We were the lucky few that got to wake immediately from Cryo sleep and start working in the cafeteria. That was sarcasm, obviously. Mygloved hands were currently kneading dough into a tall mound of weird smelling white stuff. I tried not to think about the moving things I'd found in the flour as ai began making the bread. They'd all be dead after it was cooked, anyways. Plus, you can't expect flour to stay perfectly fine for over ninety years. How the bugs got in there is another thing I chose to ignore.

Beside me, Catrina rubbed oil on the large pan for the bread pan and gave me a thumbs up. I grabbed my lump of bug-dough and dumped it into the bread pan where we immediately put it into the oven. If the chorus of stomach grumbles resounding through the kitchen were any indication, no one wanted to wait for the bread to rise before eating it. So, it went straight in to be cooked even if it was nasty. It would at least make flat bread which was better than starving to death. I hoped.

I sighed and resisted rubbing my tired eyes. It was incredibly hot in the kitchen, with each oven going at full blast to cook as many things at once as we possibly could. Others were running around with ingredients from one chef to another. Adding their labored breathing and the sweating from those closest to the stoves and ovens, the air was beginning to get humid. Disgustingly humid.

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"Marcus," Catrina hissed, using the simplified version of my frustrating name.

"What," I said.

"You have to keep working or the head chef will see. He's scary."

I didn't care to argue so I grabbed a pot and filled it with stale water. Beside me on the stove top, Johnathon was cooking another stew in a great big pot like mine. He coughed into his hand and I caught a glimpse of blood.

"Johnathon," I whispered as I scooped up handfuls of vegetables and threw them into the pot (The vegetables were like powdered milk but... powdered vegetables). Johnathon looked at me. "Are you ok?"

"Yeah, I just--" Johnathon began another coughing fit into his hand and more blood came out. "I think I'm just sick..."

"Sick from what? Were you sick before they put you in the cryo gell?"

He shook his head vehemently. "No," he said. "I think... I think there's something in my throat. I can feel it when I swallow. It hurts."

I gave him a concerned glance. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine." He coughed again but this lasted much longer. Eyes of the kitchen focused on the sick kid as he bent over his stomach and continued to cough blood onto the immaculate floors. He fell to his knees and held his head with one hand. I fell down to his side and rubbed his back. He clutched my leg in a vice grip and I could see tears falling down his cheeks. From pain or fear, I didn't know.

And that's when Johnathon collapsed lifeless on the floor.