Aftertime

by Sophie Littlefield

  When she reached for the pencil, Elaine didn’t stop her. Cass wrote with a trembling hand, her fingers slick on the pencil.

  RUTHIE??

  Elaine looked at the paper, and then at Cass for a long moment-too long.

  And Cass knew, even before Elaine shook her head.

  Cass felt her knees start to go weak, her heart constricting with a sharp ache. A cry escaped her lips, a truncated sound of grief, and Elaine reached for her before she could fall. Cass didn’t resist, couldn’t resist, her vision fluttering, and when Elaine pressed her face close and whispered in her ear she almost didn’t hear.

  “She’s alive. Get your shit together or you won’t be able to help her.”

  Cass staggered back, adrenaline surging through her body. She clawed at her shorn hair, ground the heels of her hands into her eye sockets, took a breath. Where, she mouthed, but Elaine looked away.

  “Your shirt, please. Turn out the pockets.”

  Cass started unbuttoning the shirt, a dozen thoughts racing through her head. Ruthie alive-but not here. The library taken over by Rebuilders. People taking up arms, not against the Beaters, but against one another. Smoke, involved in things she didn’t understand.

  She took off the shirt, turning out the pockets as Elaine had asked. There had to be a way to find out more. She handed over the shirt and reached for the pencil again, but Elaine stopped her.

  “Come on,” she said briskly. “Quit wasting time. Get the rest of your clothes off.”

  But she started to write again, and Cass stripped off her pants as she worked.

  “Okay, socks, too, and hand me your shoes.”

  Cass did as she was told, then hesitated. “Can I keep my…” She pointed at her underwear; she already felt almost unbearably exposed.

  Elaine nodded. “Yes, but take your undershirt off. You can keep your bra on.”

  So she was going to have to reveal herself, her wounds. Well, they wouldn’t be any surprise to Elaine: she had been there on the last day, she’d seen it all, even the part Cass couldn’t remember. Elaine and a woman named Barbara had been chatting inside the open door that day when Cass and Ruthie went down the path-only a little way down the path!-to enjoy the spring sunshine. Elaine and Barbara had screamed when the Beaters appeared out of nowhere…

  Maybe Elaine could tell her what happened, after Cass’s memories went blank. Slowly, she lifted the shirt over her head. And then she turned, letting Elaine see.

  She heard Elaine gasp, and then silence. After a moment she turned back around. Elaine stared at her with wide eyes, her face gone pale. She picked up the piece of paper and handed it over, then turned her attention to the rest of Cass’s clothes, busied herself going through them, searching the seams and pockets.

  RUTHIE WAS SAVED BUT WE SENT HER TO THE CONVENT WHEN THE REBUILDERS CAME WITH THE REST OF THE GIRLS

  I WILL TRY TO KEEP YOU SAFE BUT YOU HAVE TO TRUST ME

  Cass read the words twice, a third time. Ruthie was saved. Ruthie was saved.

  But there were more questions, so many more questions. She held out her hand for the pencil, but Elaine shook her head and handed her clothes back, taking the piece of paper from Cass.

  “Okay, get dressed,” she said.

  “What’s going to happen to me now?” Cass asked, as Elaine tore the paper in half, then in half again and again.

  “Same as every other newcomer,” Elaine says. “You’ll be processed.”

  In moments she had a pile of tiny shreds. She scooped them carefully into her hands, and dropped them into a toilet that was clogged with debris floating in murky water.

  As Elaine led her from the bathroom, Cass remembered the sound of a toilet’s flush, a homely sound that she had heard a million times in her life, but would never hear again.

  18

  THEY LET THEM STAY, BUT ONLY AFTER THE tribunal.

  Cass followed Elaine through empty halls past the conference room, and Cass glimpsed lists and maps and machine diagrams tacked on the walls where there had once been children’s drawings. She saw Smoke sitting at the large conference table next to a heavyset man in a camo-printed shirt; Elaine saw where Cass was looking and nodded briskly. “That’s Skiv,” she said. “He’ll make your case. He’ll advocate for you.”

