"We can't tell them," Ollie says, a few minutes later after we have all taken a seat on the couches, "They would panic. I'm not saying to lie, just withhold the truth."
After finding out that we were days away from the second string of the virus, the air around seemed too heavy. It is getting a little easier to breathe, but my mouth is still sore, head pounding.
"We can't let it happen, though," I mutter, rubbing my temples.
"Obviously," Ollie snaps.
Mandy shoots her a look, shaking her head.
"Don't get hateful, Olivia," she says, grabbing one of the two files from the table. "And you're sure about the math and decoding?"
"Completely. There's no error," Ollie answers, standing up and pacing again, "And it is a real file. Check out the signatures on the last page."
I lean up to read over Mandy's shoulder. There's eleven total scribbles on the bottom on the page. I wouldn't be able to tell what they even said, except the file has each person's name printed beside their signature.
At the top of the list is Nicolas Ashford, President of the United States of America at the time of the virus outbreak and current President of Compound 1. Under his jagged mess of a signature, there's nine more illegible names. I skip over and read the printed names. Only one I recognize, Evan Hartley, current President of Compound 4. The other nine must be the other Presidents. It's the name at the bottom that catches me off guard.
Jacob Price.
I can read my father's doctor-like signature, because I have seen it a million times before.
Now, there's no arguing that he had a part in all this. Even I can't deny it. Beside his name is his title.
Jacob Price: Head Scientist and Developer.
My father created the virus.
"We're going to have to go back," Isaac says, from behind the table. His voice is quiet, and he doesn't look up right away. "Me and Jay and a few others. The only way we can stop it is from inside the wall."
It seems like a dead end situation. There's no way we can stop Compound 4 from completing their plan; we don't have the manpower to fight them.
Isaac is right, but I have no clue how we will get back in.
"Trust me, the night guards are no joke. We are trained to shoot on sight. If anyone comes even close to the wall, they won't hesitate," I say, raising my eyebrows, "And we keep guards at each directional position. So, there are no gaps."
"But you were in the night guard. Don't you have friends?" Isaac asks.
Mandy and Ollie look at me. They had no clue I was a night guard. It never came up.
"Well, sort of."
The only person that comes to mind is Howard. I can't guarantee he will let me in, though.
"Well, we have to figure it out. Fast. I'll talk to the others and find out what they think is best," Ollie says, exhaling loudly, "You two sit tight, and I'll let you know when we decide something."
Ollie leaves, ruffling her hair as she walks, like a nervous twitch. Mandy goes next, saying she is going to see if Belle has eaten. The comment makes me go red, and I want to snap that Belle isn't her daughter. Yet, she's known Belle for all of the girl's life. She has known me for four years and one day. There is a huge gap in our relationship.
For the rest of the day, Isaac and I are taught the ins and outs of the Al-Ma. I learn how to wash clothes by dragging them across a loose piece of metal. The water here is cold, and the suds make your hands soft but wrinkly. Isaac learns how to repair the building using only scavenged pieces of worn out plywood. The men find use for him in carrying the wood. Sometimes, when I'm washing or learning to patch the clothes, I watch him walk back and forth. His black hair curls when he sweats, sticking to his forehead and neck.
After working all day, I'm exhausted. My arms are tired from the pushing and pulling, but I can't help but feel accomplished. Here, the people do not sit around in silence, whispering about how miserable they are. No one has to do a job they are terrible at; no one forces anyone to do anything. All day, I listened to people laughing, joking, and enjoying life, which is a wonderful change in tone. Then, sleep comes easily at night.
Two days pass of the same routine of waking, eating, working, eating and then sleeping. I don't look at my watch during the day anymore. There is no need to count the hours until my allotted break time. I can stop whenever I need to rest my hands. Yet, every day that passes is another day closer to our deadline, to the day when we won't be able to survive like this.
I see less and less of Ollie and her crew. I will occasionally see Mandy running to get people. She carries black bags under her eyes; her lips tilt downward. Sometimes, their shouting drifts over to the work area, but the people only talk louder to drown it out. I take to chewing my nails down to the bed, until it hurts to wash clothes because the soap burns. If I wasn't so tired at night, I would hunt one of them down.
Five days until our deadline, I sneak away from patching, a needle and thread stuck in the side of my jeans so I won't lose them. I'm leaning on a shelf, eyes closed.
"Want to go get some fresh air?"
Isaac's voice jolts me out of my thoughts, and my eyes snap open. I nod, pushing myself away from the metal. .
Isaac and I slip out the front door, climbing up a hill on the right side of the parking lot. We sit with our legs crossed Indian style. Isaac is hunched forward over his sketch pad; so I just lean back and prop myself up on my elbows.
I can't get over how pretty this valley is. Even from here, I can see both mountains around us, the red, yellows, and oranges of their leaves contrasting the cloudless blue sky. It's warm, but a breeze gives us a nice break from the heat.
