The Immune

17. What Comes Next

"We?" Ollie asks. She stops pacing and looks down at me.

"I was in the night guard. That was my appointed job."

Mandy scoffs. "But you're sixteen."

"Yeah, and I've been working The Wall since I was fourteen. Everyone in Compound 4 gets assigned a job at that age." I shrug. "It's normal."

"But you're only sixteen," Mandy repeats, shaking her head. "At fourteen, you should have been in high school, not playing with guns and shooting things."

I narrow my eyes at her and sigh. "None of that matters. I'm telling you that we can't get past The Wall."

Everyone goes silent. We got out; surely we can get back in. That wasn't part of our plan, though. Well... nothing was part of our plan; we didn't have one. So surely we can wing this too.

"Did you make any friends while you worked in the guard?" Isaac asks. "Maybe one of them would be willing to help us."

I run a hand through my hair. "I'm an MU, Isaac. All of the friends I made before I got my title disappeared. You of all people should get that."

"I do, but even I had at least one friend. The guy who owned the tent beside me told me good morning every day. We shared food rations. He would probably help me if I needed him."

"Hold up." Mandy raises a hand as I open my mouth. "What's an MU?"

I really don't have time to explain Compound 4 dynamics to her. She should have been there eleven years ago if she wanted to know. I steel myself to rip her a new one, when Isaac answers her question.

"It means 'mentally unstable.' It's the label that Compound 4 gives people who they think have something wrong with them. We were both labeled."

"What for?" she hisses, sounding insulted.

"Well... I have— uh— I suffer from—"

"It's none of your business," I interrupt, slipping my hand into Isaac's. He's trembling slightly. At my touch, though, it softens, and he gives me a squeeze. "And none of that's important. We have to find a way in."

Ollie rubs her cheek and thinks. "And there's no one inside you can think of that might help you?"

"Maybe." I don't want to give them false hope. Howard comes to mind, but I can't guarantee he'll help. We were friends: we never agreed though.

"Well, we have to figure it out. Fast. I'll talk to the rest of the crew and see what they think." Ollie exhales loudly and pats me on the shoulder. "Sit tight. I'll let you know when we figure something out."

With that, she leaves, ruffling her hair like it's a nervous twitch. Mandy follows. She says something about making sure Belle has eaten breakfast. I glare after her. I almost snap that Belle isn't her daughter, but it wouldn't do any good. She's known the girl for all of her short life; the two of us barely have history. There's a gap in our relationship that can't possibly be closed. A gap eleven years wide.

For the rest of the day, Isaac and I learn the ins and outs of the Alma. A man teaches me how to wash clothes by dragging them across something called a washboard. The soap makes my hands wrinkly but soft. It's the cold water that really bothers me.

Across the building, Isaac learns how to repair the building using planks of recycled wood. The repair crew find a use for him in carrying the wood back and forth as well as various equipment. Sometimes, while I'm washing clothes, he walks past me, and I pause to watch him. He seems happily distracted with sweat gluing his hair to his neck and forehead.

After working all day, I'm exhausted. My arms hurt from pushing and pulling fabric all day, and the rash on my hands burns. Yet, I still feel accomplished. Here, people don't sit around in silence, whispering about how miserable they are. No one has to do a job they're terrible at; no one is forced to do anything. They still play their part, though. All day, I listened to people laughing and joking. I saw them enjoying life. It's a wonderful change in tone.

Isaac meets me at our sleeping bags that night and smiles happily at me. We lay down, our heads touching.

"How was your day?" I ask in a whisper. Dozens of people sleep around us. After experiencing how hard they work, I wouldn't dare wake them.

"It was... tough." He laughs. "I don't think I've been this tired in a long time."

I laugh. "Me either."

We lay in silence for a minute before he continues. "You know what was best about today, though?"

I turn over on my stomach and prop my head in my elbows. Isaac rolls over and looks up at me with his giant, solemn eyes. They remind me of the corn field back at the Compound when it's just beginning to sprout from the ground. I always liked to watch the stalks sway in the early summer breeze.

"What?" I ask, smiling.

"No one looked at me like I was diseased." He sighs happily. "People talked to me, Jay. They let me help them and didn't doubt that I was capable. I wasn't broken."

The smile on my face falters. "Isaac...." I reach out and rest my hand on his. "You weren't broken in the first place. We were labeled incorrectly. Neither one of us are crazy."

Isaac laughs and pulls away, flipping back over. "Maybe you're not, but there really is something wrong with my brain. Has to be. It's the only way to explain my night terrors, my shaking, my nerves."

"There's nothing wrong with you!"

He glanced up at me through his eyelashes. "It's okay. I'm dealing with it, and you're helping. This place is, too. Today, I felt genuinely happy. Before I met you, I never really did feel that way."

My heart skips. Before he met me? I make Isaac happy? Before I can open my mouth to question him, Isaac continues.

"I'm pooped," he says. "See you in the morning." His eyes slip closed, and within seconds, his body descends into sleep.

As much as I want to stay awake and analyze every word he just said to me, I can't. I roll back over and stare up at the holes in the roof. Stars peek through them, dancing between slants of moonlight. As always, stars make me think of Dad. This time, though, thinking about my father makes me sad. And even more tired.

Deciding not to think about it right now, instead I turn onto my side and close my eyes. Soon, I fade into a deep sleep.