understand a word of what either party is saying, brings a small smile to my lips. It's sometimes hard to believe her nickname is "Demon" for being the first to kill a Host at times. This is definitely one of those times. I take another bite of chili (damn, the Cookers did a good job this batch) and scan the cafeteria, as if a Host is about to break through a window and kill everyone. Honestly, no one would be all that surprised, even though they haven't gotten past the Defenders in ages. And we haven't had a real invasion since the first one, before I was even born.

When she finishes her discussion with them, she walks over to me. "Hola —"

"Please, you know my Spanish is about as good as a concussed sheep's." Unfortunate for me, but true. I just could never get Spanish while we had lessons.

She flashes a grin. "The Demon and the Concussed Sheep sounds like a hit book to me."

"I'll read it over my dead body," I say, smirking slightly.

"Dios, now I'll have to go through all that trouble..."

I laugh.

"How have you been, Nicole?" she asks, smiling.

I look away. I don't want to lie to her, but I don't want to tell the truth, either.

"That great, huh? What happened?"

Now, when someone called Demon asks you a question, you just respond whether you want to or not. It's just how it goes. "They're still calling me Nicholas. I know it's stupid for me to care but..." I feel pathetic admitting what's been bothering me, since it feels so small, so I sit up straighter and say, "I'll get my revenge on them one of these days. When I do, they'll be cowering instead of teasing me!"

She smirks at this comment. "Need me to pulverize anyone?"

I know she's kidding, but I still smile. Probably kidding. Probably not going to mass murder. Right? "The list is long but heartfelt," I reply.

"I've got time to kill."

"The first section is on boys my age —"

"There's sections? Right. Yeah. I just remembered. I have to do a thing. At a place.With some stuff..."

I can't help but laugh. "Sounds important."

"Oh, yes. Very important." She grins.

"Nina!" Tristin calls before I can say something snarky in return. "Louis is causing trouble again!"

"Seriously? Can't that kid just give us five minutes of peace?" She lets out a few Spanish swears. "Well, I've got to go. Adios, kid."

"Bye." I sigh. When our conversations are cut short it's usually because of one or both of two reasons. Reason A, someone screwed up. Reason B, Louis did something stupid. Within seven or so minutes of the two leaving they return, Demon holding a pouting Louis by his shirt. She throws him next to me -- yes, she actually just threw him -- looking pissed off royally.

"You deal with this," she grumbles, then walks to a table with some older boys who just came back from their own missions yesterday.

I stare Louis down. "What did you do this time?" I ask.

"Nothing?" Louis is a short boy a year younger than me with shaggy brown hair. He has green eyes that always have a mischievous gleam in them, and he's always getting into trouble. He's also always my problem to deal with for some reason. Lucky me.

When he snickers, I pinch his nose. "What did you do?" I repeat.

"God, I hate when you do that. I just jump-scared a few Lab-Workers..."

"And?" I press.

"They dropped some dumb blood sample. What's the big deal?"

I take in a breath and let go of his nose. He sighs in relief through his nose, as if making sure I didn't snap it off. I slap him in the back of the head as soon as he finishes.

"Hey! What the hell was that for?" Louis yelps, rubbing the spot I hit him.

"For losing one of our only blood samples from a Host, you freaking idiot! Do you know how long it took a Scavenger to get their hands on that?" I scold. If there is one person I could feed to the Hosts... Actually, there are a hell of a lot of people in front of Louis. In general, he isn't that bad of a guy. Still pisses us all off, though.

"Yeah, yeah. Demon already yelled at me..." he groans.

I roll my eyes. "You say it as if you're the victim here." Usually, they don't have time to loot Hosts. And when they do, it's rare they actually come home with a sample. They usually have to lose it for more important things. The blood is vital, obviously, but we can't look at blood if we're not still breathing.

Before he can reply, a girl runs into the cafeteria from the lab, her white coat flapping behind her.

"The sample -- it's a new strand!"