The weeks pass uneventfully.
To my surprise, the people of Compound 4 are exceptionally good at pretending nothing has changed. Is it because of fear? Or just ignorance? Either way, they go to work every morning, wear the same uniforms they always have, and live with their usual disapproving frowns. Occasionally, I'll see someone from a different compound checking in a shipment, but they don't have a clue what's happened. How could they? The surface is exactly the same.
It's the world below the surface that changes. I walk back and forth to work alone every day and survey the minute differences. People laugh on the sidewalks. They take an extra minute to say goodbye to one another, and the young people sneak rushed kisses on the way to school and work. Mothers take the time to slick down their sons' hair with wet cloths.
Everything seems a little bit brighter than before— friendlier and more loving.
The work in the field proves to be as hard as I expected. Since it's winter, we tear up the fall crops and retill the cold, frozen ground. Only the potatoes and lettuce remain, and we weed those every day without fail. I rotate between jobs so that the planting, bending, and squatting doesn't kill my back. Yet, bent under the warm sun, nose red from the cold, focusing on the work becomes natural. I'm easily able to forget everything else.
At night, though, I don't have an escape. The guilt comes rushing back to me the moment I lay down to sleep, and I'm haunted by the idea that Isaac will never come back. Luckily, Dad stays glued to my side. He holds me as I cry and tells me to get it all out of my system.
"It will stop," he whispers to me one night as he pushes hair out of my face. "This depression will end. I promise."
Some nights, though, as we're sitting on the carpet, his arm around my shoulder, staring out at the stars, silent and sleepy, I wonder if he wants that more than I do.
One unusually warm day, Howard joins me in the fields.
"Howie," I say breathlessly, taking in the older man's haggard appearance. "What are you doing here?"
He pulls me in for a hug. "I asked for a job transfer. Just didn't feel right working on The Wall without you. Plus, I did always want to be a gardener."
"But you were imprisoned." I pull back and look up at him. "Hartley locked you away."
"Ollie let me out weeks ago. The day after your execution."
My mouth opens and closes as I search for something to say. Nothing seems to capture the emotion just right. I'm sorry for getting you thrown in prison? I'm sorry the guard beat you senseless and I left you down there? I'm sorry that I'm the root of all your problems?
Howard laughs, and I look at him in confusion.
"Whatever you're thinking, it's alright," he says, smiling. "You haven't done anything wrong in my book. You're alive, and that's all I care about."
I wrap my arms around him once more, burying my face in his jacket. He's warm and familiar, like Dad, and hugging him feels like home.
"I'm glad you're here." I swallow back tears and pull away. His smile never wavers.
Without another word, we go back to work. Everyday he meets me there, hoe in hand. Sometimes I'll look up from planting and find him glancing my way. Our eyes always meet, he always winks at me, and a silent understanding passes between us— we find comfort in each other's presence. Howard never wanders far from me. Even our breaks sync together.
"Hey," I say one day, leaning dangerously on a shovel. "Wanna hear a joke?"
Looking up, Howard pushes his glasses back up on his nose. A half-smile plays at his lips. He nods.
"How do you know when the moon has had enough to eat?"
He pretends to think for a minute before asking, "How?"
"When it's full," I whisper, waggling my eyebrows.
The outward breath of air that follows makes my heart swell. Even as he rolls his eyes at me, waving his hand in exasperation, I laugh.
"Your jokes are terrible," he says.
"I know." I poke his shoulder. "But you love 'em. Tell me, what kind of plants do chickens grow on?"
He snorts. "I have no idea. What kind?"
"Eggplants," I say, after a pause for dramatic effect.
Howard's eyes roll back so far in his head that I bet he can see his brain. I run with the opportunity to tell him another.
"What's an elephant's favorite vegetable?" I wait, but he's pursing his lips together to try and hold back laughter. "Squash!"
As if a dam has been broken, he erupts into laughter. I follow, and after a second, we're both cackling like hens. I stop only when I notice Howard looking at me funny.
"What?" I ask, wiping the tears off my cheeks. "Do I have dirt on my face?"
Howard shakes his head. "Nah. I just noticed how pretty that smile is on you. I wish I could see it more often. Even if it means listening to your awful jokes." He pats me on the back and grabs his weed-bag. "Get back to work, kid, before we get in trouble."
As I watch him struggle to kneel on the ground again, I make a mental note to tell him jokes more often. Laughing with Howard is almost as easy as it used to be with Isaac. Yet, it also reminds me of that night spent in the bank, laughing until our cheeks hurt. Every memory of Isaac hurts. How much longer am I going to have to wait?
