The next morning, Jane and her crew leave before morning announcements. I'm awake before the alarm goes off in the hopes of talking to them, but they've already left. So, I perch on the kitchen stool with my knees pulled up to my chest. The thought of people outside the compound looking for me, people who know me and want my help, will not leave me alone.

It makes no sense.

Yet, neither has most of the past two days.

I glance at my watch. The alarm always sounds at five a.m., meaning I have thirty minutes until I'm supposed to meet Isaac at the gates of the neighborhood. Being late for work would cause more trouble, and for the time being, I prefer to avoid that exact thing.

Sliding off the stool, I head upstairs and pack a small backpack— a book, a notebook, a few pens, and a deck of cards. Anything to keep me from being bored out of my mind.

Isaac's waiting at the gate, leaning on the empty toll booth with his hands in his pockets. Beside him sits two folded chairs and his white, five-gallon bucket of things. I peek inside for the first time— a worn out sketchbook with the spiral binding twisted at the edges, a packet of pencils that are covered in their own gray dust, some crayons with the wrappers missing, and a thin jacket. I barely recognize the last object in the bucket, due to it being wrapped up into a ball and stuffed in the bottom. Ear plugs.

"Sleep good?" I ask as I finish doing my inventory. Isaac jumps, stepping to the side away from me. Once he recognizes me, warmth replaces the cold fear and shock.

"Of course I did." He hands me a chair.

"That's good."

We walk to our post in silence, stepping over sleeping bodies and around worn tents. The smoldering ashes of fires light our way like depressed beacons, lighthouses long given up on saving anyone. Everyone mostly ignores the first alarm since it only applies to the Guards. Another alarm will sound at six, signaling work and school is beginning. The men will head off to their long twelve-hour shifts; the women will start their first-shift jobs.

Normally, I would be packing my stuff up, waking up Howard, and preparing to open the gate. The routine was simple once work was over: eat, sleep, eat, chores, eat, then get ready for work again.

What will my routine be now? How long will it take me to get used to sleeping at night like a normal person?

At the south gate, the Guards stand around on the ground, yawning and finishing up their paperwork. One hands me a clipboard; the other passes Isaac a ring of keys. Isaac manages to conjure up a bit of small talk while we stand around waiting for the sun to rise. Infected can't tolerate daylight— something about the UV rays and their blood. Dad explained it to me, and I learned about it in class before I was assigned a job. Yet, with all the other information they crammed in my brain, that took a backseat.

I slip off eventually and head to the top of The Wall to set up our chairs. I unpack Isaac's bucket, toss my backpack down, and then slide back down the ladder.

Finally, the sun begins to peek over the horizon, spreading an orange-red light on all of us. I lift a hand to cover my eyes as all three of us squint towards it.

"All clear?" Isaac grasps the lock on the door.

"Yes, sir," replies the youngest. He's my age, but his short stature makes him seem younger somehow.

Together, the two of them seperate the lock by pulling it apart, and we position ourselves to pull it open. I dig my heels into the ground and tug as hard as I can with my good arm, but surprisingly, the door isn't as heavy as I remember. Isaac tenses up beside me; muscles in his neck strain. He must be stronger than he looks because this gate would have weighed a thousand pounds without him.

Ten minutes later we sit together on the top of the wall, leaned back in our chairs. I watch Isaac drawing beside me out of the corner of my eye. His sketch today is a bird, huge and black, flying over the compound below. The detail amazes me; I pick out the tents huddled between buildings and children playing with dogs in livestock fields. My book sits open in my lap, but watching him draw proves much more entertaining.

Almost a month passes this way. Isaac picks me up every morning, and we spend the day together on the wall. I discover that Isaac likes to tell me stories. Mostly about the people who live around him in the tents. He laughs when he talks about them, as if sleeping out in the cold night after night is a ray of sunshine. But that's something else I learn about Isaac— he can find something positive in almost anything.

After a while, making him dig for the silver lining in a bad situation becomes a game to us.

"What if you fell off The Wall and they wouldn't let you back in?" I ask on one particularly hot day.

"Am I injured in the fall?"

"No. Somehow, you're perfectly fine. But when you knock on the door, they say you can't come in because you're contaminated."

"Well..." He rubs the stubble growing on his chin and thinks. "I guess a life of freedom would be liberating. No one could make me clean public toilets."

"Yeah, but there's no food out there for you to eat." I rub my stomach. "I couldn't make it that long without a snack."