  Cass wanted to ask what the hell they needed an advocate for, and how a total stranger could possibly do the job, but she was caught off guard by the transformation of the conference room. When she lived here, they had pushed the table against a wall, moved the chairs to the edges, and used the center of the room as a play area for the children, a place where parents could relax and share child care. Now the windows had been partially covered, only the top third exposed to let light in the room, and the furniture had been centered in the room once again. One end of the table had been set up with pads of paper and pens and a coffee cup arranged with military precision. Smoke and the man named Skiv sat at the other end. Smoke’s hands were out of sight, under the table, and Cass wondered if they were bound.

  Elaine led her to one of the small windowless offices down the hall from the conference room. “Take a good look around,” she said, “because when I lock the door you won’t have any light.”

  “You’re locking me in?”

  “It’s the procedure,” Elaine said. “Don’t worry. It’s standard. Everyone who comes here from outside, even if they’re known to someone here, they have to stay in these rooms until they figure out what to do with them.”

  “What to do with them?”

  “Whether they can stay…whether they support the Rebuilders.” She shook her head, a very small motion that held a warning.

  “What exactly are the Rebuilders?” she demanded in a fierce whisper.

  “Hasn’t Smoke told you? He’s, like…” The look that passed over Elaine’s face was part incredulity and part admiration, but she frowned and glared into the sparsely furnished room. “His actions against the Rebuilders are well-known.”

  She wasn’t going to give Cass any information. It seemed unlikely, but maybe others were listening, even here. Cass entered the small room and did as Elaine told her, looking around and trying to memorize the room’s features. A mattress on the carpeted floor, made up with relatively clean linens and a pillow. A bucket. A plastic jug of water pushed into a far corner, where she wouldn’t trip over it and spill it. The walls were bare, but there were holes in the drywall where pictures or bulletin boards had once hung, and Cass had a flash-memory of a cheerful space decorated with pictures of a laughing family, a dog with a Frisbee, a plaque decorated with flowers and the words Blessed Are the Poor In Spirit.

  “It’s like I never lived here at all,” she said softly, touching a gash in the drywall where something had been ripped free.

  Elaine handed back her pack. “I kept the can opener, and your blades,” she said. “But you’ll get them back when you leave, assuming…well, you know.”

  She left the room, and while Cass waited for the click of the lock and the light to disappear, she wondered what her alternatives were. It sounded like being released, sent out to fend for themselves, was the best she and Smoke could hope for. But first, she had to find out what, and where, this Convent was.

  She turned it over in her mind, trying to remember if there was anything in the mountains that could be called a convent. There were churches, a Catholic elementary school…and why would they have sent the girls away? What threat did the Rebuilders pose for children?

  There were too many questions. Cass needed to talk to Smoke. Maybe he knew what Elaine was talking about. Clearly, there were things he’d been holding back, whatever happened at the rock slide, for instance. She had to have faith in him, a prospect that felt far more tenuous than mere hope, but there was no one else to trust, no one to depend on. Maybe Elaine would return…maybe she would bring more information. With any luck, Elaine would tell her where to go, and they would be allowed to leave while it was still dark. It couldn’t be much past midnight; they
could make shelter by morning if they could manage to get out of town and use the darkness for cover.

  Assuming their next shelter hadn’t already fallen to the Rebuilders. Assuming they could leave behind the things Smoke had done.

  Cass shivered. If she believed the others, it meant Smoke had killed. What did she know about him, really? They’d shared a night she wasn’t sure she wanted to remember. He’d come with her-all right, he didn’t have to do that, but on the other hand maybe he was already on the run, maybe he knew it was only a matter of time until he would be held accountable for what he’d done.

  And what about you? the voice inside her nagged. Cass knew there was no point in trying to ignore it: she had been on the run most of her life. Smoke had accepted her, trusted her, even without knowing all of her story-even with the way she looked, her filth, her wounds, even after what she’d done to Sammi.

