After a night riddled with flashbacks and self-hatred, Dad comes into the tent the next morning holding a rolled-up piece of paper.
"Discharge papers," he says, smacking the edge of the bed with them. I unroll it and begin to read through my orders as he unhooks me from my IVs and monitors. He records my vitals one last time and then sits across from me on a wooden stool.
"Farrah doesn't want you to miss any more work." He watches me pick at the tape around my bandage. "He expects you to report to him as soon as possible. That won't be a problem, will it?"
I shake my head and kick my legs back and forth.
"Jay, if it's a problem, I'll get you a job reassignment."
What he means is if I'm going to keep causing problems. Except I didn't mean to the past two times. Sometimes, I just can't control myself. There isn't a single part of me that intends to do it again.
I look up at him and watch his shoulders heave up and down. A job reassignment wouldn't be that bad. For a moment, I imagine myself working indoors, pushing fabric through a machine in the sticky dark rooms of the factories. The very thought of it stifles me.
No, the best place for me is The Wall. At least up there I can see out. Freedom is present, even if unattainable.
"It won't be a problem, Dad," I finally mutter, looking down at my bruised hands in my lap.
"Good. Here's your new uniform shirt." He hands me a folded olive uniform shirt not unlike the one I'm wearing now.
"But why? Mine didn't get ruined. I can wash the dirt and stuff out."
"Did you not read your discharge papers thoroughly? Last page."
I pick back up my papers and flip to the last page. Nothing seems to be off about it.
"There's nothing...."
"Seriously?" Dad stands and leans over, pointing at the middle of the page. "Hartley is signing you off."
My breath leaves in one quick burst. I shake my head. This can't be happening. One label was bad enough, but two?
Five words stare up at me from my discharge papers.
Jaelyn Price: Wall Guard, MU
"Please, Dad. Don't do this to me."
"I didn't. You did. If you had just stayed put, he wouldn't have even considered labelling you as 'Mentally Unstable.'"
I groan and run a hand across my hair. It's slipped out of the braid in the night, leaving whisps to curl around my face. The small action smooths down little fly-aways, but even more twist in the circulating wind.
This means I can't be trusted to act like a part of normal society. Now, everyone is in charge of watching me and making sure I don't do anything dangerous. Normally, they save this title for individuals that commit serious crimes or have dangerous mental statuses.
"I couldn't talk him out of it," Dad says, breaking the tense silence. "I tried, but Hartley doesn't listen to me the way he used to."
I turn the shirt over in my lap and run my fingers over the embroidered letters. Whoever was tasked with doing this knows what happened, and gossip is probably spreading by the second.
"It's okay, Dad." I force a tiny smile onto my lips and look up at him. It's not his fault.
He puts a hand on my knee and returns my forced smile.
"I can't promise anything, but I'm sure it's going to work out. Everything will be fine."
It won't. Yet, I've handled this for four years now. It can't be worse.
YOU ARE READING
The Immune
Science FictionCompound 4 was supposed to be a sanctuary away from the virus and the Infected that came with it, but to Jaelyn, it's prison. It's too crowded, she's treated like a disgrace, and her only friend is an old man who loves Checkers. But outside The Wal...
