I don't have time to ask her what she means. My jaw is still on the ground, eyebrows still raised when Isaac comes back, brandishing his clipboard in the air.

"You're all clear, Jane. Head to the storage blocks," he says, giving the woman a thumbs up. The woman, Jane, nods, turning back to the steering wheel. Her crew is back in the back of the truck, some holding small boxes and others leaning on the bigger ones.

Isaac and I watch her leave, watch her wave at us.

"Isaac, who was that?"

"Jane," he says, heading back to the ladder.

"Jane who?" Talking to him makes me want to hit him.

"Jane Clayton, I think," he replies, beginning to climb. I follow close, hoping he isn't done. "She's captain of the 3-to-4 route. I see her about once a month." We sit back down, and my legs shake as I fidget.

How did she know my name? What did she mean when she said it was well known? Outside the compound walls?

Nothing makes sense. There's nothing outside the walls. Nothing but devastation and emptiness, ruins and the infected.

I can't ask Isaac any of this; he wouldn't know the answer, anyway.

"Isaac, why are you MU?"

I regret it the moment it slips out. It's rude to ask someone that. It's like asking them why they are crazy or why they can't function normally in society. Most MUs can't hold a job and don't survive in the compound; they end up going crazy in the research facility. Isaac takes a deep breath, staring out into the nothing outside the wall.

"I was transferred to Compound 4 a few years ago," he says, finally, not really looking at me. He's looking in my direction, but his eyes aren't focused. "I started out in Compound 5."

He's quiet for a moment, and then he hands me his sketchbook. Not knowing what to do with it, I flip it open to the first page, where there's a sketch of a person, or rather the remnants of a person. In the picture, the human doesn't have any arms, bones protrude from the empty shoulder sockets. There's chunks missing from it's legs; eyes are sunken in. It's hunched. Behind it, a huge black shadow looms, empty white eye sockets staring down. For a black and white sketch, it's incredibly gruesome.

I flip the page, grimacing at the next few similar pictures. Endless scenes of the infected in their last stages, falling apart, feasting on others, scaling the compound walls, and basically terrorizing the sane humanity.

"When the virus broke out, I was seven. I didn't have parents; I lived in this really  nice boy's home in the city. We lasted maybe a month before everything sort of fell apart. Long story short, I spent a few years on the streets before they found me and brought me in," he says, taking his sketchbook back. "I couldn't sleep. I would wake up screaming about monsters. Eventually, they gave me sleeping medication, but when we started jobs trainings, every time I heard a gunshot it was like I was having flashbacks again. It was a mess.

"The captains didn't want someone who couldn't hear the sound of gunshots working in a compound that specializes in weaponry. The president signed my transfer papers. So, they labelled me MU and sent me here."

I stare at the side of his head as he stares at something else.

All I can think of is: what a pair we are.

"I shouldn't have asked," I finally say, breaking the silence.

"Don't worry about it."

He opens his sketchbook, pencil already moving. That's my signal that the conversation between us is over. That's all the clarification I need that he won't know the answers to my questions, which means I'll have to find Jane later and ask her myself.

Several hours later, as the sunset begins, the night crew shows up. Isaac helps them shut the door, giving me a soft pat on the back as I point at the still bandaged arm. So, I watch, looking at the drastic differences in appearance. The night crew are rougher, scruffy and calloused. Isaac looks like a kitten beside them, minus the sleeve tattoos. They both carry two guns, one slung over their shoulders and the other holstered to their belt.

"Want me to walk you home?" Isaac asks, as we are packing up his stuff. He dumps everything into the bucket, including the gun. I hold the chair awkwardly against my chest.

"Um, no, that's okay," I say, handing him the chair, "Do you live in a house?"

"No. I camp with the rest of the residents. Most of the time I'll stay pretty close to the research buildings, just in case I have an episode."

I nod. The research buildings are pretty close to our houses. At least there he has access to the public showers and bathrooms. He pulls a crumpled sheet of paper out of his pocket, lips moving as he reads aloud to himself.

"First, though," he continues, crumpling the paper back up, "I have to go to agricultural duty. The crops don't pick themselves, I guess. You have a good night, Jaelyn. I'll see you in the morning, right?"

His eyebrows are slightly raised, like there's even a chance that I won't be back. Surely he knows that we can't switch jobs. Even if I don't really like him or feel comfortable around him. It's hard not to feel a little compassionate towards him, considering he is just as broken as I am.

"Yeah. You'll see me in the morning."