  In the back of her mind she’d been considering trying to sneak out alone, if she could find out where the Convent was. Unlike Smoke, she had never challenged the Rebuilders. With Elaine’s help, maybe she could gain their trust, convince them to help her find Ruthie. They had weapons, power and information.

  But she knew that she would be killed if the Rebuilders found out she’d been attacked. And if there were still others here from before, people who recognized her, who remembered her, it would be impossible to keep that a secret. Besides, she wouldn’t get far without Smoke-she needed help if she was going to stand a chance at survival, given how much more organized the Beaters had become. Alone in the unpopulated areas was one thing, but up here in the mountains, the roads were dotted with clusters of houses, and that meant Beaters.

  And there was something else: she also owed Smoke. For giving her a chance, if nothing else-it was more than anyone had done for her in a very long time.

  Cass sank down onto the mattress. She sat with her legs crossed and listened hard, but the only sound was her own breathing. After what seemed like a very long time, she tapped gently on the walls on either side of her, in case Smoke had been brought to the next room, but there was no response.

  A little later she lay down, thinking she might as well get some rest, in case she and Smoke were going to be made to leave, but a few minutes later the door opened.

  It was Miles, the man who’d held the gun on them. “Come with me,” he said impassively.

  She followed him down the hall to the conference room. She was ready to duck her head and cover her face if they encountered anyone, hoping her haircut would disguise her, but the halls were empty. If there were people here, they were in the main rooms of the library, the stacks and the classrooms, the kitchen and the courtyard; the administrative area seemed to be reserved for those in charge.

  In the conference room, there was no sign of Skiv. Smoke sat alone opposite two men and a woman dressed in basic khaki short-sleeved shirts and fatigue pants.

  “Sit here,” Miles said, pointing at the seat next to Smoke, and then he took up a position at the door, watching the room with his hand resting lightly on his gun belt. Smoke gave her a penetrating look, not smiling, but his hand brushed her leg under the table.

  “I’m Evangeline,” the lone woman said. She sat between the others, a commanding presence. Cass figured her for the leader. Her light brown hair, tinged with silver, was pulled into a severe ponytail. She wore no jewelry, but she had a blue-black tattoo above one wrist bone, a fat, tight spiral. She saw Cass looking at her wrist and held it up for her to examine.

  “The koru. Symbol of renewal. From the Maori. I understand you’ve been…away.”

  That was putting it mildly, and Cass was tempted to roll her eyes, but there was something dangerous about the woman, and she merely nodded.

  “Yes. Well. The koru is the symbol of the Rebuilders.”

  Smoke made a sound of barely suppressed anger.

  “I’m lost,” Cass said. “I’m sorry, it’s like you all think I know things that I don’t. Who exactly are the Rebuilders?”

  “Just what it sounds like,” the man on Evangeline’s left said. His facial hair had been carefully shaved to a very thin line along his jaw, something that would be difficult under any circumstances but far harder in Aftertime with its scarcity of grooming aids. “We’re rebuilding. We’re taking what’s left after the rest of the world tried to bring our country to its knees-the raw materials, the resources, the people-and we’re building it back into a civilization.”

  “‘We’ who?” Smoke demanded. “All I see is half a dozen folks with guns and a few dozen more without any.”

  “We’re armed because we have to be,” Evangeline said. “As long as there are people like you around-murderers and insurrectionists. But there are many more of us, as you well know. For every nut who wants to be Davy Crockett, there’s fifty who know that community’s built on strong leadership.”

  “I’m no murderer,” Smoke said. “I was acting to prevent more violence. Which, I should point out, we had very little of until you people showed up.”

  “We know a lot about you,” the other man, the one who hadn’t yet spoken, said. He was an unremarkable man of average height and small eyes. The most interesting thing about him, in fact, was how entirely without expression his face was, as though nothing that had happened in his life had made a lasting impression. “Smoke. Or should I call you Edward? Eddy? Ted? Am I close?”

  “If you know so much about me,” Smoke said tightly, “then I should think you know the answer.”

