Immune

Two of a Kind

Dad signs my release papers the next morning, tucking an envelope into my backpack as he watches me pick the tape off my arms.

"Captain Farrah doesn't want you to miss any work," he says, crossing his arms, "He expects you to report to him as soon as possible. It won't be a problem, will it?"

I shake my head, shifting around on my feet.

"Jay," he continues, "if it's going to be a problem, I'll get you reassigned."

What he means is if I'm going to keep causing problems.

Yet, I never intentionally messed up the first two times. I don't intend to do it again. I look up at him, watching him breathe with a struggle.

"It won't be a problem, Dad," I finally mutter, looking away.

Before I leave the contamination tent, he gives me my new uniform shirt. Everyone in the compound wears the same olive button-ups. Two days ago, I had gotten dressed in the morning, pulling on my olive uniform. Today, I have a new shirt, one that is still olive but has my name and new title printed on it.

Jaelyn Price: Wall Guard, MU

When he told me that he had been forced to write me off as mentally unstable, he hadn't been joking. Now, everyone I came in contact with would know.

Dad finally lets me go, but not before telling me at least seven more times not to be stupid.

The walk to our house is excruciating. Between the shadows of tents, people are huddled against the autumn chill, fires burning from piles of trash and scraps of cloth. They've nothing better to do in their small amount of leisure time but watch people walk to and from places, whispering and gossiping. Most of the people sitting around outside are old or pregnant women, sewing or knitting while they whisper between themselves. The children aren't back yet from school; the men work the long twelve hour shifts. It isn't six, yet.

I have pretty good hearing. Honestly, though, the busybodies don't try to hide the fact that I look like I'm doing a scandalous walk of shame, carrying my uniform shirt, wearing nothing but a tank top, sleeping pants, and work boots. My hair hasn't been brushed; my face is still muddy from days before. One night stands are common around the compound. I look like just another bored woman.

So, I stare at my feet, kicking at dandelions that grow in the broken pieces of concrete sidewalks. Long dead, only the green stalk remains, it's brown, dried cap weighing it down. They make easy targets, distracting me from the night ahead.

Going back out on the wall is the last thing I want to do.

They'll give me a new partner, assign me a new section. I'll have to lose a million games of Checkers, over and over again. Maybe I'll get lucky, and the new partner won't try to teach me Uno. Either way, though, my body will have to readjust to the monotonous routine with someone new.

My father and I live together in one of the few houses left in the compound. Houses are reserved for people with status: scientists, doctors and leaders. The houses are in the center, around Center Hill, in what looks like used to be a gated subdivision. Yet, the wall that separates the houses from the tents and shambles isn't as high as the outer wall. It hasn't been repaired or upheld. Instead, it's beginning to fall apart, bits of concrete littering the yards of the houses.

This wall doesn't have guards or a gate that works. The yellow toll bar just holds itself upright. At night, it will blink bright yellow. The leaders keep the power off during the day, though, and I'm surprised no one has shattered the annoying yellow lights yet.

When I walk under the bar, no one notices. No one waves at me like toll booth operators used to in the movies. No one says, 'Good morning, Jay!' That is a good thing, though,  because it's not a good morning.

At home, I change into my new uniform shirt, brushing through the dirt in my hair and braiding it again. While it needs to be washed, it will have to wait until the power comes on tonight. Tying my shoes with pain riveting up my arm proves to be a challenge. By the time I've pulled both my boots on and tied them, I don't have any energy left to button my shirt.

On the way back out of our community, I hear my watch begin to beep. I have it set to wake me up at noon. That sounds right. The sun's perched high in the sky, pelting down its searing rays. I resort to kicking dandelions again. At least looking down protects my face from the sun.

"Yo, Muney!"

I glance up from my target, eyes falling on Farrah, his dark skin beading with sweat.

"I'm liking your new title," he continues, walking with huge steps, swinging his arms the way he always does. "After that little stunt you pulled, you've been reassigned. You're going to be working the day shift on the South Gate. I told them you didn't need a gun for that, and guess what? You don't got a gun any more."

I let out a long breath. Good. I couldn't shoot anyone anyway.

"I'll walk you over, just to make sure you don't get lost," he says, tugging me forward by holding onto the shirt in my hand. "I wouldn't be a good captain if I let an MU wander around all on their own."

There's nothing to say. No argument to make. Now, he has two things to pester me about.

As we walk, I roll up the sleeves on the uniform shirt, buttoning it up. I can't stand the way the long sleeves smother my arms, even if they do protect against the bitter wind on the top of the wall. It takes concentration to roll them up and not trip over the trash littering the pathways.

"Isaac, I brought your new partner," Farrah finally says, yelling up at a guy on the wall above the doors. He's leaning leisurely on the railing, feet propped up on an upside down five gallon bucket. The man sits up, turning around to face the two of us, pushing his black sunglasses up.

Unlike Howard, he's young, probably only a few years older than me. He dons a thin black beard, and he has his black hair pulled back in a bun. From here, I see the colorful tattoos on his arms, sleeves of landscapes, animals, words.

"About time," he yells back down, tossing a ladder over the side of the wall. The muscles in his arms tense as he climbs down, jumping off the end of the ladder. When he turns to face us, he's grinning, showing all his teeth.

"Isaac, this is Jaelyn," Farrah says, crossing his arms. He stands with his chest puffed out, feet slightly apart. "Jaelyn, this is Isaac."

I give the guy one more once-over, eyes falling in the peeling letters of his uniform.

Isaac Montez: Wall Guard, MU