“What are your names?” the woman asks. I shake my head, unable to speak. It’s too much. Why have they captured us?
“Do you understand English? Español? Français?” She places her hands on her hips. “I’m pretty sure you’re not Japanese . . . Nihongo?” she asks. I’m shaking and I can’t stop.
We stare at each other. “Well, that’s all I’ve got,” she says eventually. “I think you can understand me just fine, but have it your way.”
She puts her hand to her ear and pushes a slim black earpiece. “We’ve got a couple of hostile post-aps here,” she says. “I’ve secured their weapon but they’re unresponsive to questioning. We’re going to have to skip the meet and greet and put them straight through to psyche-eval.” She listens for a minute, looking us over.
“Two female children, a Class Three and a Class Five.” She pushes against the wall of the ship and a drawer pops out. She places the gun inside and moves a few feet back. She presses the far wall this time and an opening appears. I can make out the head of another person through the doorway. The pilot. The woman disappears into the cockpit and the door slides shut behind her.
What is happening? Baby asks.
I don’t know. I hug her to my chest, ignoring the pain in my shoulder. I’m so very tired. The adrenaline has left my system, draining my energy reserves. I think we’ve been rescued.
Like the princess in my book?
Sort of . . . Are you scared? I stroke Baby’s hair and hope we are being rescued and not just captured.
No. I was at first, but that woman isn’t one of Them. She won’t hurt us. She is so sure, even though the woman has hurt me. I rub my throbbing shoulder, the pain getting worse with each passing second.
Are you scared, Amy? Baby asks, needing reassurance.
No, I lie, pulling her closer.
Why didn’t you let that woman know you understood her? Baby asks. You know loud speak. You understood Amber.
I think we should wait and see before we tell them anything. I try to explain. Maybe it will be better if they think we don’t understand them.
Okay, but I think that everything is going to be happily ever after.
I hope for her sake she’s right. If not, we have a backup plan. I touch the small bulge at my side. They took away Baby’s gun, but I still have mine.
I adjust Baby’s weight so she isn’t pressing against my aching shoulder. I rest my head on hers and wait.
“Wake up.”
I open my eyes with a start. The woman in the black suit is shaking my extremely sore shoulder. I pull away and glare at her.
“We’re here, sunshine,” she tells me with a smirk.
I narrow my eyes at her and scowl. She tilts her head, studying me for a moment. Even annoyed as I am, I am struck by her beauty. She is about my height, but with more delicate features. Dark hair, dark eyes. All business, she reaches down and pulls me to my feet. She is stronger than I would have thought and I mentally scratch the idea of this woman as delicate.
Baby stands without help, and I hold her hand firmly.
The door to the ship opens, revealing a warmly lit room. The woman steps out into the light. Baby and I look at each other. She smiles nervously, excited. I sigh. I can see no other option but to follow.
I walk forward, squinting against the brightness. My bare feet make contact with the soft ground. I feel the grass between my toes and think it is pleasant before my heart jumps into my throat.
We are outside in the daylight.
Baby panics. She tears her hand away from mine and tries to climb back into the ship, but the door has already closed behind us. She runs to me and buries her head in my waist. I search frantically for someplace to hide.
The woman crosses her arms and watches us with an amused grin. “This is a secure area. There’s no threat.”
In the light of day, I can see her features more clearly. She is gorgeous, but there is something else just under the surface that mars her beauty. There is a cruelness in her voice and I can see it again and again, in the way her lips curl, in her deep brown eyes.
“The Floraes, the creatures, they can’t get to you here,” she tells me. When I don’t react, she continues, “I think you can understand me just fine,” she says, staring into my eyes. I look at the ground, unable to meet her gaze. “You need to follow me, now.” She turns.
We have to get out of the open. Baby clings to me, desperate to find a safe place to hide.
The woman said that They can’t get us here and I believe her. What choice do I have?
Baby nods, her eyes still searching. I have to admit that I am unnerved too. There is grass and a few white buildings, but no creatures as far as I can tell.
