Where the medical form asks for name and gender, you fill in “Five” and “Other.”  Myers gives you a second look but no trouble for it.  She does tell you that everyone in Abel who's physically capable of getting pregnant is on birth control.  

It's not mandatory, she adds, though it cuts down on the need for tampons.

There's no safe way to lose a baby anymore.  If you can't run, you die.  You hold out your hand and she slaps a pack into it without another word.

Another runner shows up just as Myers finishes her exam.  The voice is familiar even before he introduces himself: this is the radio operator’s “Evan.”  Runner Seven.  The one who directed the guards to bring you in.

When he gives his name, you give him a non-military salute.  Someone must have told him you don’t talk, because he just nods in return.  “You have a name?”

You hold up your right hand, fingers spread, and he nods again.  “Five, then.  They tell me you’re willing to run for us.  Guess you have your reasons.  Don’t let them get in the way of your missions, and you’ll have all of us at your back.”

It’s more of a welcome than you got at Mullins.  At this point, the most anyone can ask is someone to keep watch while they get a few hours’ sleep.  You give him a thumbs-up.

“You finished here?” he asks Myers.

She replies, “We’re all set,” without looking up from her workbench, so you reach out and knock your knuckles against it.

The rapping sound makes her look at you.  You put your hands together and lower your head over them: half bow, half prayer.  The corner of her mouth lifts in a reluctant smile.

“You’re welcome,” she says.  “I should be thanking you; your detour through the hospital was invaluable.  Thanks for everything you brought back.”

You raise your eyebrows at her, because you don’t remember that “detour” being optional.

“And I’m sorry I threatened you,” she adds.  “You’ve more than earned your keep.”

“Such as it is,” Evan says.  “We’ve got actual housing, now, not just tents in the quad, but it’s barracks-style and there’s not much in the way of privacy.  Split up by work shift to make sleeping easier.  Come on, I’ll show you around.”

You’ve seen it from the air.  Unfortunately it isn’t any more impressive from the ground.  But you knew what you were getting into when you took this assignment, and there are worse places to be stranded than a settlement that was expecting your arrival.

“Oh, sorry,” a woman exclaims, drawing up short on the other side of a door Evan’s just pulled open.  “Just taking this--wait, are you the one from the helo?  Ran out of that crash and through the hospital on the way in?”

“Jody,” Evan says, not moving.  “This is Five, down from Mullins.  Offered to run for us.  Five, this is Jody Marsh.  Our Runner Four.”

You nod at her.  When she just stares back, you offer a wave, and she blinks.  “Right,” she says, shifting the bundle in her arms to one side and sticking out her hand.  “Hi.  So you’re using Alice’s call sign?”

You shake her hand, but it’s Evan who says, “I’m afraid they identified Alice in the group that followed Five from the hospital.”

“Yeah,” she says quickly.  “I know, I heard.  I just--”

She’s still looking at you, and she sighs.  “Sorry,” she says again.  “We figured, but it’s… it’s still hard, you know?  She was our friend.”

They took your headset at the gate, and you haven’t seen anyone wearing one since.  But the loudspeaker on the corner of the building broadcasts the radio operator’s voice for all of you to hear: “Runner Seven,” he says.  “Report to the gate.  Runner Seven to the gate, please.”

“Jody,” Evan says.  “Would you mind--”

“I’ve got it,” Jody says.  “Go.”

She smiles at you as Evan jogs off, shifting the bundled blanket under her arm again.  “He’s in charge of us, you know.  The runners.  Bet he didn’t tell you that.”

You shake your head no.

“He’s a good man,” Jody says.  “One of the first scouts, and then the first of the supply runners when they realized they were going to be here for a while.  He won’t ask us to do anything he wouldn’t do himself.  Of course, considering what he’ll do, I suppose that isn’t saying much.”

You give her a thumbs-up, and she studies you curiously.  “So you really don’t talk, huh?

You shake your head again, and this time she gives you the thumbs-up back.  “All right,” she says.  “Well, what have you seen so far?  Probably not the sleeping quarters, since you were just coming in as I was leaving, right?”

You make a cross with your index fingers and hold it against your shoulder.

“The… hospital tent?” she guesses.

You nod, and she does the same.  “Yeah, everyone coming through the gates gets checked pretty thoroughly.  Every time.  Runners see the inside of that med tent as often as they see their bed.  Not that we have beds, exactly.  Well, here, I’ll show you.  Did you see anything else?”

You make a circle with your thumb and fingers.

“Nothing?” she says.  “Well, this is where the day shift sleeps.  Come on in.  This is the morning side; afternoon shift gets the other one.  Not a big difference, really, except sometimes the afternoon shift sleeps later than we do.  Night shift is in the other building.”

You gesture between the two of you until the motion catches her eye and she looks over.

“All the runners are day shift,” she says.  “I mean, obviously.  It’s too dangerous to go out at night.  But we do have morning and afternoon people, sort of, and since you’re taking Alice’s place you’ll probably be on morning runs with us.”

You wait until she’s looking to reach out carefully.  She lets you touch her shoulder, and you mouth, I’m sorry.

“Yeah,” she sighs, looking away.  “Me too.”

She doesn’t move out from under your hand, so you leave it awkwardly on her shoulder until she clears her throat.  “Anyway,” she says.  “This is your pallet, and I was just taking this blanket to be washed.  When I turn it in I’ll get another one that you can have.  Want to come with me?”

Your pallet stands out, a single mattress on the floor surrounded by others grouped in twos and threes.  Jody sees you staring and she darts forward suddenly.  “Oh, I forgot, I’m sorry--”  She grabs a pillow off a nearby mattress and shakes it out of its covering.  “This is yours too.  Let me get you a new pillowcase.”

The pillow flops onto your pallet and she stuffs the “pillowcase” under her arm with the blanket.  “We, um,” she says.  “I mean, we share a lot.  Because it’s cold at night, and everyone’s… you know.  Lonely.”

She seems uncomfortable, so you nod.

“Me and Maggie share,” Jody says.  “And Alice, when she was here.  You can shove in with us if you get cold.  Or with Evan and Roman, if you.  Um.  I mean.  Whoever you’re more comfortable with.  No one wants to be alone.”

You remember the invitation that night, when you’re staring up at the shadows on the ceiling.  You think about your team back at the base, and your pilot this morning, probably killed in the crash.  You think about the people who literally lined up at supper to introduce themselves to you.

No one wants to be alone.

Supper was ORPs from the last government drop, and you got a whole one to yourself.  In the morning you’ll run for more.  The gates and the walls may or may not keep out zombies another day, but in the end, maybe this town has as much of a chance as any.

You get to run again, and they’ll feed you for it.  Things could be worse.

There’s whispering around you, soft and directionless.  Rustling as people try to reassure each other enough to sleep.  As you close your eyes you hear someone murmur, “Good night, Five.”

You lift two fingers from your chest in a tiny wave, just in case someone’s looking.  Five.  After only a few hours, the designation already feels strangely personal.  

It’s not what they called you at Mullins.  But then, that wasn’t your real name either.