Elena woke at precisely 6:00 AM—a habit from her former life that had become even more crucial in this new one. No arms existed anymore, but her internal clock rarely failed her. She allowed herself exactly five minutes to stretch the stiffness from her limbs before rising from her thin mattress, careful not to disturb the privacy curtain she'd rigged around her small corner of the maintenance room.

  The underground space was already stirring with quiet activity. Their community of eleven survivors had established a morning routine that functioned with surprising efficiency. Elena pulled her hair back into its practical knot and made her way to the communal area, where Dario was tending to the small cooking fire in the ventited shaft they'd converted into a makeshift stove.

  "Morning," he said, his voice low. A former restaurant chef, Dario had become their miracle worker, transforming their meager rations into meals that maintained both nutrition and a sembnce of normalcy. "Oatmeal today. Found some dried cranberries to mix in."

  "Save those for the children," Elena replied, accepting a small metal cup of water they'd collected and purified yesterday. "Any change with Miguel overnight?"

  "Sara sat with him. Said his fever spiked around three but seemed to ease toward morning." Dario's expression darkened. "He was talking about lights dancing under people's skin. Hallucinations, right?"

  Elena frowned. "Possibly. I need to check on him."

  She made a deliberate circuit of their shelter first—their morning medical rounds. The maintenance room had been transformed into a surprisingly functional living space. The main chamber housed their communal area and sleeping quarters, separated by hanging sheets for minimal privacy. They'd converted a small adjoining electrical room into a medical area where Elena could treat patients and store their limited supplies.

  An offshoot tunnel, once used for cable routing, now served as their water collection system, capturing groundwater that they filtered through a series of increasingly fine meshes and boiled before drinking. It wasn't perfect, but it had kept them hydrated and retively healthy.

  Mrs. Chen, their oldest member at seventy-two, sat mending clothing by the light of a battery-powered ntern. Elena checked her blood pressure and listened to her lungs—the woman's asthma was a constant concern with the underground air quality.

  "Breathing sounds good today," Elena told her, making a mental note to prioritize finding more albuterol inhalers on her hospital expedition.

  Next were the Thomas twins, eight-year-old boys who had somehow survived alone for two weeks before Captain Rivera found them hiding in an abandoned daycare center. They were resilient but still suffered from nightmares. Elena checked the lingering cough in one boy and the healing scrape on the other's arm before sending them to help Sara with the morning chores.

  By the time Elena had completed her rounds of the retively healthy members, their makeshift dining area was set up. The community gathered around the folding table they'd salvaged from an office building, sitting on crates and cushions as Dario served the oatmeal in mismatched bowls.

  "Supply inventory today," announced Ravi, producing his meticulously kept ledger. The former hospital janitor had an unexpected talent for logistics. "We're at seven days of food at current rations. Water system is functioning at capacity. Medical supplies..." He looked to Elena.

  "Better after yesterday," she reported. "Two courses of strong antibiotics, enough basic first aid for about two weeks, and pain management for about ten days, depending on need."

  Captain Rivera nodded, his military posture unchanged despite his civilian clothes. The former Army captain had been organizing a neighborhood evacuation when the outbreak hit. He'd led the initial group to this shelter and established their security protocols.

  "Security rotation needs adjustment," he said, spreading out a hand-drawn map of the surrounding streets. "We've had increased activity two blocks north. They're moving in packs now—more organized than before."

  The unspoken word hung in the air: vampires. No one in their group used the term, preferring "the infected" or simply "them." Elena found the scientific detachment useful; others seemed to avoid the term out of fear or denial.

  "We'll shift the observation post to the south entrance," Rivera continued. "Tanner, you'll take first watch with me at 0800. Williams at noon with Chen's boy."

  The brief morning meeting continued with work assignments—maintenance of their water filtration system, undry using their precious water reserves, reinforcement of the entrance barricades, and preparation for the next scavenging mission. Elena listened while mentally cataloging what she would need for her hospital expedition.

  As the group dispersed to their tasks, Elena made her way to Miguel's bedside. The construction worker y on their cleanest cot in the medical room, his normally robust frame now diminished by three days of fever. When she touched his forehead, his eyes fluttered open.

  "Doc," he murmured, using the nickname he'd given her despite her repeated expnations that she wasn't that kind of doctor. "The lights are back."

  "What lights, Miguel?" Elena asked, checking his pulse—too rapid, but strong.

  "Under the skin," he whispered, his gaze tracking something invisible across her face. "Everyone has them now. Silver rivers." He reached toward her cheek but cked the strength to complete the gesture. "Yours are different though. They... pulse. Brighter."

  Elena carefully unwrapped the bandage on his leg. The wound looked better than yesterday—less infmmation, though the unusual silver sheen in the blood remained. She took another small sample, adding it to her collection.

  "The antibiotics seem to be helping with the infection," she told him. "But these other symptoms... I need better equipment to understand what's happening."

  "Am I turning into one of them?" Miguel asked, suddenly lucid, fear evident in his eyes.

  "No," Elena said firmly, though her scientific mind catalogued the uncertainty factors. "Your symptoms are unusual, but they don't match the transformation pattern."

