When I was smaller, watching my mother go through the phases of infection, I tried to escape it. My friends would pull me away to play with our dolls and games. Distraction was so close. So easy. Sure, Mom was important to me, but I was young and easily escaped into my childish alternate reality.

This time, I can't escape it. The loss of Isaac is first and foremost in my brain, tearing me apart from the inside out. Breathing burns my lungs; opening my eyes proves near impossible. Time ceases to pass, leaving me alone with my remorse.

He would be alive if it wasn't for me. I could have pulled him into the room with me, left him back at the Alma with Mandy, or told him to go with Jane to Compound 3. Maybe I should have tried to break out of Compound 4 alone and left him to his guarding job.

But I was selfish. I wanted company. I brought him along so that I had someone to talk to, someone who was familiar.

I miss him more than I thought humanly possible. The gentle tone in his voice, the way he laughed, his contagious smile, his evergreen eyes. I wish I could analyze his sketches deeper. I would trace the indentations on the paper. Every thread of my being wants to be back on that highway with his head in my lap, touching his hair, and sleeping with our heads touching.

It only becomes clear to me when he isn't beside me just how much I've been taking for granted.

White walls surround me. They're soft, covered in plush cushions. I don't have a bed or windows. Overhead, a single, bright, white light blinks occasionally. I've squeezed myself into one of the corners, head tucked between my knees, trying to make myself as small as possible.

At first, people came in and out of the room. They cleaned my wounds and gave me injections of unknown origin. When I started to heal, though, the nurses stopped visiting. Instead, they open up a slot in the door and drop small bags through. The pile at the base of the door grows, and the smell of molding food fills the small room. I can't eat, though, because I deserve to die.

Isaac would be so disappointed in me for giving up, but thinking about him cripples me even more.

How much time has passed is a mystery to me. I drift in and out of nightmarish sleep, sometimes screaming for anyone to hear. I pray to a God I've always somewhat believed in— not for myself but Isaac.

I count the tiles on the ceiling to pass the time. Nine down, fifteen across. That's a total of 135 tiles. I carve into the cushions with my fingernails. Since I'm not cuffed in the room, I've chewed them down to nubs, and they grow back at awkward, sharp angles. Then, I pick at the caked blood on my jeans. Flakes of my blood, Isaac's blood, and Clare's blood gather on the white, cushioned floor.

Most of my time, though, is spent screaming and crying, talking to the ghosts that share the room with me, and begging for someone to tell me whether he's alive or dead. Not knowing drives me insane.

I'm ripping through my jeans when I hear the door unlock. I shield my eyes as new light rushes in with the silhouette of a person.

"Hello, sweetheart."

Fear and rage rises up in my chest at the sound of Hartley's voice. I uncover my eyes and scowl at him as he leans leisurely against the door frame.

"What?" I croak. Dehydration has nearly stolen my voice. Or maybe it was the screaming. My hands shake as I push myself back into a corner, as far away from him as possible.

"I see solitary hasn't dampened your attitude." He smirks at me. "I just came to inform you of your public trial date. It was yesterday. I didn't really feel like it was a good idea for you to be present in your current state. You look rough, Jaelyn." He takes a step towards me, and I push myself further into the wall. "Want to know what they said?"

I stare blankly up at him. The wicked smile fades.

The last time the public came together for a sentencing, a man had been murdered. It was a huge scandal, because the compound doesn't tolerate even fighting. My crimes don't even compare, considering I did everyone in the compound a favor.

"You've been sentenced to death, Jaelyn Price." Hartley kneels down in front of me to look me in the eyes. "Public death before a firing squad. You see, my plan worked. They think you're a heinous person. All we had to do was tell them you broke into the Research Facility and destroyed every bit of the cure we had. They lapped it up. I've never lied to them before, why would I now?"

I rub my forehead. A week ago, I would have believed anything he told me, too. The citizens don't know what's behind his mask. Like sheep, they've formed a herd and flock after another sheep. Except this one is a sheep in wolves clothing. Will they ever know?

"I couldn't possibly kill you without looking like the bad guy, so I'll just let them do it." I tuck my head in between my knees and clench my eyes closed. I don't want to die, really, but I don't see a way out of this. It's karma for killing Isaac and destroying the cure. Hartley keeps talking. "Anything you need? More moldy sandwiches or water?"

His voice makes me cringe. It is sickly sweet, dipped in spite and ice. I look up and push back my greasy hair. "What did you do to him?"

"Him, who?" Hartley asks, genuinely confused.

I scoot up into a sitting position and glare. "Isaac," I say through gritted teeth. "My Isaac. What did you do with him?"

Hartley shrugs. "I assume they sent him off for disposal like I told them to. You know what we do with the bodies of the deceased. That's taught in school."

I know, but I want to hear him say it out loud. A long moment of silence passes between us before he answers.

