A noise behind me snapped me out of my thoughts and I stood still. I quickly stepped into the bushes and hid. I expected one of Them to shuffle by, as they often did at night, unaware of things that were not directly in front of Them. Instead there was nothing.
It took me a few moments to realize it wasn’t one of Them. It was Jake. He’d followed me. He wanted to know where I lived. He wanted to see my setup and decide if it was better than his. My heart thudded in my chest. And what if he did think mine was better? My house was secure. It had running water and electricity. What would he do when he saw all that? My mind was racing. He would try to take it.
I waited in the bushes for him to make a move. His progression was not loud, but I’d learned to listen for even the slightest sound. As he made his way closer, I froze, uncertain of what I should do: run or stay hidden. I didn’t have long to decide.
Too late, I chose to bolt. I was still in the bushes when a hand grabbed my arm tightly. Jake pulled me roughly from my hiding spot. He took my backpack and slung it over his shoulder, holding my arm in a death grip. He hugged me to his chest.
“If you scream,” he whispered, his hot breath in my ear, “the creatures will come and kill you.” He shoved his arm under my shirt and squeezed. The pain made me exhale loudly.
“If you like that, just wait.” He pulled my hair, yanking my head back with a jerk. Forcing his face to mine, he kissed me roughly. His teeth rammed into my lips, cutting painfully at the soft tissue. He pulled away slightly and I tasted blood, sharp and metallic against my tongue.
I reached my arm around and pulled the gun from its holster. I was grateful my clothes were baggy and Jake hadn’t noticed I was carrying it earlier. I shoved the barrel in his stomach and unhooked the safety with a click.
“Back off,” I said, careful to keep my voice low. I could hear the panic in my tone, and my hands were shaking. Jake took several steps back and stared.
“If you shoot that gun, every one of those things within four miles will be on you.” He started to come toward me again. I quickly reached in my pocket and screwed the attachment onto the end. I’d practiced at home for speed.
“Silencer,” I hissed, forcing a smug grin. I really just wanted to puke.
“You know, silencers aren’t all that quiet. . . .” he whispered, though he didn’t sound very convinced. He backed away, looking me up and down. He still held my backpack. “I’ll see you around, honey.” He winked at me before he turned and began to jog away.
Then I remembered the object in my pocket. Since that day with the creature in the store, I’d come up with a getaway plan. A way to distract Them if They had me cornered, something more complex than a can of corn. I pulled out the remote and stepped back into the bushes. I paused for only a second before hitting the button.
About half a block away, the siren sounded. I heard a few run by, not the mindless shuffle but the full gallop They developed when They thought humans were near. And then I heard Jake scream. There must have been a few closer. He would have been shocked at the noise. It would have taken him too long to realize it was coming from the bag. Even if he had tossed it in time, he could not have outrun Them. He wouldn’t have had enough time to hide.
The screams continued and I put my hands over my ears. He’d be dead in less than a minute. I just wanted the noise to stop. The alarm was still going, but I figured They would tear that apart soon enough as well. I didn’t want to do it, but I already had to worry about Them. I couldn’t live wondering if a psycho survivor was out to get me as well. I cried silently, hoping Jake was not the only other person alive on the planet. Did he lie about seeing other people? About the town of survivors?
The creatures shuffled around for a while, satisfied with their meal. Exhausted, I waited for what seemed like hours, cold and miserable until the area cleared and I could walk back to my house. The first thing I did when I got home was rig another bag from the car alarms I’d scavenged.
I didn’t know then that the awful exchange with Jake would be the last real conversation I would have for a very, very long time.
A clap of thunder brings me back to reality, away from the past. I scan again for any new ships, but the sky is empty except for dark gray clouds. The heavier rain will come soon. I’ll be able to climb down the tree and return home before long.
I try not to think about Jake and what happened that night. But I had learned a few very important things about survival. I also learned where They go at night.
