The Immune

2. The Girl with Her Doll

Scrambling towards Howard, I trip over the game table and scatter red and black pieces across the metal floor. Howard leans haphazardly over the edge of the steel barrier and points down below. I grab his belt loops to ensure he doesn't fall over.

On the ground below us stands a person. They are covered in mud from head to toe, to the point where I can't tell the color of their shirt, or if they're even wearing one. To be honest, it looks as if they might not be wearing clothes at all due to the way the mud has plastered everything to them. The person stands in front of a tree whose lowest branch touches my head. So, the person is small, less than five-two, at least. In their hand is what looks like a doll, also drenched in mud.

Goosebumps spread up my arms as the puppy-like cries intensify.

"Jay, you know our orders." Howard's voice is barely a whisper, as if the thing below could see us. His holster clicks as he unbuckles the strap and removes his gun.

"Are they infected?" I ask, searching the form again. They take a shaky step forward, and I catch sight of tendrils of long, dark hair. Girl? Another step, and what looks like a dress peels off skinny legs. I think it's safe to assume girl. She doesn't limp or anything like an Infected might. In the thick night, I can't see her eyes.

"Is she infected?" I repeat.

"It doesn't matter," Howard says.

"She might be hurt," I mutter, staring at the girl.

"Doesn't matter."

"What if she's not infected?"

"Doesn't matter, I said." We both reach for the ladder at the same time, but I block his hands from unrolling it. "I'm not taking that sort of risk. Neither are you."

Still, I'm holding the ladder. He doesn't have good enough aim to hit a target from this height. I know Howard well enough to know that he won't risk missing, just in case she bolts. As I watch, the girl begins to sway where she's standing, crying louder and louder. I hear whimpers. Words.

By now, her crying is full-blown sobbing.

"Please!" she screams, and now there's no doubt at all that she's a very young girl. "Please! Help me!"

I unlock the ladder and throw it over the edge.

"What do you think you're doing?" Howard hisses as I swing myself over. I'm halfway across when he grabs my hand.

I don't know, I want to tell him. I honestly don't have a clue, but there's something in her voice, something in the sways, the whimpers, the sobs. I don't understand it either, but it seems familiar.

What I do know and understand is that I can't leave her out there, and there's no way on Earth I could shoot her.

Howard continues to hiss at me as I crawl down the ladder, jumping off to stand in the grass for a moment so my eyes can adjust. I only have a few minutes before he brings more guards. They won't shoot me, not again, but they will climb down and get me. If I'm going to help her, it needs to be fast.

As I approach her, I notice that her eyes are open, and they are locked on me. Through the dripping mud, the paisley print of a dress shows. The doll trembles in her hand as she watches me creep towards her. Her mouth opens and closes, saying words lost in the space between us, and her chin quivers.

I walk with my hands open and outstretched to show that I have no weapons. The gun rests against my back, far away from grasp.

"It's okay," I whisper. The girl stares at me, unblinking. Each step I take tells me that I might have been wrong about her. She may very well be an Infected. Her body jerks in short bursts; her head twitches unnaturally to one side. Her eyes are red and bloodshot, bright green irises lining huge, dilated, limitless pupils. If she wasn't covered in mud, I would check her skin to see if it's jaundiced at all.

By the time I'm standing within arm's reach, her body shakes uncontrollably. She blinks, but it's uneven and awkward, almost jagged. There's no discernable pattern or beat.

"It's okay," I repeat, stuck on this loop. My voice softens, though, as if I'm talking to a baby. "Are you hurt? Are you sick?"

She nods her head once. If I wasn't looking for it, I might have missed it because the movement is so miniscule. Behind us, voices wash over The Wall. I pick out more than one Guard yelling and the quiet sliding of multiple ladders being lowered.

The girl's body stiffens, and her babydoll eyes dart between me and the threat behind us. Her mouth opens for the first time, cracks forming in the mud caked onto her lips. Underneath, the skin is red and raw. Blood tints her tongue. Her own blood?

Regret floods through me. If she's an Infected, then I've made a giant mistake, and it's not just me that will suffer. Every sign points towards illness; every logical neuron in my brain tells me that she is.

Yet, if there's even the slightest chance, a mustard seed sized string of sanity and health left in this girl, then I can't turn away. And I hold on to that hope desperately. I need to know where she comes from, how she got here, what the world is like beyond this twenty-foot steel cage.

I need to know if there's more people out there like me. More Immunes. I can't be the only person like this.

"I won't let them hurt you," I blurt in a whisper. It's a lie, and she knows it. What chance do I stand against Guards that will actually shoot her? The only reason they haven't already is because I'm standing in their way. "Please. Are you infected?"

Whimpering answers me.

"Please." My voice raises in desperation. "You have to tell me, or I can't help you."

She glances at the Guards approaching behind me. Their boots slosh through the mud as they finally reach the ground. Her mouth opens and closes, phantom words lost in the riverbed forming around her mouth. I lean in, almost touching her shoulder with my outstretched hand.

"Help me," she finally whispers, in a voice smaller than possible. It's nearly lost in the sounds behind me. Every syllable breathes fear; her shoulders tremble and her eyebrows quiver. "Help me, Jaelyn. Help us."

How she knows my name is a mystery, but as my eyes go wide, something switches on in my head. It's a black-out of logic and emotion that I've felt only once before. Her scream echoes between my ears as I lunge and throw my arms around her. Footsteps rush up behind me. Hands grip my forearms. Arms wrap themselves around my waist. Every ounce of strength I have left is launched into holding on to her and that grain of hope snowballing in my chest.

Us. She said us.

Sharp pain spreads through my forearm, and I tighten my grip against it. Her screams combine with mine as it creeps up into my shoulder. One Guard shouts something at another, words I am too busy to interpret.

From nowhere, something slams into the back of my head, and everything around me goes quiet. My muscles give in as I sink into the still-wet grass. Within half a second, I'm out cold.