I consider asking Isaac about the night in the basement, but I doubt he would talk about it. It seems like a distant nightmare of which I have blocked parts out. Maybe it's better not to bring it up.
"Did you say something?"
I can't help but laugh out loud.
"Why is everyone always asking me that? Are you all deaf?"
Isaac smirks at me, going back to sketching with a shrug.
"Just thought I heard something."
That's when I notice he has his earplugs in halfway, the orange foam melting into the shape of his ears. Over his shoulder, I can see the picture he's drawing of the landscape around us. I am a little jealous that he can block it all out like that; I can't seem to get a moment's peace from my own mind.
What weighs the heaviest in my mind is my father's name, scribbled on that perfect straight line. For the past two days, I have tried my best to think of any good reason why he would create the virus, but anything I come up with just seems insane. Maybe they held a gun to his head and made him do it, or maybe he was hypnotized into doing it. Maybe Ashford drugged him and made him do it, or maybe it was accidental. Either way, it doesn't make any sense.
Looking back up, I notice the highway down the side of the mountain. This road has white rails in place of the metal ones that Isaac and I hid behind before. As I'm inspecting the rails, I watch two trucks round the hill, descending into the valley slowly.
"Isaac," I say, tapping him on the shoulder, "Trucks."
He looks up, panic in the lines between his eyebrows. Even from here, we both know the olive and green vehicles.
Isaac stuffs his book back in his bag, and we hurry inside, finding Ollie moving a shelf to make more sleeping room.
"Ollie, you need to see this," Isaac says. It's a good thing he said something first, or I would just screamed the word 'trucks', because I can feel the panic setting in. This is too much for one week. I can't handle all this stress. My foot taps on the concrete; I gnaw at my chapped lips.
Ollie sets the shelf down and follows us outside, covering her eyes as she peers off into the distance.
"Compound 4 trucks," she whispers, her hand falling to her side, "We had to know they would assume you came here." She pauses, sighing. "They don't know we are here. Maybe we can hide this out."
So, Isaac helps Stephen shut the front door, and Ollie makes the announcement for everyone to stay still and quiet. She tells them that some compound trucks are passing by looking for Isaac and me, but that's all the details she gives them. Her voice is calmer than I expected it to be. Maybe she honestly thinks it is nothing to worry about. Yet, all I can think about is being dragged away in cuffs.
From where Isaac and I stand, behind Stephen who has taken up guard at the front door, I can hear the trucks rumble into the parking lot. There is a crack between the bottom of the metal door and the concrete. Light shines through it, and I watch as at three different pair of feet block the light. As they get closer, I can see that it's two pairs of work boots and a pair of leather shoes that point at the end. I've never seen anything like them.
I hold my breath, and it sounds like everyone else does the same.
"We know you're in there."
It's a cold voice, greasy almost. I recognize it instantly. President Hartley.
"Jaelyn, Isaac. We know you're hiding in this furnace," he continues, calling us out. People turn their heads, staring at the two of us with wide eyes. "We aren't here to take you back. No, we would rather you not come back to the compound at all."
He begins to pace.
"You see, we also know that the great Amanda Price is in that building, and we know what Mrs. Price took with her when she fled her confinement so long ago."
I look back at Mandy, who has Belle pressed up against her. Her face is red as she glares at the metal door. I've never seen someone look so furious.
"And that means, my dears, that you know what is upcoming, and we absolutely can not have you barging back into the compound and spoiling the surprise for everyone else. I think you're a trustworthy person, Jaelyn. I've known your father for many, many years, and he has never once failed me. If you give me your word that you will not try to stop us, my men and I will leave you alone."
He goes quiet, and I look at Ollie in panic. She's shaking her head, one finger up to her lips. Behind me, Justin is signing to Clare, who signs back to him.
"Clare says he is probably trying to trick you," Justin whispers into my ear, "Says he just wants to know if you're really here or not."
I nod, my breathing getting quicker. Beside me, Isaac kneels down, closing his eyes.
"No?" Hartley continues, turning back to face the door, "You don't want to do this the civil way? Can't say I didn't give you any options. In failing to accept my offer, you've picked plan B."
The sound of men charging out of his truck reminds me of the sheep in the pastures when they are frightened.
"I have sixteen men with me today. Everyone of them is armed with a small amount of gasoline and matches. You can put two and two together from here." His shoes begin to leave, the heel clicking against the asphalt. "You're responsible for what happens after this," he continues, "Just like you were responsible for the death of that poor little girl you tried to save. Goodbye, Price family."
I look back at Mandy who has clamped a hand down over Belle's mouth. She's slipping to the floor, out of her grasp, eyes squeezed shut. Tears pour down her cheeks.
Hartley is gone, but the trucks aren't. All around us, I hear the pounding on the metal walls, the sound of a liquid running down the surfaces.
"Get out!" Ollie shouts, waving her hands towards the back, "They're going to burn us alive!"