Mya

"I'm telling you, he's not much older than us."

"You can't judge how old someone is by looking at their shirtless body for ten minutes."

"You're right. If I look at you shirtless, I would think you're ten."

Finn glares at me from his seat in the library. The red leather chair cracks under his weight, groaning with every breath. Its tall back stands behind him, engulfing him in fiery wrinkles.

When Finn thought he heard Mom coming down the stairs, we bolted to the library. An open book sits in his lap, pages flipping on their own as his fingers scrape more leather from the chair. My tablet balances precariously on my knee as I sit cross legged on the carpet, looking up at him.

"Seriously, Mya, what makes you think he's our age?"

"I don't know! He just.... Looked young."

Finn rolls his eyes.

"Did you at least check for a birthmark?"

My blank stare prompts him to groan, running a hand through his hair. It stands up like a faux hawk, curling back towards his head at the tips, giving him the appearance of a rooster.

"You've got to be kidding me?" he whispers, pressed and angry. "Did you get anything out of your snooping other than he looks young?"

"He's attached to a virus drip," I mutter, poking at my tablet screen.

"So, she's testing him."

"Maybe not yet. He was still on the first bag. I'm sure she will be by the end of the day."

I look up at him from the circles I've been drawing on the black tablet screen. He stares back down at me, biting his lower lip. His wide eyes speak volumes, only matched by the water gathering on his bottom lashes.

"Was he hurting?" he asks, in a much quieter tone than before.

I nod, scooting towards my brother. The carpet burns my bare legs, pulling the edges of my shorts up.

"Why would she hurt him? That's not what she does," he continues, eyes drifting away from me. I reach up and touch his knee as it begins to quiver.

"Technically, she does, Finny."

"I don't want to talk about that," he snaps, shoving my hand off his knee. "Not when Monday is still far away."

"It's Saturday, meaning Monday's the day after tomorrow."

He shakes his head, slamming the book shut in his lap with one quick motion. The sound bounces around the room, trapped by the enclosed space.

With his monstrous spider legs, he steps over me, grabbing his tablet off the table and heading to the door.

"Where are you going?" I ask, scrambling to follow behind him. Just when I've gotten to my feet, he slams the door behind him. The wind from it brushes my face and blows my hair back.

I guess that means I shouldn't follow.

Sighing, I take his seat in the leather chair, sitting so that my legs dangle over one arm and my back leans against the other. The back serves as a headrest.

Every Monday, Mom hooks one of us to a drip. She lets the virus wreak its havoc, and then, she runs whatever test she's been working on. Sometimes, it's physical tests, and other times, it's different blends of medicines that she pumps into our bloodstream to see what it does to the virus inside.

Last week, I faced the experiments.

This week, Finn will.

Even worse is the fact that it's a vaccine week, meaning that the effects will last. Finn's preparing himself for several miserable days.

Monday is still two days away, though.

Today might be Six's Monday.

His face sticks in the front of my mind, weaving its way through the words of my history podcast. The sweat pooled under the small of his back and trailed down the table. The overhead lights reflected in the sheen covering his chest. His cheeks flushed pink against their natural caramel tone.

I imagine that he had dark eyes to complete his skin. His voice in my mind sounds like water falling against a tin roof, like calming white noise and thunder on a summer night.

He must like long walks through the woods and skipping rocks across still bodies of water. His favorite color is green, and he plays the piano like Bach.

He's anything but mean, but he stands for what he believes in. That explains why he's an anarchist.

Why would anyone rise up against our government? Ashford does whatever he can to protect his people.

The mirage shatters, bringing the words of a faceless male back to my ears. I grimace. Who am I creating in my mind? Six might be none of those things.

"Idiot," I mumble, brushing a hand through my hair.

For the next few hours, I focus on listening to the podcast, jotting notes on a pad of unlined paper. More than once, my chin falls to my chest, and the aluminum static at the end of the recording wakes me up. Heavy lines lance the paper from top to bottom, slipping at the end of words.

I move only to switch between my tablet and a book, balancing out the boring.

By lunch, noodles have taken over my brain, turning every inch of me into mush. I limp into the kitchen, where Finn leans against the counter with a half eaten sandwich hanging out of his mouth.

"Did you make me one?" I ask, jerking my chin at him.

He shrugs, ramming me with his shoulder as he walks past me towards the PA room. I rock sideways, grabbing a chair for balance. The door slams behind him, and I roll my eyes.

"You're being childish!" I yell, moving towards the fridge.

Something white on the counter catches my eye.

On a ceramic plate with blue inking sits a single peanut butter and jelly sandwich cut into two triangles across a diagonal. A smile creeps onto my face.

Even when he's mad at me, Finn loves me anyway.

I pass the rest of the evening in the leather chair, sleeping and staring at the screen of my tablet. When the history lecture is finally over, I attempt to work on some homework, stretched across the soft carpet on my elbows.

"Mya!" Mom yells from the living room. "Come here for your vital check."

I glance up at the clock. It's blinking seven on the dot. So, I push myself off the carpet and join the two of them in the kitchen.

Mom's medical tools are spread across the table with no valid organization. Her stethoscope hangs over the back of a chair. A blood pressure cuff curls on the table, beside a needle and syringe. Finn slouches opposite the landscape of metal, glaring at the assortment. A thermometer hangs out of the corner of his mouth, bobbing as he fidgets.

