CHAPTER FIVE
After twenty days I ran out of food. My father had a small rooftop garden, but none of the vegetables were ready, and I couldn’t live on carrots and tomatoes for the rest of my life anyhow. I went a whole day without eating before admitting to myself what I needed to do.
I walked to my parents’ room, into their closet. I took down the box that my mother thought I didn’t know about. I’d put it off, hoping I wouldn’t need to leave the safety of the house, that all the carnage would stop and that I would be saved. My hunger made me realize that I would have to face the world as it was; life-threateningly full of Them. For that, I needed protection.
“Most households that keep a firearm end up hurting a family member or someone they know.” I heard the echo of my father’s concerned voice as I took the gun from its case.
“I would like to see those statistics,” my mother had replied. “What studies are you citing, exactly?” she’d asked with a wink. He tried not to smile, but his eyes betrayed him. He’d always pretended to be stern but would give in so easily. He put his hand on the back of her neck and pulled her forward for a kiss. I remember being amazed. Even when they were arguing, they still made out. They didn’t notice me in the doorway. Even then I was good at being quiet.
They kept the gun, thanks to my mother’s stubbornness. My father surrendered, as long as I learned how to use it properly and knew it wasn’t a plaything. I was ten. My father came up with some lame excuse about wanting me to gain a better understanding of the world, but I knew it was because he feared I would find the gun hidden in the closet and think it was a toy.
I never thought about the gun, not after my lessons at the shooting range were finished. That day, however, when I needed to leave the house for the first time since They arrived, all I could think about was how grateful I was that my mother was super paranoid, that her work demanded it.
I loaded the clip into the gun and smiled, putting the holster on, slipping my arms through the straps. I packed my backpack with a flashlight, a knife, and my wallet, unsure of what I would find outside. Looking back, it just goes to show how clueless I was.
I waited until sunset, when there would be less of Them. It took me twenty minutes to work up the nerve to open the front door. The lock clicked open, painfully loud. I checked to make sure They weren’t waiting for me at the fence. We lived in a nice neighborhood: big expensive houses with well-manicured lawns. Ours was the only one with a fenced-in front yard. I unlocked the electric gate, checking for the hundredth time that the key was safely tucked into my pocket for when I returned. To lock myself out now would most certainly mean death. I felt sad remembering when I’d done it a couple of times Before, when the penalty was only heading over to Sabrina’s house to mooch junk food until one of my parents got home.
I took a deep breath and steadied my shaking hands, willing myself into calmness, pushing my terror away as I stepped past the rubble of what used to be our outer gate.
I had decided I would start out simple; venture to the corner store a block away, have a quick look around, grab some canned ravioli, and haul my butt back to my house. I was careful to walk quietly.
“Slow and steady wins the race,” my father had always said. He is such a dork, I thought automatically. It made me want to cry. My father wasn’t anything anymore. No one was anything.
I walked slowly, carefully placing each foot on the sidewalk to avoid making noise. The night was windy, which made me jumpy. Any movement of a bush or tree and I froze. After constant stalling, I had to force myself to calm down again. I didn’t want the sound of me hyperventilating to bring Them. The shadows are just shadows, I told myself. They are all sleeping now, I reasoned. But I wasn’t very convincing.
As I walked, I noticed a few of the houses had broken windows or open doors. Cars had been abandoned in the street, some with blood on the windshield. I tried not to look at these things too closely, not to let them psych me out. I had survived an alien invasion, I wasn’t going to starve to death because I couldn’t overcome my fear.
I made it to the store without spotting any of Them. Cautiously I pressed at the door, expecting it to be locked, but it gave way with little trouble. The smell hit me first, musty and rotten. I stood for a moment with the door open, breathing shallowly until I became used to the stink. When I stepped inside, my shoes squeaked on the linoleum floor, making me cringe. I slipped them off and left them by the door.
This is the market that Sabrina and I would sneak off to, to buy junk food when she stayed at my house. There used to always be customers here, buying munchies or lottery tickets, sipping on sodas in supersize cups. The outside world was empty now, but being in that vacant store was somehow worse.
I made myself focus into the darkness and went straight to the canned food aisle, frantically filling my backpack with corn, soup, tuna fish, anything I could get my hands on. The cans clanged loudly when I hoisted the bag to my shoulders and I froze. There was no way I could make such a racket and get home alive. Quickly I repacked the bag, placing candy bars and bags of marshmallows between the cans.
But now not all the cans fit. I don’t know why I didn’t leave them on the floor, but it didn’t seem right. Your mind does funny things when you spend so much time alone. I stocked them back on the shelf, one by one. Anxiety was flooding my body, and my hands were shaking with fear and hunger. I dropped a can on the shelf and it fell into the other ones and onto the floor. My eyes followed it as it rolled toward the front of the store. I stepped forward and instantly froze. There was one of Them at the store entrance.
I took a step back as quietly as I could. The creature’s head pushed through the door, its body jammed in the opening, unsure of where to go. Finally it made its way inside; its head rocked clumsily from side to side, trying to see in the dark. They shuffled around when there were no people in sight, wandered aimlessly. They weren’t fast until They had reason to be, when They detected their prey.
