Rogue

9

~William~

Jane steps into my view, smiling as much of a smile as she can muster. My eyes scan over my friend, making sure that she's not had any serious damage done to her. She still has her same small, curvy figure that she holds with confidence, though she stands a little differently now, as if her leg's been injured. Her clothes are dirtier and more torn. Multiple bruises line her stomach in a diagonal pattern. Her hair hangs in her face, as it always does, but the light brown strands seem limper. Her olive skin is stained with crimson and colored with bruises. There's a small hole in her shirt, in the middle of her left shoulder, that I know can only be made by a bullet. Her light blue eyes appear to be darker, more downcast, less lively. The smile on her face never reaches them.

   Why didn't Nick tell me that the raid had been this bad?

   "How are you doing?" she asks, stepping closer to my bed.

   "I'm gonna kill Nick," I mutter. "I knew that the raid had been bad, but I wasn't aware of exactly to what extent of bad it was."

   "I'm alright. You're the one who has third-degree burns."

   "Jane, you got shot," I say. I suppose that this is why our friendship is the way it is. We're both strong-willed people who insist on taking care of the other before our own selves.

   "I'm alive, aren't I? That's good enough for me." I sigh and nod, giving in. I just woke up and am too tired, as well as feeling too lightheaded, to have this conversation now.

   We sit in silence for a moment, and I wonder if she remembers our last argument. If she's still considering going to the General and asking to be trained and let in. Or, even worse, go to the Commander and give him the petition she's been making and getting people to sign to ask him to evacuate the country, allow all of the Sick to die out here. The problem in that is there are Sick armies everywhere, not just in the United States. Of course, this information is to remain only in the hands of the military, so I can't talk her out of it with that argument.

   "I'm sorry," she says, and my head snaps up. It's not like her to apologize out of the blue like that. "I never meant to get upset with you that day. I personally still think it's a good idea, but I know that you probably know more about this than I do, so I won't do anything drastic like going to the Commander." I nod. "Though I am still considering speaking with the General."

   "Jane, I still don't think that's the greatest idea---"

   "I can't just stay here, Will. I'm not gonna sit at home in the corner of my room and wait to be slaughtered like some kind of animal. I want to fight, or I want to leave." She's raising her voice now, and I hold my hands up to calm her down.

   "Where will you go?" I ask gently.

   "Probably State 03031845. I know it's a long walk from here---," I scoff at this; it'll probably take her at least a week to get there, "---but it'll be a better place to live. There are no raids, there are barely any people. It'll be perfect."

   "What's wrong with 06011796?" I ask. I'm not letting her go. Not to 03031845. I'll let her go anywhere else. She can go to any of the other near-deserted states. But something about 03031845 seems a little too good. A little too deserted. A little too perfect.

   Elliot suddenly walks over to us quickly, excitement on his face. "They found something!" he exclaims, completely ignoring the fact that Jane and I are in the middle of an important discussion. I'm about to scold him, but then I see the sparkle in his eyes, a sparkle that I thought died a long time ago.