With a sigh, I grab my stuff and go back to weeding.
#
Several days later, as the new agricultural crew is sitting under the giant oak tree on a break, the speakers crackle to life. Everyone looks up, including me. Ollie already did the morning announcements; what else could she have to say? Generally, she's quiet.
"Will Jaelyn Price please report to the Research Facility? I repeat, will Jaelyn Price please report to the Research Facility?"
That's not Ollie's voice. It's the chipper, young receptionist— the one I went to school with. I look over at Howard, his soda can paused halfway to his mouth.
"Think I'm in trouble?" I ask, pushing off the ground.
"Probably," he replies, taking a gulp of soda. With a grin, he takes a bite of a carrot. "Want me to go with you?"
"No." I gather my tools to return to the shed. "It should be a quick trip. I'll be right back."
"Yeah, but will you be alright by yourself?"
Shovel and hoe in hand, I glance over my shoulder at him. Returning to the Research Facility isn't something I want to do; that's why I haven't done it yet. Too many of my ghosts live there.
"I'll be fine," I lie, "but thanks."
Chewing on my fingernails, I return my tools and head towards the facility. My stomach aches at the very thought of going back there. As I look up at the towering Research Facility, dizziness washes over me. The execution post is still there, a reminder of the things that happened. My cuffs dangle uselessly off it and rattle in the winter wind. I hurry past them both, up the stairs and through the open doors.
"Jaelyn!"
I crane my neck to see the receptionist waving at me from her desk. Since Ollie opened the doors, the lobby stays filled with the homeless. People with no tent at all huddle in their issued sleeping bags along the wall, edging away from the cold that still seeps in. It's better than the hard sidewalk, though, and the nasty temperature drop. Making my way through the crowd, I smile at the brunette.
"Ollie's in her office." She points down a hallway to her left. "She wants to see you right away."
"Thank you," I mumble, leaving with a nod.
I've never been to Ollie's office before. It used to be Hartley's, and no one in their right mind wanted to go there. But I do know where it is. Three doors on the right side of the hallway, three of the left. The last dark stained wooden door, partially cracked open, has "106" painted on it in gold lettering. Directly four floors under Room 406.
With a soft knock, I walk in. It's like stepping into a museum. Paintings hang from every wall, which are all painted dark red. A large desk sits in the corner, shining from a fresh polishing. Even the chairs are red, plush velvet, soft to the touch.
"Hey," Ollie says, looking up from her paperwork. "How are you feeling?"
"I'm alright," I mumble, sinking into a chair. It sucks me in, and I clutch the arms in shock.
"I'm really glad to hear that, because we have a lot to do."
I sigh. Of course she wants something from me. Ollie never just wants to talk.
"So, you remember the files I was decoding back at the Alma, right? Well, I finished the second one." She pushes a dirty manila folder towards me. It's smeared with ashes and dirt. "I've torn this building apart for more written evidence of the Decontamination and what that entails, but they apparently don't keep paper copies. It's all electronic, and even then, it's scarce. I assume that kind of information can be found in Compound 1 with President Ashford."
She rambles on as I look inside the folder. It's filled with maps and math. I swear, if she's about to ask me to leave again... I'm not a messenger.
"When I asked Jacob, he said that Ashford kept any information about Phase Three away from them. I double-checked the scientists vlogs, but there's nothing there either." She shakes her head. "There's a chance I'm one hundred percent wrong, and I really hope I am."
"You weren't wrong about Phase Two, though," I point out.
"Which is why I seriously doubt I'm wrong about this one."
I toss the folder back down on her desk. "I have no idea what I'm looking at."
She laughs. "It's the timeline for Phase Three."
I sit up a little straighter and grab for the file again. It doesn't make much sense, but from the dates, we've got a few more years before it begins. That makes me feel a little better. We were so rushed with the second phase; maybe we'll plan something decent this time.
"Jay," Ollie says, much more serious that she was a second ago. "I'm going to need your help again."
"I knew it," I snap, glaring. "Send me to fight your battles for you."
"You have no idea how important you are." She walks around her desk and sits in the seat beside me. "The only evidence we have of the government's hand in the virus is two files and a handful of videos. Someone could easily argue that the files are fake, that we forged the signatures and made up the numbers. But it's hard to argue against video evidence.
"It's not me in those videos, honey. I could walk up to the doors of every compound and argue with them all day." She pauses and grabs my hands. "Or I could send the girl who lived through it all. The girl who is living proof that the presidents want to destroy every bit of incriminating evidence against them, regardless of what they have to do."
"I get that, Ollie, but we almost failed."