While I hid in the bushes all those years ago, I watched Them shuffle back from their kill. One by one, They lay on the ground and slinked down a rain gutter. I would not have thought it possible, but they are small and bend in incredible ways. Even their bones seem flexible. That’s where They will be now, while the sky is darkening and the heavy downpour threatening to burst through the clouds. They will head underground to the sewers.
As soon as the drizzle turns into a torrent, I slide down the tree and jog home. Baby is happy to see me. She greets me with a towel and a change of clothes.
Did you see it? she signs, her quivering hands betraying her concern. The ship?
I nod.
Is it Them? she asks.
Yes.
Where did it come from?
I don’t know, I say, no longer sure that I want to find out.
CHAPTER NINE
We spot the ships weekly now, their presence becoming more common. So are our run-ins with other survivors. It used to be once a year, when the weather turned warm. Now I spot other people about once a month, usually when the moon is only a sliver in the sky, providing the most cover of darkness. They are coming to the cities from the country. They figure if anyone else is alive, this is where they’ll be. They don’t seem to understand that it is also where the creatures prefer to live and feed.
I develop a system for dealing with strangers. I never show myself to groups of people. A group is more likely to turn on me, try to steal my resources for themselves. I read a book once about mass hysteria, how people can do anything if others are doing it too. In the After, even three people can be considered a mob, and I’m not taking any chances.
I avoid lone men for obvious reasons. I sometimes make my presence known to women, depending on how scrawny they look, how much they seem to need assistance. I don’t speak to them, but I let them see me. I nod and motion toward a sewer drain, make a cutting sign across my throat. They get the picture. I also point in the direction of the lake and pretend to drink a glass of water. I always make Baby hide when there are people around. You never know who you can trust.
Poor Baby. I look at her sometimes and think about my own childhood. I used to go to the zoo and shop on weekends with my friends. Baby tags along with me to silently scavenge dead people’s homes. I had pizza and home-cooked meals. She has canned food and badly charred squirrel that we catch in rattraps. I had two loving, if a little wacky, parents. She only has me.
Most important, I had sunlight. Now we both live in a dark world. We go to the roof sometimes, during the day, but I find it eerie. The silent city, Them shuffling underneath us. At night we can at least make some noise. We discovered that They ignored the hum of the air conditioner or the heat pumping through winter, but they came running when the microwave beeped. I was confident the fence would hold, but I didn’t know for how long, so it was better not to test it. We learned to do everything as quietly as possible. We live like monks. Silent, pasty, scared monks.
What’s this one about? Baby asks, handing me a book. I glance at it: Pride and Prejudice.
It’s about two people who love each other but are too stupid to figure it out until the end of the story.
Baby looks disappointed. But, I add, the woman is very smart and the man is very handsome.
What’s that? She points at the cover: Mr. Darcy on a horse. I grab the sign language dictionary and look up the word horse to show her.
They’re from Before, I tell her. That’s what I usually say wh
en I don’t know how to explain something, like airplanes and Christmas.
She nods and looks at the horse longingly. I smile. I guess every little girl wants a horse, even ones who don’t know what a horse is. I wonder if there are any horses left. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen a dog. There are cats around, ones feral enough to make it on their own. Cats have the right combination of animal characteristics to survive Them. They are silent and like to hang out in trees. Birds do well, too. Dogs and larger animals, not so much.
And this one? Baby asks.
Too old, I tell her. I’m not up to explaining the entire plot of The Merchant of Venice. Greed, revenge, and racism are topics for another day.
Baby tugs on my sleeve, points to a new book. I scan the cover. This one is about a monster, I say without thinking, pausing at Baby’s horrified expression. Monster was the word I’d assigned to Them.
Not a monster, I correct myself. I meant a thing. . . . How could I explain Frankenstein to someone who has seen real monsters?