"Jay, people used to hunt for their food. I'll do the same thing." He glances off the side of The Wall for a minute. "Man, imagine if there were people out there right now— hunting and foraging. Fighting off Infected like savages."

I sit up in the plastic chair. His words bounce back and forth in my head like a tennis ball. I'd nearly forgotten about Jane's wild theories, or rather I had buried them under the monotony of compound life.

Bringing Jane back into my head though reincarnates her warnings of people listening.

Suddenly, I lunge for my bag and pull out my notebook. I flip to the first empty page and begin to scribble to Isaac instead. When I finally look up again, he's perched on the edge of his seat, looking at me like I'm insane.

I write, in messy, broken cursive: Do you really think you could do it? Survive outside The Wall, I mean.

Isaac read it and then says, "Well, yeah. I did it when— "

My wild waving cuts him off. I jab the notebook paper with my finger. He shakes his head but picks up the pen and writes back.

Yes. Did it when I lived in the city as a kid. No different now.

I smirk at his blockish handwriting. Shouldn't an artist's handwriting at least be pretty?

I think people actually live outside.

Why?

Jane mentioned something about tents on the side of the road or something. I don't exactly remember. That's not all she said though.

The conversation goes on like this as I tell him about Jane's story— down to the lights in the abandoned building and my name in the graffiti.

Finally, I sigh and say, "I don't know why they want me to help them, or even how I can help them, but I have to figure it out. No one can help me either. If I tell Dad about all this, he's going to admit me to the psych ward— long-term— and there's no one else to tell. People will think I'm crazy."

"Looks like they already have," Isaac mumbles under his breath with a pointed jab at my uniform. "But I get it. I've got the same stigma printed on my shirt too." He picks up the pen and scribbles again, as if he understands exactly what can and can't be said aloud. What do you want to do about it?

I thought about leaving.

After reading those words, he looks up at me with wide eyes. "Are you serious?"

"Dead. The answers are out there, not in here." The last sentence rushes out in a hushed whisper.

I snatch the book back from him.

If I really did leave, how would I do it?

Isaac runs a hand over the curly baby hairs that line his face, but the wind just picks them up again. Steal a bike. Leave during shift change while everyone's distracted.

Where do they even keep bikes?

Storage buildings.

Which direction should I go?

North. Jane saw traces on her route, so you need to follow her steps. At least until you hit civilization.

I look up at him and take a deep breath. This is really happening. I flip the page over and start making a list of supplies I'll need. Clothes, water, food, a tent, and a weapon. I will definitely need a weapon. Hesitantly, I turn back to our conversation and add: I'll need a weapon, and they won't give me one. Can I have your gun?

He doesn't reply right away. Instead, he glances out into the outer yard and finally writes without looking down.

No.

I grip the pen tight in my fist. Seriously? Why not? It's not like he's using it every day. He snatches the pen out of my hand with a scowl and adds: You can't have it unless you take me with you. If you leave without me, with my gun, they'll know I helped you, and who knows what they'll do to me. Or worse, they might think I hurt you. Hartley would probably lock me up. I survived out there before. I can help you.

We stare at each other for a long time. It's not an awful idea. Isaac's strong--much more so than I am. He can almost open the compound door by himself. Plus, he has survival skills that I lack, a sense of optimism enviable, and a comforting aura about him. He's the first friend I've had in a long time--that was my age, at least; do I really want to leave him?

Isaac isn't immune, though. Protecting him would have to be my top priority at all times, and judging by my track record, I'm not exactly protector material. Everyone I've tried to save died a lot quicker than intended.

The thought of being alone out there, though, tasting freedom for the first time in years, depresses me. If there's anyone I want to share it with, it's this ray of sunshine. Call me selfish, but I want him with me. Regardless of the risk involved.

Finally, I nod.

"You know, if anyone ever considered leaving the compound, they'd have to be an idiot," I say loudly, putting my notebook away. "We'd never actually survive out there, and there's nothing even out there to find. The compound is the safest place for everyone."

At first, Isaac looks confused. He squints at me as I stand up and move towards the ladder. Suddenly, it dawns on him, and he nods enthusiastically.

"I'm glad you've changed your mind," he says, tiptoeing to the ladder. "I knew you were smarter than that."

"I might even pick up more chores. If I've got time to sit around and think about dumb things like leaving, I've got time to help out around the compound." I swing my legs over the edge and start lowering myself down the ladder. My arm healed long ago, but I still struggle to get down the ricketty ropes.

