sorry sorry sorry i haven't uploaded in a while, but I've been really busy studying for finals (I'm a freshman in high school) but now it's summer so i have time to write more. Reviews are appreciated.

Idrique stabbed the adult in the stomach and twisted the knife sideways. As in all his dreams, there was no blood. His mind was too young for that. The adults never even attacked him back, and looked more like the zombies in movies than the actual monsters roaming the streets of London. Idrique continued to hack away at the vegetable like man. He couldn't wait until he was older like his big brother, Atch. Idrique pictured life being like way back in the U.S., when Indians roamed around in tribes, getting new names when they became men. Idrique tried to come up with a new name for himself. Something like "Tough Rock" or "Macho would be cool.

The Adult in front of him nodded in approval at his names. Idrique thought about it some more when he was shaken from his dream and awoke into a cloudy stupor, unable to form a coherent thought. The only thing he registered was that he'd been tripped on; sleeping next to the door of the gallery he slept in with some other boys. Some of the older guys were talking in very serious tones, and by the light of the candle he saw worried looks on their faces. He could hear barely a word they said, as the boys, Atch and Newt, were talking very quietly. Newt leaned in close to Atch, who must have only been woken a few minutes ago.

"Well shit… Why'd he…prissy bastard…" Idrique was able to make out. Newt shushed him, glancing over in Idriques direction. Idrique squeezed his eyes shut, hoping to look like he was still asleep. It must have worked, because soon the back of his eyelids could sense no light. Waiting a few seconds, Idrique quietly climbed up and tiptoed from the gallery room. He followed the light that was retreating down the hall. It led him to the gallery used as an infirmary. That was when Idrique knew something bad had happened. As usual, keeping the kids in the dark. He thought. But I'm not a little kid anymore! I'm strong!

Newt and Atch went into the brightly lit infirmary. Idrique followed behind quietly, crouching behind the wall, listening intently.

Inside the infirmary, many of the older children were standing idly. They almost looked like grownups. Real ones, before the sickness, who could deal with difficult problems. Garrett paced back and forth. "Just tell me he'll be okay" he pleaded, turning to Beatrix, the unofficial nurse.

" Dear God Garrett, I don't know! Look at his injuries! They look bad yet he's still breathing!" Beatrix responded. She then squeaked out, "I'm just a kid."

"Yeah? Well so is he!" Roared Garret pointing at the man on the makeshift hospital bed, Voe. "And so were Lilly and Amy and George and Fred!" Garrett listen off their dead comrades. Beatrix started to tear up.

"Hey!" yelled Edgey, stepping in front of his scared little sister. "Leave her alone!" for once; he couldn't go along with Garret. Not when it came to Beatrix. "Calm down." He half-whispered. "You're scaring everyone, mate." He threw a glance at Poppy, sitting broken in a chair by Voe. Um sat next to her, with an odd look on his face. Um glanced down worriedly at her, then at Voe. Garrett turned to Poppy and walked over, then gently crouched down in front of her.

"Just tell me what happened one more time, Poppy." He looked into her eyes. She turned away.

"I already told you twice, and I really don't want to relive it." A hint of betrayal escaped into her voice. "Do you not believe me?" Garret sighed and was about to speak again when Deena stepped forward.

"The biggest group of Adults I've ever seen." Deena began. "The swarmed around us, coming from nowhere. It was so weird." Her eyes glassed over. Tears began to fall down her honey colored cheeks. "You know, it was like they were communicating. Like an army. They took us by surprise and grabbed Voe and Jen. They… they ripped Jens arm off!" Deena finished, collapsing into tears, mourning for her best friend. Quinn knelt beside her, holding back tears.

"And then some Adults started dragging Voe away and we fought them and ran away from them with Voe." Poppy finished.

"So…" said Atch. "The Adults are forming some kind of army? Communicating even? There is no way they are smart enough for that." He said nervously. This was big and everyone knew it.

Garrett finally spoke again. "Things are changing." He climbed up off the floor. "I guess we always knew they would." He sighed, running his fingers through his thick hair. "Guess you guys should all rest up. It's late."

"Are you saying we should just go to bed!" argued Edgey. Garrett walked toward the exit. "We've got to talk about this, Garrett!" Edgey ran after him. The other kids stood, stunned, before beginning to exit. Beatrix stood still, unsure what to do. Carlisle turned back to her grimly.

"I'm sure you can go to bed, Beatrix. I think someone else will be watching over Voe tonight," Garret said before leaving, nodding towards Poppy and Um. They were still side by side, not having moved a muscle. Beatrix shook her head, but left after a minute.

The infirmary was completely empty but for three people. Both Poppy and Um felt guilty. Poppy because she was useless in helping Voe, and if it weren't for her he never would have been there. Um just for letting Voe leave in the first place. Um looked Voe over. He had various scraped and bruises, a mysterious gash that didn't seem to be from a bite, and a large bump on his forehead. Poppy never said how he got that gash, Um thought. She can at least tell the kid who doesn't speak. He reached out for Poppy's hand at the same moment she reached out for his. He squeezed her hand and felt the sudden urge to hug her, to feel a connection with someone again.

He thought Poppy should definitely not be the one to feel guilty. Um was the one who let him go. He'd been Voe's sort-of-friend, and he'd just let him go anyway.

Friends don't let friends die.

This feeling was associated with Buckingham Palace that damned place. It reminded him of that tragic night when he left David, the leader of the group there. He was an absolute madman. Um shook the memories away. The air in the gallery seemed to be nonexistent. Um left Poppy's side and swiftly walked to the entrance.

"Um?" Poppy called after him. "Are you okay?" she asked. Poppy must have just been expecting a nod, maybe just a look. But for some reason Um swiveled around and walked back to her with a determined look on his face.

He bent down and whispered into her ear in a shaky voice. "My names Benjamin." Then he was gone, leaving Poppy to stare after him.

In the galleries, children settled were sleeping. Friends slept in the same gallery, brother and sister curled up next to each other. Even Garret, in a Gallery he shared just with his little sister Clarice, was sleeping. Poppy lying in the infirmary beside Voe. Benjamin in a corner by himself, dreaming about tomorrow. Even the few children who were supposed to be on guard had drifted off. Every person in the building was asleep but one.

Carlisle stood at one of the windows of a completely unused room. He put the cigarette to his lips and smiled. Back in the old days he would have gotten in trouble. "Smoking's bad for you" or "Smoking will damage your lungs and kill you" they would say. It didn't matter anymore. Carlisle doubted he would live to see twenty anyway. There were much more dangerous things than smoking.

Carlisle held the unlit cigarette between his lips so his hand could abandon it. He fiddled with his gun, taking it apart piece by piece. His dad had been in the military and his mum in the police force. Both died in riots. Carlisle remembers his parents teaching him and his brothers how to use guns when they were little. His mum and dad always stressed what a cruel place the world was. Therefore Carlisle knew everything there was to know about fighting and weapons. At least, he thought he did. For all the skills he had though, Carlisle had always been a behind the scenes person though. His brother was always fighting on the front lines, throwing punches at everything in his way. Carlisle much preferred to plot and plan before doing anything risky. His older brother had gotten killed precisely because he didn't do that. Carlisle pulled the gun up and whirled around, aiming at a portrait behind him. He resisted the urge to shoot. Everyone would wake if they heard a gunshot, and see his sick and twisted side. Or worse; they would think he was crazy. A sickly sweet smile reached Carlisle's lips. He was not crazy. There was no way.