  He chuckled, a dry, scratchy sound. “Okay. Got me there, big guy. Edward Schaffer. While we’re at it, I’m Cole and that’s Nyland. Pleased to make your acquaintance. You’re a man of many accomplishments.”

  “I was a coach. A counselor. Nothing more.”

  More rough amusement. “You’re far too modest, Ed. I mean Smoke. Got to admit, I’m torn here. I don’t really get this renaming shit, like after the Siege suddenly everyone’s hatching out of eggs all over again. Way I see it, we’re all the same as when we went in. Just the dice got rolled a little different this time around for some of us.”

  He picked up a pencil and tapped it on the table. “I know who you used to work for, buddy,” he said softly. “And we all know what they did. A lot of people suffered, but there’s a chance to make things right for the ones who are still here. A time for justice, maybe.”

  Cass looked back and forth between the men, trying to understand. Who had Smoke worked for? What had he done?

  “Cole’s an idealist,” Evangeline said. “I’m more of a practical person. An opportunist, you might say. And I’ll be honest with you-when you two showed up tonight, I saw an opportunity. To take a strong and public stand against insurrection.”

  Smoke made a sound in his throat-disgust, contempt-and his hand tightened on Cass’s leg. She sensed that many of his emotions battled for prominence-but fear was not among them.

  “You were of no interest to me,” Evangeline continued, staring directly at Cass. “But in the last half hour, that has changed. And now you are far, far, more interesting than anything else that has happened in a long while.”

  Cass blinked, trying to maintain eye contact with the woman, but Evangeline’s words chilled her.

  “Can you guess why?” Evangeline asked her, very softly.

  Cass could guess. Dread collected like dew in her mind, the words echoing and reverberating. Interesting. Far more interesting. She ran her fingers through what was left of her hair, tugging at the ends, wanting to wrap them around her face, hide herself from scrutiny.

  Had Elaine sold her out?

  Had her old friend been tortured into it? Or rewarded?

  “You think I’m…” Cass whispered, hating her voice for shaking.

  “I know what you are. I’ve seen it before, and I know what to look for. I can tell from your eyes…and the way your hair is growing in, and there’s only one way you get marks like you have on your arms. Let me see.”

  Before Cass could stop her, Evangelin
e seized her arm and ran her strong, cold hands up and down the surface, fingertips tracing the faded scars. The touch was intimate, far too familiar, and Cass reacted with revulsion. She wanted to yank back her hand. She wanted to run. She wanted to wipe the traces of Evangeline’s touch from her skin.

  “Have you ever met another one like you?” Evangeline asked, unable to contain a jittering hint of excitement.

  Cass hesitated. Others, like her? Those who had been attacked, bitten, infected…and lived? Was it possible?

  How long had it been that she felt alone, since she carried her shame with her like a skin? “What do you mean?”

  “Outliers,” Evangeline said, her lips curving into a perfect, chilly smile. “People like you, who survived an attack. Who got better. Who fought off the infection.”

  So it was true. Disbelief mixed with wild hope as Cass allowed herself to consider the possibility. Just knowing there were others…they could all be like her, weakened, damaged…but still, she would not be alone. The idea was intoxicating.

  “I’m not saying I believe you but…how could anyone do that?” she asked, trying to keep her enthusiasm hidden.

  Evangeline’s smile grew broader. She knew she had won.

  “Nobody knows,” she said. “Not yet anyway. But our people are working on it. They’re studying people like you. Working on developing a vaccine.”

  “That isn’t possible,” Smoke said flatly. “Don’t listen to this, Cass.”

  “Who are you to say what’s possible?” Evangeline demanded, raising her voice, fury twisting her mouth. “How far have you traveled? Do you even know what’s happening outside this town? This county?”

  “I thought you people didn’t use the word county anymore,” Smoke said, meeting Evangeline’s anger with his own. He had gone very still next to Cass, his energy coiled and tense. “I thought you believed those designations were meaningless Aftertime.”

  Evangeline’s fine skin flushed a faint pink and she glared at Smoke. The others in the room waited, eyes on their leader. At last she gave a small nod.