Where are we? Baby asks into my hand.
I think we’re about to find out. Let’s keep our signs a secret for now, okay? I want to learn as much about our captors as possible before revealing anything. Signing using only one hand limits what we can say, but we’ve always had leeway in our language. If you live closely with someone long enough, a deep intuition develops; Baby and I are always on the same page.
We follow the woman away from the ship toward a large, squat building. We are led through a black door into a small room. The woman pushes a button on the wall and speaks, “Kay here with those two post-aps.”
A scratchy voice replies almost immediately. “Kay, you know you’re supposed to bring them to orientation. Dr. Reynolds is at lunch.”
“Look, Rice, I radioed in that they were hostile and gave you our ETA.” She looks over at me and winks. “These two aren’t fit to be among the general populace. What’s the holdup?”
The voice on the intercom pauses. “Bring them in,” he responds in a defeated tone. A buzzer sounds and the woman pushes a panel on the far wall. A section moves, sliding open to reveal a doorway.
The woman, Kay, motions us through. “Come on, girls, time is money.”
I smile. There is no money anymore. Time is nothing anymore. Kay catches my smile and I immediately regret it. Now she knows for sure that I understand her.
We walk through the door and everything is white, sterile. We wind our way down several passageways, occasionally going through a door or up a flight of stairs. Nothing is distinguishable. Finally Kay opens a door and directs us inside a large room, painted a pale blue. After the white blandness of the hallways, I welcome the color change, but I realize that is what whoever is in charge wants. Kay has pegged us as hostile and blue is a calming color. I scan the rest of the room, empty except for a metal table and four matching chairs. It looks like a police interrogation room from a movie, Before.
Kay doesn’t follow us inside. “You guys hold tight, all right?” she says with a smile bordering on sincere. “You’ll be okay, kiddo.” Maybe she isn’t cruel, just a little malicious. She shuts the door and Baby and I are alone.
What’s that noise? Baby asks. There’s a strange humming.
I go to the door and try the handle, but it won’t budge. I don’t know, maybe the lights? I didn’t think it would be unlocked but it was worth a try. I trudge back to the table and sit in a chair.
Baby shakes her head. It’s loud and . . . She’s struggling with her chair. I can’t move it in, she says. It’s stuck.
I look at where the chair meets the floor. It is bolted down. So is the table. I sit back and shrug. It’s so we can’t take them, I tell her.
Really?
No, it’s so we don’t throw things around when the people come to question us.
Oh. Baby looks disappointed. When are they coming? she asks, suddenly excited. She realizes that we are going to meet more people.
I don’t know. It’s cold in the room and I can hear the air conditioner running. I look at the ceiling and notice a medium-sized vent big enough to push Baby through if I have to. I hear the door lock release before it swings open. No open signing, I remind Baby. She nods.
“Hello there,” a teenage boy stumbles into the room, holding a stack of
papers. He reminds me of the boys I went to school with Before. Not the jocks or the popular kids. The geeky ones, who looked a little socially uncomfortable, but you always knew they were going to go to Harvard and change the world. He looks up and I wonder who decided it was a good idea to throw him in a room with potentially hostile people. He looks only seventeen or eighteen. From what I gather, we are here for our psychological evaluation, but this boy looks nothing like a trained psychiatrist. He’s tall, bigger than I’d first thought, and kind of cute. He’s wearing a white lab coat and jeans. He makes me feel a little better about this place; the jeans make it all seem harmless.
The boy dumps his papers on the table and starts sorting through them. “Now where is . . . oh, here.” He looks up at me, flushed, and I see that his eyes are a piercing bright blue. He takes a pair of glasses from his coat pocket, cleans them with his shirt, and perches them on his nose.
“Oh yes, Kay’s report. You two are the hostiles?” He looks doubtfully from me to Baby. “You don’t seem very threatening . . .” He catches me staring at him and I look away. “. . . and if you are hostile, then Kay should have handcuffed you to the table.”
