The Immune

9: Birds

The next morning, Jane and her crew leave before morning announcements. I'm awake before the alarm goes off in the hopes of talking to them, but they've already left. So, I perch on the kitchen stool with my knees pulled up to my chest. The thought of people outside the compound looking for me, people who know me and want my help, will not leave me alone.

It makes no sense.

Yet, neither has most of the past two days.

I glance at my watch. The alarm always sounds at five a.m., meaning I have thirty minutes until I'm supposed to meet Isaac at the gates of the neighborhood. Being late for work would cause more trouble, and for the time being, I prefer to avoid that exact thing.

Sliding off the stool, I head upstairs and pack a small backpack— a book, a notebook, a few pens, and a deck of cards. Anything to keep me from being bored out of my mind.

Isaac's waiting at the gate, leaning on the empty toll booth with his hands in his pockets. Beside him sits two folded chairs and his white, five-gallon bucket of things. I peek inside for the first time— a worn out sketchbook with the spiral binding twisted at the edges, a packet of pencils that are covered in their own gray dust, some crayons with the wrappers missing, and a thin jacket. I barely recognize the last object in the bucket, due to it being wrapped up into a ball and stuffed in the bottom. Ear plugs.

"Sleep good?" I ask as I finish doing my inventory. Isaac jumps, stepping to the side away from me. Once he recognizes me, warmth replaces the cold fear and shock.

"Of course I did." He hands me a chair.

"That's good."

We walk to our post in silence, stepping over sleeping bodies and around worn tents. The smoldering ashes of fires light our way like depressed beacons, lighthouses long given up on saving anyone. Everyone mostly ignores the first alarm since it only applies to the Guards. Another alarm will sound at six, signaling work and school is beginning. The men will head off to their long twelve-hour shifts; the women will start their first-shift jobs.

Normally, I would be packing my stuff up, waking up Howard, and preparing to open the gate. The routine was simple once work was over: eat, sleep, eat, chores, eat, then get ready for work again.

What will my routine be now? How long will it take me to get used to sleeping at night like a normal person?

At the south gate, the Guards stand around on the ground, yawning and finishing up their paperwork. One hands me a clipboard; the other passes Isaac a ring of keys. Isaac manages to conjure up a bit of small talk while we stand around waiting for the sun to rise. Infected can't tolerate daylight— something about the UV rays and their blood. Dad explained it to me, and I learned about it in class before I was assigned a job. Yet, with all the other information they crammed in my brain, that took a backseat.

I slip off eventually and head to the top of The Wall to set up our chairs. I unpack Isaac's bucket, toss my backpack down, and then slide back down the ladder.

Finally, the sun begins to peek over the horizon, spreading an orange-red light on all of us. I lift a hand to cover my eyes as all three of us squint towards it.

"All clear?" Isaac grasps the lock on the door.

"Yes, sir," replies the youngest. He's my age, but his short stature makes him seem younger somehow.

Together, the two of them seperate the lock by pulling it apart, and we position ourselves to pull it open. I dig my heels into the ground and tug as hard as I can with my good arm, but surprisingly, the door isn't as heavy as I remember. Isaac tenses up beside me; muscles in his neck strain. He must be stronger than he looks because this gate would have weighed a thousand pounds without him.