"But you didn't. Mistakes were made, and I've already apologized. I won't ask you to go alone this time, I promise."
"Good." I pull my hands out of her and cross my arms. "Because we owe all our successes to Isaac. I would have never been able to do it without him. Me without Isaac is a disaster waiting to happen."
Ollie nods in agreement. "While that's true, you don't even know what I'm going to ask you to do."
I sigh. "Then please tell me."
"Phase Three was supposed to come when the compounds were at their lowest point, when the second strand had driven us into severe famine and drought. It wasn't really a physical thing, like Phase Two. There wasn't anything to dump into the river or inject into people. The way the files outline it, though, it was supposed to finish wiping out what was left of the U.S. population."
"But there'll be nothing left," I say.
"That's what I thought. Apparently, Compound 5 has been building an army, though. They plan to attack and destroy the other four compounds, leaving their 'elite' populations as the sole survivors. I have no idea how they're creating such a group of people, but the files are pretty clear— everyone dies but them. The problem is this— I think we accidentally sped up the plan."
"What? How?"
"We gave them a reason to attack us. We started a rebellion, Jay."
My heart sinks into my shoes.
Rebellions lead to attacks. Attacks lead to wars. Wars lead to entire cities being flattened, groups of people being demolished, and landscapes being burned to nothing. How am I supposed to prevent war? I'm a seventeen year-old with terrible aim and night terrors. I'm impulsive, clumsy, out of shape, and depressed. I'm a trash fire.
"I told you I won't ask you to do this on your own," Ollie says gently, as if she's reading my mind. She looks over my shoulder and suddenly waves at the door. I turn slowly to see three people stride in.
Hope returns— in the form of red hair and a leather jacket.
"That's where I come in," Jane says, smirking at me. Standing beside her are two more people I thought I would never see again. Emily, her brown hair twisted into a messy bun, waves at me excitedly, and Trevor, hands crossed over his chest, nods at me. Like that's all I deserve.
"The plan is this," Ollie says, holding my shoulder so that I don't run out of my seat. "In order to fight against Compound 5, we need to win the other three compounds over. I want you to go to Compound 3 and tell them about what happened here. Find the two missing scientists and their families, rally up the other immunes. If we work together to convince people to rebel against their governments, we may be able to pull together a force strong enough to compare to Compound 5."
I look between Ollie and Jane, trying to piece everything together. Of course Jane would be the person to show me to Compound 3— that's where she's from. We already know she isn't loyal to any governing body. I wonder if they asked or she volunteered. Ollie continues her lecture.
"Jane knows the roads better than anyone. She can take you back and forth between compounds without a problem."
"I thought you only worked the 3-to-4 route," I say to Jane. She shrugs.
"I got a promotion two months back. Convenient, right? I haven't run all the routes myself yet, but I do have access to all of the maps now."
Ollie nearly bounds over a chair to get to her. She grabs Jane by the arm and gives her a shake. "Yes! That's going to be so helpful. Jay is really good at breaking in and out of places. Plus, she's living proof that the cure exists and the second strand did too. Both of you are essential."
I bite my nails and watch her pace around the room.
Hartley said it himself— There's some strength in unification.
For once, I try not to be impulsive. I want to think about every angle and weigh this carefully. If I don't go, someone else will. Maybe they'll take Mandy and Stephen— who have only been getting closer over the past month. Yet, Mandy can be their living cure. I'll spend the rest of my days digging and planting, stuck inside The Wall, rebuilding my life.
If I do go, though, I will be a part of something bigger. I'll never be bored or complacent. The wind will blow in my hair; birds will sing happily. Crickets will put me to sleep, and constellations will dance at night. I'll get to relax under the stars with Isaac using my leg at a pillow.
Isaac.
"I can't go without Isaac," I blurt, interrupting something Ollie was saying. They both look at me. "Trust me, if I go without him, it's going to be a disaster."
"I was under the impression that he isn't properly healed yet. Jacob is doing all he can for him," Ollie says.
"Then, we wait. I won't go without him.
Ollie runs a hand through her hair and leans on the desk. "I'll see if Jacob will let me speak to him. But, Jay, you can't force him to go. Maybe he's had his quota of adventure."
I swallow hard and pull my thumbnail back into my lap. She could very well be right. It's been almost two months since we saw one another. Maybe he's angry at me and doesn't want to see me at all, let alone travel across the country with me. After everything that happened in Room 406, I wouldn't want to see me either.
"Let me hope," I mumble, rubbing my temples.
"I'll talk to him," Ollie repeats, squeezing my arm. "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.
"Life with you around is always us winging it," I say, walking out of the room.