for all but the boy to stand. Aubrey was the second-to-last out, followed by Kara.
They were standing in front of another long chain-link fence topped with razor wire. On the other side, stretching out for what seemed like miles, was an endless row of enormous canvas tents, desert camouflage and buffeted by the wind.
Just like at the warehouse, the fence was guarded with watchtowers.
Aubrey touched Kara’s arm and whispered, “It doesn’t seem like they’re sending us home.”
Kara frowned, and brushed her long blonde hair from her face. She looked sick. “I’m sure it’s just temporary.”
The soldier led the small group across the dusty road to a wide canvas tent that appeared to be the only entrance through the fence.
“This shouldn’t take long,” he shouted, to be heard over the wind, “provided you listen to instructions and do as you’re told.”
He stepped up onto a low wooden platform, and opened the door to the tent. “Males on the left, females on the right.”
The first in line—an overweight boy—nervously peeked his head in the door.
“Come on,” the officer snapped. “Hurry up.”
Aubrey grabbed Kara’s elbow again. “Hey.”
“It’ll be okay,” Kara said, though her face was pale.
“You’re not actually a Positive, are you?” Aubrey asked, trying to keep her voice low.
Kara looked surprised. “No! Are you kidding?”
Aubrey forced a smile. “I just wonder if they made a mistake. Maybe they think we’re Positives.”
Kara glanced up at the door ahead of them, and the officer standing grimly beside it. “I’m not a Positive.”
They reached the door and entered a small, cramped room. The boys—there were six of them—were in a line heading left, and the three girls were waiting for a door on the right.
“Where are you from?” Kara asked. Aubrey guessed she was trying to make conversation to keep her mind off the situation.
“Mount Pleasant.”
“I love that area,” Kara said, putting on a big nervous grin. “I have an aunt in Manti.”
“Did you know anyone else back there?” Aubrey asked, keeping her voice low. “Back at the warehouse?”
Kara looked embarrassed, and shook her head. “No. I’m from Park City. I don’t know where they took my friends, but—” If the door hadn’t opened, Aubrey guessed that Kara would have started to cry.
“Come in,” a woman said, holding the door for them. “Quickly, please.”
Aubrey glanced back at the boys, still waiting in their line and anxiously watching to see what happened to the girls. Her eyes met the young boy’s, and she smiled.
“Hurry,” the woman said.
Aubrey turned and entered the room.
The soldier couldn’t have been very old, but her face was grim and uncompassionate. She asked for the girls’ names and personal information, and checked them against a paper on her clipboard, and again against the girls’ bracelets. Kara was eighteen, which surprised Aubrey—Kara looked younger than that. The other girl—a fifteen-year-old from Roosevelt—was named Betsy Blackhair.
The soldier hung the clipboard on a hook. She then opened a cabinet and pulled from it three garbage bags, and three tiny bars of soap, each about an inch square.
“Strip down,” she said, handing the girls the bags and soap. “Put everything you have in the bags, leave them with me, and then go in the next room for a shower.”
“What will happen to our clothes?” Betsy asked.
“They will be disinfected,” the soldier answered. “You can keep any metal jewelry, but you’ll have to scrub it in the shower. There’s a clock in there—you’ll need to wash for fourteen minutes, and that means really washing, not just standing there. If you don’t scrub yourselves, Corporal Smith will do it, and she uses a stiff brush.” The soldier smiled at that, but the girls didn’t laugh.
Aubrey removed her clothes and shoes and stuffed them haphazardly into the bag, not bothering to fold them the way Kara was doing. The situation was uncomfortable enough, and she wanted to go straight into the shower rather than stand and wait naked.
The soldier made Kara cut off a cloth bracelet that was tied around her ankle. Not waiting, Aubrey cracked the door to the next room, peeking inside to make sure it was safe to go in.
The room had a single pipe in the center, with four shower heads branching off of it. A wide plastic sign hung on one side of the room, giving directions for how they should shower, with simple illustrations beside each instruction. Corporal Smith, a matronly woman wearing a green rain poncho over her combat fatigues, motioned her in.
The water was lukewarm, and the soap was gritty and harsh. Aubrey followed the sign step-by-step, watching the clock as the directions told her to scrub her hair for two minutes, then her face and neck for one minute, and so on. By the time she was finished she felt like her body had been rubbed with a cheese grater, and she smelled of ammonia.
Done before the other girls, she took a towel from Corporal Smith and then moved to the next room. The towel was small, not covering much as she tried to wrap it around herself, and it was as rough as sandpaper on her already stinging skin. Another female soldier—this one younger than the others, and with a kinder face—asked Aubrey’s size and then handed her a bundle of clothes.
Aubrey looked at the pile, pleasantly surprised. The clothes appeared to be new—a button-up blouse, a pair of jeans, sandals, some plain underwear, and a bra. “I was expecting coveralls or something like that.”
The soldier smiled. “You’re lucky. You wouldn’t have liked the jumpsuits—a whole lot of olive green. But the shipments never came in, so the CO sent a couple trucks into Salt Lake and cleaned out all the department stores.”
Aubrey turned her back to the soldier and quickly tried to dry off with the nonabsorbent towel.
“Most of our supplies are like that,” the soldier said. She sounded tired, like she was making small talk to stay awake. “None of the shipments are coming through anymore. Just more and more of you guys.”
“You’re expecting a lot of people here?” Aubrey asked.
“We already have a lot. You’re the stragglers.”
“Really?”
“Sure. You came from . . . Intake Two, I think.” She checked a clipboard. “Yes. Two. And there are thirty- two intake stations.”
Aubrey turned to look over her shoulder. “That many?”
“Yes.” The woman nodded, and Aubrey turned back to dressing.
“So how many of us are here?”
“I don’t know. But there’s been a steady stream for five days. Hundreds of girls have been through this room. Maybe thousands.”
Aubrey slipped on her shirt and began buttoning it. “When do we get to leave?”
“I’m not at liberty to say. Even if I knew.”
Aubrey sat on a narrow wooden bench with the eight other teens who had just finished decontamination. The wind was still blowing and Aubrey knew that the dust from the dirt road had to be gluing itself to her long wet hair.
No one was talking. The astringent soap and indignity of the showers seemed to have sapped the elation that they’d felt earlier at being declared Negative. Now they simply sat, staring at the endless rows of tents, wondering how they’d ever get back home.
A soldier stood nearby, watching the road for the bus that he promised would come.
“Who was he?” Kara asked quietly. “The boy back there?”
“A friend,” Aubrey said, not even knowing what to call him. “An old friend.” She cared for him. It seemed that right now she missed him more than anyone else—more than her so-called best friend. More than her dad. Jack had rescued her. He’d fought for her and lied for her, tried his best to hide her. And now he was facing the