"That's more like it!" I look back at him, gaping at the fake enthusiasm. He's absolutely beaming. "You're an inspiration," he continues, face lighting up like the freshly risen sun.

I laugh out loud as I land on the ground. Isaac jumps off the last few rungs and mouths: too far? I nod, and he chuckles.

"We had better get back to work." I glance up at the chairs we left behind. Maybe they can't tell where the voices are coming from. "I'm going to read; you draw. We should be quiet, so we can hear any announcement from Hartley."

"Alright," Isaac replies. "We'll talk about it more after our shift is over."

With a finger over my lips, I motion for Isaac to follow as I walk quickly away from The Wall. Shift change isn't for another two hours; it's barely four. If we are going to break out, Isaac's got the right idea— it has to be before they shut the gate. If we wait, the only other option is a long ride on gravity.

First, though, we need bikes.

Neither of us talk as we make our way towards the storage buildings. He keeps his head low, and I cross my arms over my chest to hide my title. I wish I had a hood, so people wouldn't be able to recognize my face. That isn't happening though.

The storage blocks aren't guarded. No one in the compound has free time to run around stealing. Even the teenagers— who I would expect to steal, since I'm one myself and know how they are— are kept busy with work. Plus, as far as civilians know, the only thing kept here is food, and there's enough of that to go around.

So, I don't waste time worrying about running into any guards when we get to the storage complex. Isaac pulls the gate of the chain-link fence open and waves me in. As he drags it through the gravel, trying not to make too much noise, I glance around. Row after row of orange roll-up doors, numbered from one to God-only-knows how many, stretch out in both directions.

"Where do they keep the bikes?" I ask in a whisper.

Isaac responds with a jerk of his head to the right. I nod and follow him down the row of doors.

A minute later, Isaac kneels down in front of one of the doors. The padlock looks solid, and I know nothing about picking a lock.

"Bobby pin." Isaac extends a hand towards me without looking back. I reach up and pull the small metal pin out of my braid. Several baby hairs sneak out as a result, but I'm too busy watching Isaac to be bothered. His tongue sticks out of the side of his mouth as he concentrates. He makes cute little grunting noises as he twists and pulls on the lock.

"How do you know how to do this?" I ask, glancing around to make sure we're still alone.

"Sorry," he mumbles, "but that's private. Maybe one day when you're older I'll tell you."

I choke back a laugh. "I'm not that much younger than you."

"Maybe. But if I tell you all my secrets, you won't think I'm interesting anymore."

Isaac gives the lock one solid tug, and it pops open loudly. He fumbles with it for a moment but it slips out of his hand, clattering to the ground loudly. We both look around in a wild panic. Isaac moves to pick it up, but I'm a little faster this time. I shove the lock in my pocket and duck inside the storage building.

Inside, there's all sorts of bikes, ranging from little pink bikes with confetti streamer handles to giant mountain bikes with wide wheels. I shop around while Isaac stands guard. Eventually, the perfect bike for me appears— one that doesn't need to be adjusted to my short legs. Beside it stands a slightly taller bike, and it has a wire basket in the front.

"Will this work?" I ask as I roll the bikes out to him. He grins.

"Perfect. I love the basket."

I laugh and roll my eyes. "Of course you would."

He shuts and locks the door back, and together we take off again, walking quickly towards his tent.

His tent is red, with holes in the roof, muddy and in shambles from overuse. It's squeezed between two family sized tents and leaning dangerously against the wall of the research building. Being this close to Dad's work makes me antsy, but Isaac doesn't seem fazed.

"I have a better tent at home," I whisper to him as he begins to disassemble his. Honestly, I'm a little afraid his would fall apart if the wind blows a little too strongly. Isaac nods, giving me a sad smile. He tosses his bag of belongings into the basket, and we hurry away.

On the way home, we pass a few children on their lunch break. They look at us curiously, glancing away when they read our name tags. Another thing that doesn't bother Isaac at all, but my face grows pink.

"I'll get my stuff. You pack some food," I say as we walk up the steps, leaving our bikes propped against the porch.

Upstairs, I throw clothes, my hairbrush, extra hair ties, my tent, and sleeping bag into a backpack. I pack the little pocket knife my father gave me a few years back for my birthday, its bright pink handle standing out from the olive colored supplies. There's a picture of Dad and I sitting on the nightstand; it's frame is scratched and chipping from the rough years. Hurriedly, I take the photo out, fold it, and shove it in my jeans pocket. The rest of the things I need are in my smaller backpack, which is by my bike.

