None of us move right away. Isaac stands behind me, his hand still clamped tight around my forearm. My right hand sits poised on my gun strap. I stare up at the giant, preparing to swing the weapon around.
I couldn't actually do anything, but the thought of having something to threaten him with comforts me.
As if he senses how tense we are, he takes a step back.
"Name's Stephen," he says with a nod. "That's Zeus." The dog sits down, his tongue falling out of his mouth. "Ya'll should come on inside. Ollie'll want to see ya." He turns, pushes the door the rest of the way open, and walks inside. Slowly, I follow. My hand rises to push Isaac off me. He jumps slightly, smiling at me as he recovers.
Inside the building, there are rows of shelves. To our direct left is a huge empty space where sleeping bags line the floor. There's barely room for someone to walk between them. On our right are racks with clothes hanging off them. Some are empty, and others drip water on the white tile floor.
As we walk ahead, we pass rows of food. Some of the aisles are messy with bags and boxes strewn across the flood. Others are empty, filled with more sleeping bags instead. We walk past sections with baby clothes and paper products. After a sharp right, we find rows of TVs, phones, radios, and outdated movies. These aisles are much messier, small round silver disks thrown everywhere.
The man leading us comes to a stop and turns right again on his heel. Several couches have been laid out in a horseshoe shape. It reminds me of a makeshift amphitheater. The shelves have been scooted out of the way to make room for tables and seats. Folded chairs litter the inside of the horseshoe. There's probably enough room for twenty or more people in this meeting space, but right now, there's only six.
"Hey, Ollie," Stephen calls, crossing his arms. A woman with mousy-brown short hair looks up at him from the papers she had been studying. She's wearing dirt covered, torn jeans and a dark tank top. There's a muscle tone in her arms that reminds me of Isaac's. Freckles dust her face and shoulders, even if she is pale.
"Look who showed up," Stephen continues, stepping to the side. Ollie steps around the table. The closer she gets to us, the more I notice about her. Her height—nearly head to head with Stephen. Her thin legs, knobbly knees protruding through the jeans. A smearing of makeup around her eyes, eyeliner possibly.
"Jaelyn?" Her voice is soft in its shock. She glances down to double-check herself. I'm still wearing my Compound 4 uniform shirt.
"How do you know who I am?"
It's all I can think to ask. The same question has been burning in my head since the day that Jane said she read my name in the graffiti. How do these people know me?
Ollie takes a deep breath, runs her hand through her already messy hair, and smiles softly at me.
"I can't really answer that question," she says. "Not yet. Someone else can. For now, let me introduce you to everyone."
Who else would be able to answer me? Isn't she supposed to be the leader here? I'll admit that she doesn't have the presidential appearance that Hartley has—suit and dark, warning eyes. Maybe she isn't in charge.
As she turns, she fans her arm out at the crew of people sitting on the couches. Stephen has taken up a spot next to a boy maybe half my age. His voice drifts towards me, explaining the mechanics of a small engine in his hand to Stephen. The jargon is lost on me.
"You've met Stephen. That's his son Jackson." Ollie listens to Jackson explain something before laughing awkwardly. "Jackson likes machinery. Don't know where he gets that from. His dad's all muscles. No brain at all."
Stephen smiles without looking up. "Watch it, girl. You're not a match for me."
Ollie moves on quickly, shrugging off the comment. "This is Belle. I believe you met her dog, Zeus, outside."
Sitting on a couch across from Stephen and his son is a girl who looks to be ten. Her black hair is pulled into tight pigtails, and a pistol rests in her hands. She's cleaning it with a greasy rag. She looks up at us for half a second before going back to work, and I swear, her eyes are so familiar that they give me goosebumps. Her paisley skirt over torn black leggings reminds me of the girl I saved.
Or rather tried to save.
"That's Clare and Justin." Ollie continues on, oblivious to my episode of dejavu. She points at a couple sitting together on a couch beside Belle. Clare's head is half-shaved with a nasty scar stretching the length of her skull— starting at the bottom of her chin, through her eye, and to the base of her head. Honestly, it looks like she was attacked by a bear. The man sitting beside her, Justin I assume, whittles away at a piece of wood. Neither of them bother to look up at us at first.
"Let me finish, and I'll get her attention," Justin mumbles.
Why would he need to get her attention? Clare stares at the wood in Justin's hands, eyes following his precise, smooth movements. When he comes to a stopping point, he puts the wood down and takes Clare's hand. She looks up at him, and then, she looks at us.
No smile, no words. Just a wave. That's all I'm worth, apparently.
"Nice to finally meet you, Jaelyn," Justin says, smirking as he goes back to work.
With a sigh, Ollie moves on. As curious as I am about what's going on between these two, it isn't worth digging into right now.
"And that... Well, that is..."
The falter in Ollie's voice catches my attention. I look up from Justin, eyebrows furrowing as I follow my guide's direction. At the front of the room, there's a second table. Like the first, papers are scattered across it. I recognize maps before the rest.
My eyes fall on a woman standing behind the table holding a ragged piece of paper. She has wavy, blonde hair, and her mouth sits slightly open. As our eyes meet, I notice the tears brimming hers.
A moment passes in my mind. Have I seen this woman before? In a dream, maybe? Or a vision? She looks so familiar, but I just can't place it.
"Jaelyn," she whispers. The piece of paper flutters out of her hand. Even her voice is familiar.
Isaac pulls up closer behind me, grabbing my arm. "Do you know her?" he whispers into my ear. Goosebumps race down my back; I hate people breathing in my ear.
"I don't think so."
"Are you positive?"
"Yes," I hiss back.
"She looks like she could be your twin, Jay."
My eyes go wide as I realize he's right. I'm looking at a mirror image of myself. Same soft blue eyes, thick eyelashes, and light eyebrows. Same strong cheekbones and collarbone that stands out against the collar of her shirt. She's a bit taller than me, but our figures are the same— little muscle, mostly bone.
"No," I whisper, backing into Isaac. "Absolutely not." He grabs the other arm, too, in an effort to hold me in place. "No."
"Jay, calm down," the woman blurts out. The sound her chair makes as she moves it back startles Isaac, and he drops my arms. I seize the opportunity and shove away from him.
"What's your name?" I ask, voice fading. My hands tremble at my side; fingernails dig painfully into my palms.
Thundering footsteps race up behind me, and I glance back to see Stephen looming over my shoulder. My body is almost shaking. If he tried to stop me right now, we would have another Farrah situation on our hands. I don't care how massive he is.
"What is your name?" I repeat, putting emphasis on each word as I push them through clenched teeth.
"Calm down." She holds her hands up in front of her— a weak defense. "Please."
"Tell— Me— Your— Name!" My voice rises to a scream. I'm panting now, knees shaking and teeth rattling. The ground under me dips and spins, threatening me to drag me down there with it.
The woman stops walking and takes a deep breath. Her hands fall to her sides, and her shoulders slump.
"It's me, Jay." Her voice is calming, pleasing almost. "Mandy Price."
The room tilts.
This cannot be happening. No. Absolutely not.
It's my mom.
"I'm so sorry," she continues. Yet, her voice is more distant now. I'm hearing her through glass. Isaac wraps his arms around me, but even he can't hold me still.
The tile floor slams into my knees, and pain erupts across my legs. Everything around me goes black. The only thing left to feel is the cold tile on my back.