A week passes uneventfully.
The people of Compound 4 are exceptionally good at pretending nothing has changed. I attribute it to fear of actual change. People go to work every morning and pretend that everything is the same, wearing their usual frowns and uniforms. Occasionally, I will see some people from a different compound wandering around, checking in shipments. They wouldn't have a clue that everything under the surface is different.
Yet, I can see it. Walking to and from work in the fields, I see more people laughing, taking an extra minute to say goodbye to one another. Young people kiss on the sidewalk; mothers slick down their son's hair with wet cloths, dusting off their noses. Everything seems a little bit brighter than before.
The work in the fields is hard. Since it's winter, we are tearing up all the fall crops, retilling the cold, frozen ground. We leave the potatoes and lettuce, weeding the endless rows daily. Bent over under the warm sun, I focus on the work. Forgetting everything else comes easy.
At night, though, I don't have an escape. The guilty thoughts come to me in my dreams, the haunting idea that he's never coming back. Dad holds me as I cry, letting me get it all out of my system.
"It will stop," he tells me one night, pushing my hair around from my face, "This depression."
Some nights, I wonder if he wants that more than I do.
Howard joins me in the fields after a few days, giving me a hearty hug. No words pass between us, but he squeezes my hand, his cheeks red from the wind chill.
Sometimes, I'll look up from our long shifts, eyebrows raised high. He stays close to me, and we find comfort in each other's presence.
"Hey, Howard," I say one day, leaning on the shovel in my hand, "Wanna hear a joke?"
He pushes his glasses up on his nose, nodding. A half smile plays on his lips.
"How do you know when the moon has had enough to eat?"
The smile breaks out over his face as he raises his eyebrows at me.
"When it's full," I whisper, returning his look.
His laugh is the same single outward breath of air, and he rolls his eyes at me. I laugh at him, regardless of the ache in my back.
"That smile looks good on you, Jay," he says, voice dropping in seriousness, "You should bring it out more often."
So, I try to tell him jokes more often, keeping the air soft between us.
One afternoon, on our break, the speakers crackle, and everyone looks up. Ollie gave her normal morning announcements already; there's nothing left to tell us for the day.
"Will Jaelyn Price please report to the Research Facility? I repeat, will Jaelyn Price please report to the Research Facility?"
Ollie's voice isn't the one I hear. Instead, the chipper receptionist runs the microphone. I look over at Howard who is eating a carrot.
"Think I'm in trouble?" I ask, standing up.
"Probably" is his reply, chewing loudly on the orange vegetable. I pack up my stuff, tell the supervisor goodbye, and return my tools to the shed. I haven't been to the towering building since my execution day. If I don't see it, I can't remember how it felt to be chained up.
Looking up at the Research Facility, though, I feel dizzy. My execution post is still there, a reminder of where I've been. The cuffs dangle uselessly off it, rattling in the winter wind. I hurry up the steps, through the open doors. They're always open, now, giving people shelter from the cold and sunlight.
"Hi, Jaelyn," the girl at the desk says, in her sing-song voice. I nod. "Ollie is in her office. She wants to see you right away."
I've never been to Ollie's office. It used to be Hartley's, and I wanted to always stay clear of that. Yet, I know where it is. Turning away from the stairs, I walk down the long hall to the room at the end, 106. I am four floors directly under Room 406.
When I walk in, it's like stepping into a museum. Hartley must've liked art, because it covers every inch of the walls. A large desk sits in the far corner, it's deep red wood shining from polish. The chairs are red, plush velvet, and soft to the touch.
"Hey!" Ollie says, looking up from her paperwork, "How are you healing?"
"I'm alright," I mutter, taking a seat. I sink into the cushion unexpectedly.
"That's good, because we have things to do."
Of course she wants something from me. Ollie never just wants to chat.
"I broke the rest of the code in the file," she continues, sliding a dirty manila folder towards me. "Now, I've tore this building apart looking for more written evidence of the Decontamination, but they apparently don't keep that stuff here. It's all electronic, and even then, it's scarce. It must be kept somewhere different. Maybe a different compound."
She rambles on for a minute, standing up quickly. I see now that it's a map on her desk. If she's going to ask me to leave, again, I swear. I'm not a messenger.