"Sit," Mom says, pulling out a chair from me. "You're next."

The thermometer beeps, and Mom takes it from Finn, jotting down his temperature before she shoves the instrument under my tongue. I grimace, shifting it around in my mouth.

Mom sucks at her job.

She fails at every attempt to make a vaccine for the virus, and her basic knowledge of medical practices stuns me. The fact that she doesn't clean the thermometer between each use grosses me out. If it was anyone other than Finn, I would say something.

It's not only her careless sanitation habits.

Drawing blood hurts more than it should because she never seems to do it correctly the first time, and she measures out blood pressure incorrectly each time. I don't know why she was chosen for this job, but Ashford clearly made a mistake.

Plus, after that conversation she had the other night, the deadline's approaching.

"Hold still, Mya," Mom scolds, putting a hand on my trembling knee. I've turned my head away from her to avoid looking at the mess she's about to make of my elbow. I groan as she inserts the needle, taking a long drag of blood. "Apply pressure."

I do, taking it a step further by hoisting my arm up and over my head. She grins and me, moving back to her stack of papers.

"Alright, guys. I've got to be going. I have a meeting this evening. Please, follow the rules." Mom kisses us both on the forehead and gathers her papers up. After shoving them in her bag, she moves towards the door. "See you in the morning."

The first door shuts silently, but the second one rattles against the door frame. Finn watches it tremble, shaking his head. The lock clicks, shutting us inside.

"What have you been doing all day?" he asks, still staring at the door.

"Studying," I mumble, picking at the fabric bandage Mom put on my elbow. "You?"

"I tried to research that list of words."

"Oh? How'd that go?"

"I didn't know this," he says, smacking his tablet onto the table, "but Mom has parental controls on our access. I've never really had time to dig through the thing. It turns out, most of the search engines are blocked. I can't look up anything."

I pick his tablet up, swiping a finger across the screen to wake it up. The black screen comes to life, showing the current time - eight fifteen.

"Can you get through the lock?" I ask, typing in his passcode and scrolling through his screens.

"If I can figure out Mom's password, I can."

"Any ideas for what it might be?"

Finn shakes his head, taking the tablet back from me.

"I'm going to keep trying, though. That's what I'll do tomorrow."

I nod, shivering against the cold air in the room.

"Let's get ready for bed," Finn mumbles, pushing away from the table and standing up. He leaves me sitting there, heading towards the shower. I blink at the tablet he left behind, considering trying to crack the passcode myself.

There's always tomorrow, though, and doing nothing all day physically exhausted me.

So, I wait for Finn to finish showering, covering my eyes in case he walks through the bedroom naked, which isn't uncommon. The warm wave of air over my bare feet gives him away, and I stand to take my place in the bathroom.

"Are you dressed?" I ask, stumbling around the room with one hand still cupped over my eyes. I use the bed as a rail, scooting my feet towards the door.

"Yes," he says from the other side of the room.

I uncover my eyes, glancing back at him. My face twists in horror, and I clench my eyes shut again.

"Finn Julien, you liar!"

I scramble away, tripping over his sopping wet towel that he left laying in the floor. I kick it to the side, slamming the door behind me.

By the time I'm ready for bed, Finn's already asleep, lost in his cocoon of blankets. I crawl into my own bed, just as the lights click off. The pillow cradles my head, and sleep greets me like an old friend.

In my dream, I walk through the woods. Snow falls around me, gathering on my shoulders and hair. Individual flakes land on my nose, melting from my body heat. I reach a hand out, but they dance away from my skin, joining the rest of the snow that blankets the ground.

I continue on, alone except for the moon overhead, washing everything around me in soft white light. It brightens the ground, painting a pathway through the thick, naked trees. Ahead, the lights of the wall rise into view, blinking like a warning sign.

I press forward.

Compound 1 holds the answers to Six, to immunity, and to my future. If I can get inside the wall, nothing will be kept from me anymore.

Just as the trees fade out and give way to an expanse of clear ground at the base of the wall, a scream cuts through the silence, forcing me to turn back towards my home.

My footsteps behind me leave messy gaps in the snow, shattering the perfect scene. Among the footsteps, though, another trail contrasts with the snow.

Blood.

The screaming comes again, and I break into a sprint, tearing through the snow back towards home.

Finn.

Six.

Mom.

They need me.

I jerk upright in my bed, gasping for breath. Looking around the dark room, the shape of Finn's body comes into view. He sits up in his bed, too. As my eyes adjust, I see that he's chewing on his fingernails, staring back at me with wide eyes.

Another scream breaks me out of my trance. I thought it was just in my dreams. This one lasts much longer than the last, stopping only for a second before it resumes it's tirade.

"Finn, can I-"

"Get over here," he interrupts, scooting over. I hurry over to his bed, crawling under the covers and curling into his side. He clasps his hands over my ears, pulling me against him. I clench my eyes closed, trying not to think about the pain Six faces for the duration of the night.

There's a small break in the horrific music, and Finn leans down, resting his cheek against my head. He begins to sing You Are My Sunshine in a low whisper, never wavering even when Six begins screaming again.