It’s a story from Before. I take the book from her and place it high up on the shelf. Now, this is a good one. I hand her a picture book that I loved when I was growing up, one I asked to be read to me every night for a year. The Little Mermaid. I let her look at the pictures and tell me how the story goes. Her version is a lot happier than the Hans Christian Andersen one and much less gory. My father was pleased how much I appreciated the tale; he said it taught children consequences and that not all endings are happy.
Baby, though, ends with They all lived happily ever after, just like I taught her.
I hope, she tells me, that we can live happily ever after.
I hug her, trying not to cry. You and me both, I think, kissing the top of her head.
I like this one, Baby signs into my hand. She holds up a candy bar, its wrapper dusty and crinkled.
Is it sealed? I ask. At this point everything in the grocery store is expired, but things last a lot longer than companies let on. It’s all those preservatives. I taught Baby to check for rancid chips and candy and to only gather cans that have no dents and aren’t all bulgy. We have stomach medicine at home, but I don’t want to trust treating botulism with three-year-old pink bismuth.
Yes, it’s sealed. Baby smiles up at me. Also, I found this. She holds up a box of macaroni and cheese. She manages to move the box without all the noodles crashing together like a maraca.
Fan, I tell her. Good job. I taught Baby “fan” as very good. I made up the sign: hand just below your face, gesture like you’re fanning yourself on a hot summer day. I like keeping the word my friends and I always used. It’s like having a bit of Sabrina with me at times. It hurts, but in a strange way it makes me stronger.
Baby beams. She loves being helpful. As she grew older, I let her come with me more often. We’d soon pilfered everything in the corner store near my house and had to walk farther and farther for supplies. She can carry a surprising amount for a child, and I never have to worry about her making noise. She is excellent at staying quiet. She also has exceptional hearing, sometimes alerting me to Them before I’m even aware They are near.
What’s this? she asks me, holding up a plastic cell phone filled with candy.
Candy, I tell her.
No, the outside. Baby wants to know about everything. It’s annoying sometimes, but I’m secretly glad she isn’t traumatized by our lifestyle. I would have thought a little kid like that would shut down completely when faced with Them.
It’s something from Before, I explain. People used it to talk.
Like books?
I shake my head. No, with their mouths.
Baby smirks slightly and raises her eyebrows. She thinks I’m joking. It’s been so long since she’s heard anyone speak, she doesn’t remember what it’s like.
I try to explain. Before They came, everyone didn’t use their hands to talk. They used their mouths. Well, except for deaf people, but I don’t want to confuse her.
Baby’s face scrunches in disbelief and confusion. Then it turns suddenly to stone. Noise, she signs.
Baby and I immediately grab our bags and back quietly away into the aisle. We hear footsteps. We look at each other. Footsteps mean shoes. The creatures don’t wear shoes.
I’ll look, Baby signs into my hand. I nod once. She soundlessly drops her bag and doubles around to the side of the store. I don’t like sending her off, but she is excellent at spying.
I listen to the footsteps. They’re coming from the front of the store near the registers. They are not slow and they are not cautious. Anyone who went around making a racket like that shouldn’t have survived this long.
Baby touches my elbow. She’s returned silently. A woman. Alone.
I think for a moment. Grab your bag.
Are we going to meet her? Baby asks, wide eyed.
No. It could be a trap.
Baby nods. She’s very loud. Does she want Them to come?
Maybe, but even if she doesn’t, they’ll be here soon. Let’s go.
We take the long way around, avoiding the footsteps and their owner. We are almost to the door when I feel a tickle in my throat. I swallow twice trying to fight the urge. The tickle climbs up my throat to my sinuses. I try to hold it in but I can’t help the small noise that escapes me as I sneeze.
Baby freezes.
“Wait,” I hear from somewhere in the store.
Go, I tell Baby. Fast.
“Please, wait.” The woman runs toward us, yelling. “Don’t leave me here.”
I grab Baby’s hand and hurry to the door. Whoever the woman is, she has zero self-preservation skills.