  The door curtain moved as Sara entered, carrying a bowl of Dario's oatmeal. "I thought he might eat something today," she said hopefully.

  "Good idea," Elena nodded. "I need to speak with Captain Rivera. Stay with him?"

  She found Rivera in their makeshift armory—a locked cabinet containing their limited weapons: two handguns with precious little ammunition, several machetes, and an assortment of makeshift weapons they'd created from pipes and tools.

  "I need to go to General Hospital," Elena said without preamble.

  Rivera's expression hardened. "Too dangerous. It's in the hot zone. We lost Chen's husband trying to reach there st month."

  "Miguel's symptoms don't fit any pattern I recognize. I need the b equipment to analyze his blood properly." Elena lowered her voice. "If it's a mutation of the virus, we need to know. It could affect everyone here."

  The captain's weathered face showed the conflict between protecting his people and recognizing the threat of an evolving virus. "What exactly are you seeing?"

  "Silver particutes in his bloodstream. Neurological symptoms—seeing 'lights' under people's skin. Fever that spikes and falls in patterns that don't match standard infection. His wound is healing faster than it should with our limited resources." Elena chose her words carefully. "It's not the full transformation, but it's... something else."

  Rivera studied the detailed map on the wall—their collective knowledge of which streets were retively safe and which had been cimed by the transformed. General Hospital y in a particurly dangerous area, one they'd marked with multiple red X's.

  "You'd need at least two people," he said finally.

  "No," Elena countered. "One person has a better chance of moving undetected. I know exactly what equipment I need and where to find it in the research wing. I worked there for three months on a joint project before all this."

  Rivera's expression suggested he wanted to refuse, but Elena pressed her advantage. "If this is a mutation, it could be the difference between survival and extinction for communities like ours. We need to understand it."

  After a long moment, Rivera nodded curtly. "Tomorrow at dawn. You take the eastern approach—the construction site provides the best cover. Four hours maximum, then you return regardless. If you're not back by noon, we'll assume the worst."

  "Understood," Elena said, relief mingling with anxiety. She'd expected more resistance.

  "Take the 9mm. Eight rounds," Rivera added. "Last resort only—noise draws them."

  The rest of the day passed in careful preparation. Elena studied their maps, pnning her route to General Hospital with multiple contingencies. She memorized the yout of the research wing, mentally walking the corridors to the specific boratory with the equipment she needed. She prepared sample vials and a list of supplies to search for if time permitted.

  As evening approached, Elena spent time with each community member, disguising her pre-expedition checks as normal medical rounds. She paid special attention to the Thomas twins, listening to their excited chatter about the chess set Ravi had found for them. Their resilience in the face of unimaginable trauma never ceased to amaze her.

  "Will you read to us tonight?" asked the younger twin, his eyes hopeful.

  "Not tonight," Elena replied gently. "I need to prepare for tomorrow. But I promise when I return."

  The child's face fell slightly, but he nodded with the unusual solemnity that all children in this new world seemed to develop. "It's important work. For Miguel."

  "Yes," she agreed. "For all of us."

  After a simple dinner of reconstituted soup and the st of their salvaged crackers, Elena retreated to her corner to finalize her preparations. She id out her clothing—yers that would allow for movement while providing some protection against scrapes and minor bites. A dark jacket with multiple pockets for samples and small equipment. Sturdy boots. The handgun, which she checked meticulously despite her discomfort with weapons.

  In her notebook, she wrote detailed instructions for treating Miguel and the others if she didn't return. Medical training wasn't something easily repced in their community. She noted her observations about the possible virus mutation and her theories about resistance factors, determined that her research wouldn't die with her if the worst happened.

  As the community settled for the night, Elena made one final visit to Miguel. His fever had risen again, and he muttered about silver rivers and dancing lights. She adjusted his IV drip—precious fluid from their limited supplies—and took her final set of baseline samples.

  "I'll find answers," she promised quietly, though she wasn't sure he could hear her.

  Back in her private space, Elena finally allowed herself to acknowledge the fear she'd been suppressing all day. The hospital expedition carried significant risk—perhaps the greatest she'd taken since the outbreak began. The transformed hunted more actively in that area, drawn perhaps by the lingering scent of blood and medicine.

  But Miguel's mysterious symptoms demanded investigation. If the virus was mutating, creating some intermediate state between human and the fully transformed, they needed to understand the mechanism. And deeper still, though she wouldn't admit it to the others, Elena's scientific curiosity drove her forward. In the patterns of infection and resistance might lie answers—not just for survival, but perhaps someday for reciming what humanity had lost.

  She id down on her mattress, setting her mental arm for 5:00 AM. Four hours of sleep would be sufficient. As she closed her eyes, Elena visualized her route to the hospital again, each turn and potential hiding spot. Then her mind shifted to the boratory equipment she would need—centrifuge, microscope, PCR machine if the backup generators were still functional.

  Tomorrow would bring answers, or at least better questions. In this new world, either represented progress. Elena drifted into sleep with images of silver-flecked blood cells floating through her dreams, forming patterns just beyond her understanding, secrets waiting to be decoded with the right tools and the right mind to interpret them