"We burn corpses, Jaelyn," he says. "By now, his ashes are probably being used to fertilize crops."

I throw myself across the floor, scrambling to grab at his ankles. All he has to do is step out of the way, and I crumple like a toy at his feet. His laughter fills the hollow room.

"Poor thing." He steps over me towards the door. "You're absolutely pathetic."

When the door shuts, I've found my strength again. I slam my fists against the fabric covering it. The dull pounding echoes from wall to wall, mixing with my screams of anger.

I slowly sink back to the floor again and lay flat on my back. The light overhead blinks at me like a giant eye. Tears build up in my eyes, but I refuse to let them flow. Not anymore. Like the light, something else flickers in me.

Hartley assumed. He assumed they took him to the crematorium. What I hear is that he doesn't know for sure, and in that little gap of knowledge lives an ounce of hope. If there's any chance that Isaac's still alive, I refuse to let him see me in this state. I don't want to disappoint him.

Letting myself starve would do exactly that, though. Isaac never gave up hope; why should I?

In what I assume is a few hours, another bag drops out of the slot in the door. I hesitantly reach for it, but all I find inside is a peanut butter sandwich and a bag of water. Never in my life have I tasted something quite so delicious. It's gone too soon, of course.

I find new ways to pass the time from there on out. I pick all the knots out of my hair and use the old water bags to rinse it little by little. Soon, it falls in a semi-gross braid over my shoulder again. I tear pieces off the paper bags, salvaging what hasn't been overrun by mold. It serves as a napkin, and I wipe off some of the blood on my jeans.

My mangled, sharp nails come in handy as I pick the caked blood from between the threads. Soon, my jeans are just a maroon mess, not quite clean but no longer stiff.

After four more meals, the lock clicks open again. This time, I don't jump or run away from the light. I glance over my shoulder to see my father, two armed guards standing on either side of him.

"Please, let me have a moment alone with her," he says to them. The guards glance at one another before nodding slowly. "Thank you." With another silent nod, they leave the two of us alone.

Looking at him now, it's hard to think that I blamed him for everything. I thought the virus was entirely his fault. Mandy blamed him, and I followed along like an idiot. My father isn't capable of that sort of evil on his own. Now, looking down at me with huge, sad eyes, my father looks harmless.

"Dad," I whisper, feeling the familiar tears build in my eyes.

"Oh, Jay," he says back, falling to his knees before me. He extends his arms, and I crawl over to him. Without a second's thought, I throw myself into his arms. He rocks me back and forth gently, like he used to when I was small. He whispers calming messages into my ears like "I'm sorry" and "I tried."

It feels good to be held after being alone for so long. To feel familiar hands on my back and practiced fingers at the base of my neck. To smell the musk of cigarettes and hospital cleaner. To hear a voice that I know, that calms me down and cheers me up.

"I didn't mean to do it," I whisper between sobs, my body shaking with ugly cries.

"Didn't mean to do what?" he asks softly.

"Destroy the cure. I didn't mean to."

He's quiet for a moment, rocking me back and forth. "It will be okay. You destroyed the second strand, too, and that's what matters."

"You can't possibly think it's going to be okay, Dad. I've been sentenced to death."

He strokes my hair and calmly says, "I know."

"Then, how will it be okay?" I look up at him, but he's gazing off towards a corner. His eyes are unfocused, though, like he's thinking.

"Dad." I pull away. "What aren't you telling me?"

He tugs at his earlobe and makes a pained face.

"Seriously, whatever it is, I can handle it. Clearly I've been through worse."

He continues to pull at his ear, looking directly at me now. His stare is intense. We blink together, and no words are spoken. He isn't going to tell me. Or maybe, he's trying to tell me...

"Can I ask you something?" Someone knocks on the door right after I finish the sentence. His time with me is up, but I can't leave this out.

"Go ahead."

"What did they do with Isaac?"

"You mean, with his body?"

My chin sinks to my chest, and I clench my eyes shut. "Yes. His body. What did they do with his body?"

He looks back as the door opens once again. That faraway look creeps back into his eyes. "They brought him to me, and I sent him off for disposal."

A strangled cry crawls up my throat, but I clamp two hands over my mouth to mask it.

"Time to go, Doctor," the guard says. Dad stands up with a groan.

"Don't forget what I said, Jay. It's important." Dad walks back over to the guard. I blink up at him, trying to memorize our short conversation. Which part does he mean? Probably not the part about Isaac. The important part has to be that everything will be okay.

Dad waves at me one final time, tugs at his ear again, and smiles a little. It has to mean something. It's not like he's ever had itchy ears.

"Goodbye, Jay," he whispers, and the guard tugs him out.

"Bye, Dad."

The door slams; the overhead light flinches.

Everything will be okay. According to Dad, anyway. I repeat the phrase aloud, over and over, as I crawl back to my corner.

How can anything be okay if Isaac's not here with me, though?