Grace sighs deeply and walks past me. She pauses at a respectable distance from Casey and places the papers on the floor. “Isaiah found more information on the disease. It’s not good, but it may be helpful. I’ll be back soon, okay?”

“I’d rather you didn’t.”

“Well, tough. I want to hear how the two inside are doing, and we have to plan for how to handle this until help comes.” She steps back, toward me. “I can’t do this alone. I don’t want to do this alone.”

None of us should do this alone. But I can’t tell them that, not in any way that they would understand. So, instead, I push my hands into my pockets and wait for Grace to lead the way. Out of here, away from my sister. To be torn in half. To be useful.

Somehow, Grace understands.

When she walks back to the main area, she speaks to me in a low voice that is probably exhaustion, but it reminds me of Leah. “I wanted to stay here because it’s familiar. It’s the closest thing to home I have, and I don’t think I’m the only one. We’re all outcasts and rejects.”

I can’t deny that, no matter how much I want to.

“But I didn’t think—” She shakes her head. “If we stay here, we need to make this place habitable long-term. We need to take care of ourselves until someone comes for us, right? And that means we all need to pull our weight, like Case is doing…” She hesitates at that. “We need to take inventory of the food we have. And cook food. Do you know how to cook?”

I nod. Leah and I used to do the cooking and the cleaning and the laundry at Granddad’s. He took care of himself before we came, but once we were there, he simply decided those tasks were ours now. Leah hated cooking, but I didn’t mind it. I always liked creating stuff. And that way, at least, I knew what I was eating.

“Would you be willing to do kitchen duty?” Grace asks.

I nod again. I might as well. I just—

I look down at my hands and back at Grace. Shrug.

She follows my line of sight. “Yeah, we’ll have to figure out the best way for you to communicate with others and for all of us to understand you.”

I push my mouth into a forced smile.

Grace notices it, because she winces. “I’m sorry it’s not easier. I don’t think anyone here knows sign language.”

It wouldn’t have made a difference, since my signs are mine and Leah’s. No one taught me how to sign properly in school. No one took the time to listen.

“Do you read and write?” Grace asks. We turn the corner, and she guides me toward the kitchen. I follow because that’s what she expects, but now that we have left the infirmary behind, the weight of the day settles on my shoulders, and I would just as easily find my room and lie down.