Isaac is waiting for me when I come back down the stairs, his bag now full with cans of food. We fill two canteens of water up and stash them in our bags.

"Ready?" I ask, taking a deep breath.

"As ever," he says with a wide smile.

He doesn't even seem scared. His smile is the same one he gives me every morning when he picks me up. His hands are steady as we push our bikes away from the porch, heading towards the north gate.

My hands, though, tremble against the handlebars. My knuckles stand out, stark white, as I clench the plastic coverings. The backpack weighs a thousand pounds; the straps cut into my shoulders. Somehow, I've lost the ability to breathe and end up panting as we cut around Center Hill.

The northern gate appears over the horizon, and I take a deep breath. We're so close.

As we approach, a voice drifts down from The Wall.

"Muney?"

Of course it would be Farrah guarding the gate. He would give himself the easier of the two day shift options. Why didn't I think of this?

Farrah leans over the edge, a look of confusion smeared over his ugly face. Isaac stops pushing his bike, and the two of us gape up at him.

"Aren't you supposed to be at work?" Farrah asks us. He swings himself over the side carefully and climbs down the ladder. "Looks like you're going somewhere." He searches the two of us, huge brown eyes looking us both up and down. "You're leaving, aren't you?"

The laugh that follows our silence makes my face burn red.

"You're kidding, right? The two of you wouldn't last a day out there. Come on. Surely you're smarter than that. You'll be like sitting ducks for the Infected— they'll come running towards you and he can't even shoot a gun without going berserk. He's useless."

Isaac tenses up beside me, face shifting downwards. The color drains out of his face, and for the first time since I've known him, he looks... ashamed. Fury rises up in me.

"Shut up, Farrah," I mumble, grip tightening on the handlebars. My breathing deepens, and heat rushes to my ears. Seeing Isaac trembling beside me only pushes my temper closer to the edge.

"I mean, you're useless, too," Farrah continues. "You're weak and small and too soft. But Montez over here? He's ten times worse than you. Did he tell you how he got kicked out of 5? He's a real MU, Muney. In the worst of ways. He belongs in a psych ward, not outside."

"Seriously, Farrah. Shut up." My voice rises a little this time. He takes a step towards me, the stupid grin on his face only growing as he senses my agitation.

"You find anything out there." He leans over me, showing his teeth. "You won't find your dead mom. You won't find a dad who has time for you. You won't find a cure, and you certainly won't find anyone else who is immune. You're a freak, kid. If you walk out of here, you're going to starve to death, and I bet money that the wild dogs get to you before the Infected ever find your corpse."

He stands directly over me now, towering. His hot breath floods down over my forehead; strings of spit stretch between his teeth. My heart pulses in my neck.

"I bet Montez will die first, because he can't even protect himself. And you sure can't protect him—"

The same switch that flipped in me when the girl whispered my name activates itself now. All logical thought leaves my brain, and manic instinct takes over. In half a second, I launch myself at him, shoving him with both hands against The Wall. The bike rattles to the ground beside me but I step over it and grab a fistful of his uniform shirt. Panting, I lean into his face.

"I can protect whoever I want," I hiss, backing him further into The Wall. "I'm a Wall Guard. Protecting is what I do, Captain." The word comes out of my mouth like a ball of spit thrown in his face.

"The last thing you are is a Wall Guard," he says, smirking. "You don't belong here. You don't belong anywhere."

With that, I've had it. My right arm pulls itself back, balling up into a fist. Every ounce of energy I have left is thrown into that punch. The impact throws his head backwards into the metal, and then it bounces back off. His eyes roll back in his head; his body goes limp in my grasp. I take a step back and let him fall.

"Woah." I jump as Isaac speaks up behind me. "Feel better?"

I shake my fist as the reality sinks in. "It stings," I whine.

"No doubt. You knocked him out cold."

I glance around. If anyone else saw that, I'd be thrown into prison immediately. It's a little too late to be regretting it now, though.

"Let's just go," I blurt, mounting my stolen bike. Isaac laughs but follows suit.

Together, we kick off, shooting out of the gate. We're halfway down the hill when the alarm goes off behind us. It's the buzz of a bumblebee compared to the raging wind in our ears. Beside me, Isaac spreads his arms out, whooping in joy. A crazy, desperate laugh sneaks out of me, and before I know it, I'm yelling too.