He takes out a pen and scribbles on a piece of paper. “Now, what are your names?”
I stare at him blankly. Baby takes my hand under the table. What does he want?
Our names.
Are you going to write them down for him?
No, not yet.
Is he a great-man? She means is he important.
No. A white coat doesn’t make you an expert. But it definitely suits him, showing off his broad shoulders.
“Ummmm, do you understand?” he asks, not looking directly at me. His face is very red and his shaggy, blond hair resembles a mop. It looks like he hadn’t bothered to comb his hair today, or any day this week for that matter. There is no way he is in charge of anything, so I decide to wait and see who else they will send. My mother always did say I was arrogant.
“Look, I can get you situated, but you have to help me. . . . I . . .” He shakes his head. “You don’t understand anything I’m saying, do you?” he mutters.
He touches his hand to his ear, and I see he has a black earpiece similar to the one Kay wore. “Hey, Rice here. We’re going to have to save these two for Dr. Reynolds. I’ve been unable to get a verbal response. They seem harmless.” He listens. “Yes, that is my initial evaluation despite the Guardian’s concerns. Let’s keep the Class Five for further study, and let the Class Three mix in with the current observation group.” He pauses. “Yes, come get the child.”
I stand and pull Baby off her chair. I shove her behind me with one hand and reach under my sweatshirt with the other. I feel for the gun, pulling it from its harness. I don’t want to harm him but I point it at the boy. There’s no way he’s taking Baby anywhere. His mouth drops open. With his hand still to his ear he makes a squeaking noise.
He closes his mouth and swallows. “Yeah,” he says, eyeing us. “You need to get Dr. Reynolds up here, now.” I realize he is still speaking to the person on the other end of his earpiece. “I don’t care,” he tells them between clenched teeth. “Then get the director. They have a gun.”
He moves his hand from his ear and puts both arms above his shoulders. “Look, there’s no need for that. I’m just trying to help you.” His voice trembles. “I promise.”
I lick my lips. It is a safe place here, from Them anyway. I don’t have to be quiet. I can ask him questions, get answers. But still, I can’t bring myself to speak. I have lost my voice and am so very exhausted.
I hear the door unlock once again and see it begin to swing open. I point the gun at the opening.
“It’s just the director,” the boy assures me. “She won’t hurt you.”
A woman steps through the door. She is tall with long, brown hair, and I instantly picture her with bright purple flowers in her hair. The kind you wear in Hawaii when you are on your honeymoon. I lower the gun and freeze.
Then, for the first time in three years, I find my real voice.
“Mom?”
PART TWO
NEW HOPE
FOUR MONTHS LATER
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“Are you feeling better?” A woman’s voice wakes me and I sit upright in bed. She is standing by the door, a meal tray in hand. I don’t recognize her, but she looks commanding, her gray-blond hair tied back into a tight bun.
“Who are you?” I ask groggily. “What day is it?”
“I’m Dr. Thorpe. Do you know where you are, Amy?” She sets the food down, retrieving a small paper cup from the tray.
“I’m . . . I’m in the Ward, aren’t I?” I ask tentatively, my brain in a fog.
“Yes, very good. You were brought here after your breakdown. Do you remember?”
I shake my head no. I know who I am. I can recall blurred faces, me being taken from someone. Who are they all? While I struggle to think, Dr. Thorpe hands me the cup, which contains three pills. “What are these?” I ask.
“They’ll help you.” She takes a larger plastic cup from the tray, walks to the sink, and fills it with water. She sits next to me on the bed and offers me the cup of water. I hesitate, then take it.
“I’m not sure I should take anything without talking to my mother first,” I tell her, uncertain.
“Your mother is well aware of your course of treatment.”
“Where is she? When can I see her?” I ask, unsettled. I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself.
“I will have to consult with Dr. Reynolds.” She sounds kind, but something in her voice just isn’t right.
“Is he the one who prescribed me these?” I shake the cup of pills. She nods, smiling reassuringly. “What are they?” I ask again, confusion clouding my head.
