After my shower, which was mostly me scrubbing my skin raw under the cold water, I braid my hair again and dress warmly. It gets cold at night here, especially in the fall. I can see the smoke from the fire rising outside my window, spiraling towards the sky.

When my father is at home, which isn't too often, he likes to stare at the stars, telling me about all the different constellations and galaxies. When he was growing up, he lived in a big city, and the smog and lights blocked out the sky. That's one of the first things he noticed about the world changing around him.

He could finally see the stars.

On nights like tonight, when he is working at the research complex or the infirmary, I glance up and name the constellations I can see, just to prove I haven't forgotten them over the years, because my memory has gradually gotten worse. I can't remember what the ocean sounds like, but I can remember the smell of a gun right after you fire it. I can't remember what my mother looked like, but I know what the alarm sounds like, when we brace ourselves for a wave of infected.

So, I want to remember the constellations, those little moments my father and I shared, before he quit smoking and threw himself into his job.

Jogging down the steps, I notice that the ground floor has emptied. Laughter drifts into the room from the backyard outside. They managed to get a fire going good enough that I can see it over their heads as they sit in a circle around it. Jane is handing out these small fish from a silver bag; although, I have no idea where she got them. Probably something she brought with them from 3. As I'm walking out the door, everyone is skewering the fish on different sized twigs, shoving them into the fire.

"Welcome back, Jaelyn," Jane says, handing me a stick and a fish. It's still damp, and the fins on it's back are sharp. I just look at it, scrunching my nose up. "Oh. You don't know what to do with it," she continues, taking it back. In one swift motion, she stabs it with the stick, handing it back. "Dinner is served."

I find a seat around the circle on the grass, beside one of the girls and the guy with messy blonde hair. They both smile at me, watching me dangle the fish precariously over the fire.

"Alright," Jane says, sitting across from me, "Everyone's here. Let the campfire stories begin!"

Everyone is quiet for a minute, staring at each other.

"We know all of our stories," a man says, giving her a look.

"Well, Jaelyn doesn't, Trevor," Jane replies. The guy looks over at me, his black hair reflecting the orange light of the fire.

"Well then, maybe she should tell us a story first," Trevor says, shrugging.

"We are guests in her home. I will not make her share if she's not willing." Jane's voice is low, like she's talking through gritted teeth. I can see her face growing red in the light, but I'm unsure if it's from the heat or anger.

"It's okay," I blurt, smiling a little, "I'll share something." Jane gives me a nod.

At first, I'm not sure what story to tell. There's the one about the man I got killed or the girl I got killed. There's Isaac's story, although I'm not sure that's mine to share. Maybe...

"So, when I was little, my parents and I lived in the suburbs of Knoxville, which isn't really far from here," I say, taking my now brown fish out of the fire, "We owned this little house with a white picket fence. My father was a scientist at the local center for disease control, and my mom was a teacher at Hammond School, this private school near where we lived. She had been a teacher before they got married, and I started pre-school there when I was four. Everyday, we would walk to school together, and on the way home, we would stop and get ice cream at this food truck that parked at the playground by the school."

I stop for a minute, taking a breath. The man beside me helps me get the fish off, sitting it on the chipped plate on the ground in front of me.

"We had a pretty great life, I guess. The summer before I was to start kindergarten, my mom got really sick. I remember she was always in bed, sleeping. I could hear her coughing and crying out at night. Dad wouldn't let me in the room to see her, but I would catch glimpses of her when he came in and out. He would give her a shot every morning, some red liquid, but nothing ever got better.

One night, something banging the wall from their bedroom woke me up. I went down the hall and the door was cracked open. The bed was empty for the first time in weeks. That was strange enough that I went on in. My mother was standing by the wall, both hands pressed against it, head propped there. I remember that her legs were showing under her nightgown, and they were yellow. She'd always complained about varicose veins, but now her veins were bright purple, sticking out from her skin. Every second, she would bang her head on the wall. Scared, I flipped on the light switch, and when my eyes had adjusted, she was facing me.