"Anyway, I verified this between vlogs from the other two scientists. I asked your father, but he says that Phase 3 was never revealed to him." she says, standing still to look down at me, "But we know what Phase 3 is."
I look up at her, sitting up straighter.
"And I'm going to need your help again."
I slouch, glaring at her.
"I knew it," I snap, making a face at her.
"Jay, you're brave," she says, sitting in the velvet chair beside me. She reaches out and grabs my hands. "And you're really resilient when things get rough."
"Everything that happened here was because I had Isaac with me," I admit, "He balanced me out. Without him, I'm basically useless."
Surprisingly, Ollie agrees, raising her eyebrows.
"It doesn't matter, because you don't even know what it is I'm going to ask you to do."
She has a point. I sit back, pulling my hands away from her so I can cross them over my chest.
"Phase 3 was supposed to come when the compounds were at their weakest points, after the second strand drove us into severe famine and drought. It wasn't really a physical thing like Phase 2. There wasn't anything to dump in the river or inject into people. The way the files outline it, though, it will wipe out most of what's left of the human race."
"Get to it, Ollie," I say, fidgeting.
"I'm trying," she snaps, running a hand through her hair, "I think we might have accidentally sped it up."
I make a face at her, confused.
"How? What is it, exactly?"
Ollie takes a deep breath.
"War," she says, "Apparently, Compound 5 has been building an elite population, somehow. They plan to attack and destroy the other four compounds, leaving their 'elite' population as the sole survivors. I have no idea how they have been doing it, but I do know that we are no match for anyone when we stand alone."
The silence between us is glass.
How in the world am I supposed to prevent war? I'm a seventeen year old, with terrible aim when it comes to shooting and night terrors. I am impulsive and clumsy.
"And you plan on me stopping it?"
"No," Ollie says, chuckling, "Not on your own."
She looks over my shoulder, waving at something behind me. I turn around, looking at the three people that stride through the door.
"That's where we come in," Jane says, smirking at me. Her flame red hair is bold, matching the rest of the room.
Beside her are two more faces I never thought I would see again. Emily, her brown hair twisted into a messy bun, smiles at me, waving with all of her fingers. Trevor stands beside her, hands crossed over his chest. He gives me nod, like that's all I deserve.
"The plan is this," Ollie says, "We need to win the other compounds over. Tell them about what happened here, find the other two scientists and their families. If we can convince the people to rebel from their governments, maybe we can bring together enough of a force to compare to Five.
"Jane knows the roads," Ollie continues, pacing again, "You know how to break in and out of places, and you're living proof of the cure and what happened with the second strand. You're essential."
I bite at my nails, watching her walk.
Hartley said it himself.
"There's a certain strength in unification and power."
For once, I try not to be impulsive. I want to think about every angle, weigh this carefully. If I don't go, someone else will. Maybe they'll take Mandy and Stephen, and let Mandy be their living cure. I will spend the rest of my days within the walls, picking up little chores here and there, building my life.
If I go, though, I will be a part of something bigger. I'll never be bored and complacent, empty and tired. The wind will blow in my hair, and I will hear birds. The crickets will put me to sleep, and the constellations will come out at night. I'll get to sleep under the stars, Isaac using my leg as a pillow.
Isaac.
"I can't go without Isaac," I blurt, interrupting something Ollie was saying to Jane. Ollie looks at me. "Trust me, if I go without him, it's going to be a disaster."
"I was under the impression that he wasn't properly healed yet. Jacob is doing all he can for him," Ollie says.
"Then, we will wait. I won't go without him."
Ollie runs a hand through her hair, nodding.
"I will speak to him," she says, taking a few steps towards me, "But you can't force him to go. Maybe he's had his quota of adventure."
I swallow hard. She might be right. It's been a month. Maybe he doesn't want to see me at all, let alone travel across the country with me. After what happened in Room 406, I wouldn't want to see me either.
"I can hope," I mutter, rubbing my temples.
"I'll talk to him," Ollie repeats, squeezing my shoulder, "Go and rest, Jay. Jane and I will plan as much as we can. This trip will be another one where you sort of have to wing it."
I roll my eyes, standing up.
"Life with you around is always us winging it," I say, walking out of the room.