“Medication to help you get better.”
Get better? What exactly is wrong with me? “And if I refuse?”
“I’m sorry, but that’s not an option, Amy. I’d prefer you take the pills now. Otherwise I’ll have to call an orderly in here. I know you don’t want that.” The doctor’s kind manner has turned cool.
I hold the cup to my mouth and shake the pills in, trying to conceal them under my tongue as I swallow all the water. I give the empty cup back to the doctor, but she just walks to the sink and refills it.
“Let’s try again, shall we?” she asks, handing the cup back to me. I frown, considering an alternative. There is none. Eventually I give in and swallow the pills. After the doctor checks my mouth to be certain I’m not hiding them, she brings me the tray of food.
“Now, you must eat all of this,” she tells me firmly. “And if you refuse, you’ll be force-fed, and I know you don’t want that either.” She gives me a pointed look before she leaves, the door clicking shut loudly behind her.
I pause for a moment, looking around. My room is sterile—white walls, a small sink and toilet in the corner, and the bed I’m sitting on. I’m still trying to figure out what is going on—to remember what brought me here. I look down at my food and, unwillingly, I make myself eat it, my stomach already queasy. Either the drugs aren’t settling well or it’s the stress. After I finish, I push the tray onto the floor and lie in bed, clutching my stomach. Despite the pain, I fall into an uneasy, pill-induced sleep.
When I wake, I don’t know if it’s been hours or days. I can’t help but wonder: Where did it all go wrong? I struggle to think back to when I saw my mother for the first time in years.
• • •
“Amy?” My mother looked at me, unbelieving, her hand covering her mouth. She walked forward slowly. “Is that you?”
I nodded. I’d already begun to cry. Not the silent tears that I’d developed in the After, but loud, blubbering sobs. Baby held tightly on to my waist. I could tell she was agitated.
My mother crossed the room and instantly I was in her arms. It was strange yet comforting. She smelled the same as I remembered: fresh and flowery. I bawled onto her shoulder. She rubbed my back, and
I got lost in the feeling.
Eventually I could breathe again. I raised my head and wiped my nose. My mother gazed at me, beaming. Tears had stained her face.
She touched my head and studied my newly cut hair. “You always did want a Mohawk,” she said. I managed a laugh.
“Baby cut it.” It was strange to finally talk, to say Baby’s name out loud. I’d only ever signed it. As soon as I said it, though, I noticed she was no longer clutching my waist. I turned to find her crouching on the floor against the wall, her hands covering her ears. I went to her quickly, bent down, and touched her arm.
“Are you okay?” I asked. Then I realized she wouldn’t understand what I was saying and signed it instead.
She looked at me like I was a stranger. Yes. You talked loud, she accused.
I did Before. You know that.
It just scared me.
I’m sorry. I smoothed down her hair. We’re safe here. I promise. I was sure.
Did the princess tell you that?
Princess? I turned and looked at my mother with a smile. She’s not exactly a princess. She’s my mom.
Baby stared at me, astounded. She was as amazed as I was to see my mother in front of us, alive. I took Baby’s hand and helped her stand up.
My mother placed her arm around my shoulder. “I have so much to tell you. Let’s go, you and . . .”
“Baby,” I offered.
“You and Baby can come with me. I’ll show you where you’re going to live.”
“Mom, where are we?” I felt like at any moment I would wake up and discover it had all been a dream.
“You’re in New Hope, the largest postapocalyptic community of survivors in the Northern Hemisphere.”
I smiled at the words: hope, survivors, community. Baby and I followed my mother back down the corridor and into the light of day. We were home.
We saw very little of New Hope that day. We were poked and prodded by doctors, since my mother insisted on a complete medical evaluation. She stayed by my side the entire time, fawning over me. It felt so good, almost unreal, having my mother back. I’d always hoped she was alive, but after so many years, the hope had seemed more like fantasy. My mother rubbed my back and played with my hair. She whispered how much she’d missed me as tears welled up in her eyes.
In the After Page 9