I can't remember much of her face before that moment. I was little, but I can't forget the way her eyes were sunken in, black almost empty holes. She was so thin. She moved towards me with this limp, like she couldn't pick up her right leg, just staring at me. I couldn't move, because I was super scared. She picked me up, which must've taken a lot of effort, and I could hear her crying. She just held me for a minute, and I started crying because I had never seen my mom cry before.

Then, my dad was in the doorway, yelling for her to put me down, for me to try and run away. It was chaotic after that. She held on to me for dear life, tearing the sheets off the bed, roaring like an animal, scraping the walls with her fingernails until she began to leave red marks down the white paint. Eventually, my dad swung the bedside lamp at her head, knocking her out."

I can't say anything else, because my breathing is coming out in short chunks, trying not to cry in front of all these people.

"What happened to your mum?" the girl beside me whispers, in an accent I've never heard before. I blink a few times, clearing the water in my eyes.

"Dad took her away that night, leaving me with the neighbors. Turns out, she'd gotten out of the room and eaten our cat before returning to her room to wait. After that, it was just a few weeks later that the virus got really going and by December, Dad and I were in Compound 4."

No one says anything to me, but I can hear them chewing on their fish. I take a slow bite, pleased with the taste after all.

"Even I can't top that," Trevor finally says, breaking the silence, "Wow, Muney." I cringe at the use of my nickname, choosing not to correct him. Unlike Farrah, he's not trying to be mean. I chuckle a little, picking at the grass as I eat.

"Well, I have something to talk about, but I don't think it will top Jay's story," Jane says, and I watch her run a hand through her hair. "On the way over, we followed our usual route, but did anyone notice anything different?" No one says anything, but I watch them shake their heads. "There were some tents up on the shoulder of 127, at the base of the mountain."

"They're just tents, Jane," the girl beside me says.

"How many times have we driven that route and never seen tents? Don't you think it's strange?"

By now, I'm all ears, sitting up. I know what Jane is trying to convey to her crew. Tents are signs of life.

"And when we drove through that last town, the one last one in the valley, I could have sworn I saw a light on in that giant supermarket thing."

A wave of whispers spreads across the crew, and the girl beside me shakes her head.

"You're imagining things again. The president already wrote you up once for spreading false rumors about people living outside the compound walls," she says, crossing her arms. Jane glares at her, looking at me.

"Then how do you explain the graffiti, Emily?"

Everyone looks at me. Jane continues.

"If there are people outside the compound walls, they are looking for Jaelyn. They made that pretty clear."

"What did the graffiti say?" I blurt out, sitting up on my knees. No one answers me right away. It's Trevor that finally speaks up.

"'Help us, Jaelyn Price,'" Trevor says, using air quotes to make his point.

I hold my breath, looking at Jane with wide eyes.

They don't know how familiar that statement is.

I can almost see the little girl in front of me, her last words bouncing around in my skull like a tennis ball.

Suddenly, the lights in the house go off, leaving the entire neighborhood in darkness. A few screams come from the houses around us, the sudden lapse in power shocking them. The fire casts eerie shadows on the faces of the people around me. A crackling comes from the speakers attached to the power lines overhead.

"Starting tonight, we will be enforcing a curfew," the president says, his voice unstable from the terrible reception, "There will be no more power until tomorrow morning, and all residents should be in their homes or tents. Sleep well, Compound 4."

"Who is your president, Jay?" Jane asks, standing up. A few of the boys begin to put out the fire.

"Evan Hartley," I say, "Why?"

She just makes a sound of understanding, ushering the girls inside.

"I have a feeling he didn't like our conversation very much."

"How could he hear us?" I ask, following her into the now dark house. I dig out the candles and matches, lining them up on the kitchen counter and lighting them.

"You're too cynical," Jane says, letting the last of her crew in before she shuts and locks the door. "If you think he's not watching everyone at all times, you're not thinking enough."

She disappears into the living room, helping unpack their sleeping bags and other supplies. From where I stand, I lean on the door frame, breathing deeply.

The answers to my questions are outside the walls.

Maybe I'll have to go there to find them.