The creature’s foot touched my shoes where I’d left them by the door. In a flash it dropped to the floor and sniffed at my sneakers. I continued to back away, my socks soundless on the cold tile. It moved forward, crawling on its hands and knees. Something settled in my bag with a thud. Its head snapped up in my direction and in a flash, it ran toward me. Without thinking I grabbed a jar of tomato sauce and hurled it at the creature.
I aimed for its head, but the jar sailed over it and smashed against the floor. That made it stop. It looked back and forth, unable to decide if it should investigate the new, louder noise.
I stood as still as I could. Please don’t see me. Please don’t see me. Please don’t see me.
The gun was at my side in its holster. I could reach it and shoot before the thing reached me, but that would draw every one of Them within earshot.
It moved closer, searching wildly. The smell of rotten meat filled my nostrils, almost making me gag. It looked right at me but could not see me with its milky-yellow eyes. I held my breath, afraid to even blink. The creature moved frantically, its black-blue tongue licking its fangs. Its closeness made my skin crawl.
It was becoming more difficult to hold my breath. I could push the creature and try to run, but They were so fast it would catch me before I could reach the door. Its teeth were unbelievably pointy, too big for its mouth. Hot, putrid breath blew onto my face.
It edged closer and I took a small step back, sickened. I clenched my teeth, willing myself not to give in to my terror and run. My foot hit a can, hard. It rolled down the aisle, away from me. The creature rushed toward the noise, almost brushing against me as it went by. I made myself as small as possible, knowing if we touched, if the creature discovered me, it would be the end.
Luckily it knocked over more cans on its way, creating a clatter, confusing itself. I used the diversion to run toward the exit. My socks made no noise on the hard floor.
I silently jerked open the door and power-walked home, looking over my shoulder every few seco
nds. My heart in my throat, I was convinced the thudding in my chest would be loud enough to bring Them all running.
I finally reached my house and fumbled with my key. I panicked when I couldn’t get the gate open immediately, but taking a deep breath I managed to find the keyhole. I unlocked the gate and slammed it behind me, no longer caring how much noise I made. I was barely able to turn the interior bolt before the creatures smashed into it.
I ran for the door and once inside, a sick curiosity made me look out the window. There were three of Them at the gate, milling around, unsure in the darkness. They hadn’t known I was there until they’d heard the slamming iron. They were so fast. I would have easily been caught if it were day.
I rummaged through my pack, gorging myself on candy bars and canned ravioli. My father would have had a fit. I’d always been annoyed when we shopped at the natural food store, just wanting to eat “normal food.” It wouldn’t be long until I pined for an endless selection of fresh vegetables.
Much later, I realized that I should have dropped my pack the minute one of Them appeared. But I desperately needed the food in my bag. My shoes were gone, left at the store, but I decided soon after that shoes were dangerous. They made too much noise. I started wearing just socks, but my feet would grow calloused and rough before long, making footwear unnecessary altogether.
Looking back on that first trip, knowing what I do now, it was a miracle I survived at all.
CHAPTER SIX
I was incredibly lonely that first month, before I found Baby. I stopped keeping track of the days. Whether it was Monday or Wednesday seemed meaningless in the After.
There were whole days when all I did was read. Sometimes at night I’d listen to my TuneZ player turned down low, headphones in my ears. I listened to my dad’s playlist, full of bluegrass and oldies. I told myself that it was a good way to honor his memory, even though I could barely think of him without breaking down.
I went about my routine, venturing farther and farther away from home. There was a large supermarket only five blocks away. As far as I knew, there weren’t any other survivors, so I had my pick of overprocessed food, filled with the toxic preservatives that my father always ranted against. Now they were keeping me alive.
It was so creepy, to walk through the empty aisles, to “shop.” I avoided the produce section, quickly turning to compost. Even so, the supermarket smelled awful, but I began to get used to the stink. I’d never realized how sanitized my life had been, how clean and contained. I thought about how dirty the After would be, how the world would change without constant maintenance.
I visited the supermarket often, wanting my cabinets to be full of nonperishable food. It became routine. One night, though, I had the greatest shock since the After began. I discovered Baby in the produce section, her chubby fingers shoveling rotten, month-old grapes into her mouth, hands and face stained with purple juice. She could not have been more than three or four. Her dirty, blond hair was matted into pigtails, pink hair ties still in place. She had been injured; her skirt was stained the rusty brown of old blood.
I took a step toward her and immediately her large, brown eyes were on me. She didn’t cry out or even flinch. As quiet as I was, she’d heard me approach. After studying me for a few seconds, she padded silently in my direction, her arms outstretched. How was this tiny being still alive?
I almost left her there. I was already hardened from what I’d witnessed. Instead I picked the girl up and carried her home. I decided that if she cried on the way, I would leave her. If she squirmed, I would just drop her. If she so much as whimpered, I would have tossed her aside for Them to find. How much I had changed in just a few short weeks of living in the After.