"Perfect! I'll pick you up outside the gates at five thirty," he says, giving me his giant grin from before again.

I watch him walk away, humming to himself. It's a mystery how he can be so happy, but maybe it's better not to question it. Maybe there's something I can learn from it. Enjoy the little things, or something like that. I have the rest of our boring day guard lives to figure it out.

"Yo, Muney!"

Oh, God.

I turn around, gritting my teeth as I see Farrah. He's smiling, swinging his arms and acting all normal. Must be time to torture me.

"Evening, Captain," I say, nodding as I begin to walk home. I push past him, but he swings around and walks beside me.

"How was your first shift?" he asks, sounding genuinely curious.

"Fine," I reply.

"See any more infected in the outer yard?"

"No."

"Well, maybe they've decided to just stay away from you. All you do is get them shot."

I grit my teeth, shoving my hands, which are balled into fists, into my pockets.

"Do you need something, Farrah- I mean, Captain? I'm off shift."

"Actually, yes," he says, nodding, "I came to tell you that we drew sticks for where the people from 3 would be staying."

My foot stops, mid air. It takes me a second to place it, but by then, Farrah has already stopped, turning around to face me in the middle of the path. I have a feeling that my father and I were the short stick in this setting. It seems like something Farrah would do, cramming ten people into our home for a night.

"And, wait for it," he says, holding a finger in the air, "You won! I delivered them to your welcoming home just a few hours ago. I told them to make themselves at home, and they seemed very grateful. Unlike you, Muney, who seems angry."

There's a million things I would like to say to him. Why me? Why always push me around? I've never done anything to him! I want to grab him by the shoulders, shake him several times, scream at him at the top of my lungs. It would be easy to explain to him why putting them in the smallest house on the block doesn't seem fair.

Instead of saying the things in my head, I shove past him, stomping ahead. Heat burns in my ears; my face is fire. Behind me, I hear Farrah laugh, feeling like he's won again.

I pass under the yellow bar a few minutes later, it's yellow blinking lights casting their glow on the shadows of the sidewalk. Around the neighborhood, the lights are on. I can hear water running in almost all the homes, and music is coming from one house. It seems almost unfair, considering that there are so many people sleeping in tents right on the other side of the compound.

Looking up at my house, though, sleeping in a tent in the yard doesn't seem too scary. Through the uncurtained windows, I can see all of the visitors sitting on our couch, the floor, the kitchen chairs. Like sardines, crammed inside a tiny little can.

"Hey! Jay's here!" some man calls from the living room, seeing me standing on the front steps. All at once, everyone's waving, peeping out the window at me. I just smirk at them all, waving awkwardly. Someone opens the door, and I join them in the living room.

A man with dark skin and messy blonde hair is playing cards in the corner. Several more are playing a board game at the kitchen table. There's a group of about five sitting on the couch, reading my father's books from the shelves. Two girls are brushing each other's hair, fresh from the shower upstairs.

"Welcome home, Jaelyn Price."

Now, that voice is familiar.

"Jane," I whisper, turning towards the stair case.

"Jaelyn," she whispers back, smirking. "Thanks for letting us stay here. We've been camping for days. It's a nice break from the wind indoors."

"Yeah, no problem," I say, scratching my neck, "We drew sticks, apparently."

"I know. I was there."

"Then you know Farrah cheated?"

"He literally broke your stick in half and put it back in the cup."

We laugh together, and I watch the way her eyes crinkle at the edges, the freckles on her cheek dancing. She has a scar on the right cheek, big enough that I can see but not so big that it stands out.

"All seriousness aside, the crew wanted to know if we could build a fire outside in your backyard. They found a fire pit, gathered up twigs and everything, just like boys scouts. If you'll allow it, we'll cook you dinner outside, and we've got lots of stories to tell about the trips back and forth," Jane says, motioning to the back door.

"I don't mind. That sounds great."

"Awesome," she says, bouncing a little. She leans over the stair railing, cupping her hands around her mouth. "Boys, go light that fire!" The five men on the couch jump up, nearly tripping over one another. Their excited yipping reminds me of a bunch of dogs.

"I'm going to go clean up," I mutter, scratching at the bandages on my arm. They need changing. Badly.

"I'll keep an eye on them," Jane says, nodding, "And when you come back, maybe our stories will answer some of those questions burning in your eyes."

She winks at me and jumps down the last two steps, disappearing out the back door. I hear her telling the men not to build the fire too high. The only thought on my mind as I walk up the steps is whether or not I should make a list of questions.