We make it through the door just as a car alarm sounds. Baby stops, startled by the unnaturally loud noise. I think for a moment that it’s me, that I accidentally triggered the alarm I carry in case I need a diversion. The noise isn’t coming from my bag, but blaring from across the street. When the realization takes hold, I notice that Baby is still frozen in place. I pull Baby’s arm and push her into some overgrown bushes. I crouch down, searching for the source of the noise.
A red pickup truck across the street is loaded with men. My jaw drops. There are ten of them at least, each with a rifle. It’s the largest group of people I have seen since Before. One of the men stands on top of the truck. He holds up a bullhorn and clicks it on with a beep.
“COME ON, YOU SLIMY GREEN BASTARDS!”
It has only been a few seconds since the siren sounded, but already They are running toward the truck. The men form a circle, facing outward, their weapons raised and aimed at the creatures’ heads. If They are merely wounded they continue to crawl forward, even when they are missing arms and legs.
Baby shakes next to me, her head buried in my arm, her eyes closed tight. I’m glad she isn’t watching. She doesn’t need to witness a massacre.
As more and more of Them arrive, the men are forced back against the truck. Please don’t die, I think. I don’t want it to end this way. They shouldn’t throw their lives away just to take a few of Them out. It isn’t worth it.
It’s not long before the situation begins to look hopeless for the men. The creatures are about to overwhelm the truck. There are too many to continue fighting, but the men keep shooting. They take out several more of Them, but others take their place.
Finally the men retreat. As quickly as they arrived, they jump into the flatbed of the red truck, still shooting. The man with the bullhorn hurries to the driver’s seat and steps on the gas. The truck is surrounded, but they plow through the mass of creatures taking at least ten of Them out. I smile. They are not on a suicide mission. They are guerrilla warriors.
The truck drives away, tires screeching. The creatures follow, running after it as fast as they can, which is sickeningly fast. The silence that follows is frightening after so much noise.
Is it over? Baby signs.
Yes, but we have to wait here until it’s clear.
Baby raises her head to look out. Talking with your mou
th is scary, she says, referring to the man with the bullhorn.
It is. But it wasn’t Before. Our brief encounter with chaos makes me homesick for that other time. I try not to think about Before.
Amy. Baby touches my elbow urgently.
A pair of legs appears before our hiding space. I look up. It’s the woman from the grocery store, who I’d forgotten about during the commotion.
“Don’t leave me,” she shrieks. I’m furious and panicked—she is going to bring Them right to us.
I pull her down into the bushes and put my hand over her mouth. I hope she doesn’t struggle, but as soon as she is within the cover of our hiding place, her body goes limp. I leave my hand where it is as a reminder to be quiet.
We’re lucky. After the commotion, They don’t react very quickly to the woman’s outburst. They are too busy gnawing on the remains of the creatures that were killed. It is dark, so as long as we stay quiet, they won’t find us.
They feed for a long time, eating every bit of their dead, their sharp teeth chewing through skin, muscle, and bone. Their feeding noises sicken me, slurps with the occasional crunch. Two fight over an arm, wrestle on the ground. I hope they hurt each other but one eventually relents.
I glance at the woman. She’s more of a girl really, maybe a few years older than I am. Her face is slack, her eyes dull. I take my hand off her mouth and rest it on Baby’s trembling shoulder. I need to distract her, to distract myself.
What was that story, from the other day? I ask. The one about the mermaid.
Baby puts her hand in mine. The fish princess lived in the lake, where no monsters could reach her. Baby’s eyes are closed, her lips parted slightly.
For the moment she is at the bottom of the sea with the mermaid, not hiding in a bush watching aliens pig out on other aliens. She expands on her earlier story, explaining in detail the lives of the little mermaid’s sisters. “Sister” was the sign I’d taught Baby for what we are to each other.
I feel her fingers move against my hand, relaying her story in a language only we understand. The movement is comforting, but I remain tense and anxious as we wait for Them to leave. I have no idea what to do with the girl lying beside us.
In the After Page 4