But the girl had not made a noise. I’ve witnessed Baby cry many times since that day. Her lips tremble like any other child, her nose wrinkles, and tears run down her cheeks, all in silence. I watch her sometimes while she sleeps, guilty at what I almost did all those years ago. I don’t want to think about what my life would be if I had given in to my heartless thoughts. I don’t know what I would do without Baby, left alone with only my memories of Before.
When Baby came, it was like starting over in the After. I was no longer alone. I still wonder how she survived for so long, since she was so young. It helped that she was quiet and had good instincts. She knew not to make a sound. She didn’t whine when I cleaned her wound, pouring hydrogen peroxide to kill the germs. A chunk of flesh was missing from the fatty part of her thigh, but it seemed to have healed over enough to prevent infection. After I’d cleaned and wrapped her leg, I checked her for other wounds, but the only other abnormality was a strange diamond-shaped scar at the nape of her neck, just near her hairline.
Even though she looked in good shape, I still walked to the pharmacy and scavenged antibiotics to give her as a precaution. I figured she could take the same pills I was given for my skin infection the year before. I also scavenged some new clothes for her, and when I returned, she was waiting silently at the door.
I gave her the antibiotics, guessing at the dosage. I also gave her a bath and washed and combed her hair. After that, Baby became my shadow, following me silently around the house. Sometimes she’d stop and stare at a window or wall and I assumed she was damaged from the After, unable to focus. Once she stopped mid-step, suddenly turning and running to hide behind the couch, and a few seconds later I heard the fence spark. I realized that she knew They were outside and was frightened. She could hear them, often when I couldn’t.
I tried to comfort her, but I knew I needed some way to communicate with her. Vocalization was out of the question, voices always drew Them, and I did not want Them constantly testing the fence. It seemed easier just not to talk, and Baby was smart enough to understand this. Or maybe what she had witnessed had shocked her into silence permanently.
I dug out my dad’s book on sign language and began to teach her and myself. Through the years we’ve modified our language to fit our purpose. We sign into each other’s hands when we’re near. Now, we can have an entire silent conversation moving only our fingers, but when we started I used only a few simple words. Food. Quiet. Bad. Good. Baby.
Calling her Baby seemed to fit; for all I knew she was the last toddler on earth. She took to the signs remarkably well, mimicking my every action. She became my constant companion. She wanted to be everywhere I was and do everything I did. If it had been Before, I would have been annoyed, but I was starved for human interaction. Baby didn’t just become my family, she became my entire world.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Amy. Baby wakes me by signing onto my face. Three years have passed, so she’s a child now, not a baby, but my label has become her name.
What? I ask crankily. I’m sleeping.
I saw it again, she tells me, her fingers move with a desperate swiftness. The ship.
I sit up and look into her eyes, large and shining. She should be afraid, but instead she is excited. Her lips curve slightly, almost forming a smile.
Show me, I demand.
She grabs my hand and we hurry to the roof. I don’t bother to get dressed. Years ago, Before, I would never have gone out on the roof deck in my underwear. Years ago, I would have been careful of the neighbors. But now, in the After, there are no neighbors.
See? There! Baby hands me the binoculars. I look out over the houses. Sure enough, there is another black object, hovering in the distance. When we first spotted them, I told Baby they were ships, for lack of a better word. The sign in the book is actually “boat,” but Baby doesn’t know that. The signs are what I make them, a visual representation. I didn’t know how to explain “spaceship.”
The ship looks more like a helicopter, anyway, except without the tail end. No windows either. I can’t hear the engine from where we are and I wonder at the single blade, keeping it airborne. What differences in technology do They possess? The ship’s material looks odd: it’s not metal; it can’t be. It doesn’t throw the light back. Even in
the early morning predawn glow, it should still reflect something. I’m impressed Baby noticed it at all. She must have been on the lookout. We’ve only started seeing the ships recently and any break from the norm is a cause for excitement. I scan the ground to see if any creatures are on the prowl yet, but there are none.
I look back to the ship, which hovers in the distance, unmoving. If it is a spacecraft, why would They wait three years to reveal their mode of transportation? If it isn’t a spaceship . . . But I don’t even entertain the idea. I’ve never seen anything like them before. The ships had to have been brought by Them.
The craft lowers itself slowly in the distance. A few blocks away, maybe more. I map it in my head: Oz Park. It landed in the park.
I’m going to go have a look, I tell Baby. You stay here.
She shakes her head no and points at the sky.
It’s not quite daybreak, but if I leave now I will be pushing it. I can get out to the park before sunup, but I doubt I’ll be able to make it back home again. I will have to be very careful.
I run downstairs and put on my camouflage pants and hooded sweatshirt. They are from years ago and the pants no longer fit me properly, my ankles stick out the bottom. Floods, my dad would have joked. I bought them when army greens were in style and haven’t been able to scavenge any that fit better. Designers probably didn’t take into account an imminent postapocalyptic scenario; they had no idea how useful these would be. With the creatures’ poor eyesight, the camouflage pattern helps me blend into grass or shrubbery. But I’ve never tried it in daylight before.
In the After Page 2
