"How…" George began. Myrtle simply stared, wide-eyed.

"Nick, right?" she asked me.

"George? Myrtle?" I heard a voice behind me ask. Tom.

"Tom?" George questioned.

"Yeah. How'd you get here? What happened?"

"I don't know what it is, exactly, but I can explain it," George offered.

"So can I," Myrtle chimed.

"Please, do," Gatsby said. We lead the two out of the closet, and arranged ourselves on the chairs in the lobby.

"These are a lot more comfortable than the floor," George said.

"You said you could explain what's going on," Tom said. "Tell us."

"Well," he began, "Those things, the corpses, we call 'em Biters. Anyway, we were just comin' down here to, well, I don't even know. Just to get out. And when we got here, it was chaos. It's all quiet now. That's 'cause most everyone is dead now. Before, there were people all running around and screaming and people was getting shot. So me and Myrtle, we came in here, and we hid in the closet. That's how we got here.

"Now for what this actually is. It's sort of like the flu, whatever is making the dead people come back as Biters, but the point is, it's catchable. Spread through getting bit or scratched by one of the things. You get all sick, like the flu, too, sort of. You get all hot and tired and you vomit – I saw this all firsthand – and you get really weak and sick, and then you start having seizures, and then you die, an' a few minutes later, you come back as a Biter, but you're not you anymore, per say. You're mind's all fuzzy, and you got no control. All you can think about is needing to eat.

"It's that needing to eat that makes the Biters Biters. It makes them go around lookin' for food. Flesh. They'll take dead meat, clearly, but they like live meat even more. Fresh meat. If they don't eat you whole, you turn into a Biter once they get you. That's all there is to it, really." All there was to it? That was a lot. I was dumfounded. I glanced around at the others. Daisy looked stricken. Jordan still had an I-don't-care attitude. Tom was still annoyed. And Gatsby was pale. Subconsciously, he checked his arms for bite marks.

"Are you all alright?" Myrtle asked. "How did you guys get here?"

"Came up here for lunch or a movie or something. It's so hot," Daisy replied. I had completely forgotten about the stifling heat, although beads of sweat still rolled down our foreheads.

"Catherine," Myrtle said quietly. "I wonder if she's okay."

"Yeah," Tom agreed.

"So, is this everywhere?" Gatsby asked.

"As far as I know, and as far as I've been," George responded solemnly.

"Oh."

"We should do something," suggested Jordan.

"Like what?" I asked. What was there to do?

"I don't know. Fight, I guess. Get stuff we need, make a campout somewhere. Survive, really."

"This place is clear," George said.

"Yeah. This is an office building. The company that owned it just sold it, so the place was empty. We can campout here," Myrtle said. Gatsby stood up.

"I want to check first," he insisted uneasily. "Just to make sure. So no one gets hurt."

"Right," Tom said, rising, too. "So no one gets hurt, except for me, so you can have Daisy all to yourself. It's not going to work." Tom balled his hands into fists. "You're not going to take my wife away from me! You keep away from her, you hear!?"

"It's not like you aren't seeing another woman already," Gatsby retorted. Tom growled. He raised his fists, glaring.

"Let's settle this like real men!"