“Yeah,” I couldn’t resist saying. “We’re the supply.”

“Well, depending on how you behave, there are options, especially within an evolving system.” He sounded like he was reading from a script. “You start off in general population, as a resident. If you show promise, like I did, you get drafted into the Program: those with the potential to join in the meaningful work once they’ve proven themselves.”

I wanted to cut him off. Meaningful work like bringing in others? Traitors, you mean, like the ones who killed Riri? I bit my tongue; it was better to let him keep talking.

“Some residents can stay in a school for years, helping—janitors, orderlies. Back when the staff was still thin, there were lots of reformed residents doing odd jobs.”

This must have been what had happened to Isaac, I thought. He’d come in in the early days of the schools.

Mitch prattled on. “And then there are the doctors and nurses, of course. Those who do the extraction work, and the medical researchers who are taking us to the next level.” He clapped his hands together on his lap. “It’s all very intricate, and we all work together like a well-oiled machine.”

“And what happens to people who don’t get into this program of yours?” I already knew the answer, but I wanted him to say it, dared him to acknowledge the monster in the house.

“Well, if you can’t join the higher cause, and not everyone can, then you are part of the solution in other ways. You supply medicine to the population—”

“You get your marrow sucked out?” I blurted. I had to know. “Mitch? Did you…did they take your marrow?”

He grew quiet, put a hand over his lips. Oh god, even now, I didn’t want it to be true. It was the most horrible thing I could imagine. Small sounds started to come from him. Oh god, they took it. “Listen, man, I’m sure—”

I was cut short by the small sounds turning to giggles. He stifled harder laughter behind his fingers.

“What the…are you laughing?”

“I’m sorry.” He composed himself. “It’s just, I’m not a zombie, am I?” He stretched his arms out in front of him, tilted his head, and moaned. “Jeez, French. If I’d had the procedure, I’d be in the lot out back…” It was his turn to break off. “Uh, you’re hilarious.” He fidgeted with his damn tie and continued with his spiel on how things worked.

“If you’re not in the Program, you have the privilege of being part of the ongoing research, so you’re put into isolation so that data sets can be monitored. Or on to the more high-level rooms, where the work is undergoing change.” Suddenly, his shoes were so interesting he had to examine them—anything to avoid making eye contact.

I took a deep breath to scream at him, but pain cut it short. My cheek was definitely messed up. I felt the pull of the stitches and raised my hand to touch them. It reminded me of Wab, my real sibling, the one who would have burned this whole ward to the ground to get me out. I secretly hoped I’d be left with a scar. It would be an honor to resemble her, even though this wound was a thousand times less grievous than her own. She’d gotten hers in the city, from the men who had wanted her to shut down her courier business after the world went dark. That cut had taken her business and her eye, but it had also brought her out to the bush. That scar was the map she’d used to get to us. Maybe mine would also give me a direction.