After The Apocalypse

by Roseman, Josh

  "I'll see what I can do."

  Apparently I left some things here at the lab at some point in the past month or so, because the Professor returns with a long-sleeved blouse and a pair of jeans. I'm stuck with the boots for now, but that's okay; I would have kept them anyway. Never know when a girl could use a pair of blue boots. I feel a lot more human in the other clothes, though, and that in turn makes me feel better about folding up the costume and leaving it in a neat pile on the couch, next to the blanket -- which I also fold.

  I've never seen this part of the lab before, but there's only the one long hallway and it's not hard to find the main room. Dr. Colibri is there with the Professor. "Your friend wanted me to tell you 'thanks for saving us'," she says.

  "Hello to you too." Then Jake's message sinks in. "His mother-in-law?"

  "I don't know exactly what time you won, but the moment you did, the aspect of Death left her body. He brought her to a hospital, said he would tell the emergency room that she'd gone wandering in the middle of the night." She hasn't even turned to face me yet; she's typing on her computer as she talks. "So, how do you want to do this?"

  "Do what?"

  Now she looks in my direction; she seems haggard, like this is all catching up with her after a month of going non-stop. Her eyes, which I once thought were luminous and beautiful, are like dark pits in her pale face, incongruous among the fine features. "You can disappear, or you can give one last interview. Up to you."

  I flick a glance at the Professor, but he's not giving anything away. "I... I thought you didn't like me involving the media."

  "You started it. I figure you deserve a chance to finish it."

  "Fair enough." I slide up onto one of the stools and lean my elbows on the table so I can put my face in my hands. "I just... I can't believe it's really over."

  The Professor's hand is warm on my arm through the thin blouse. "It's over," he says. "And, next time, someone else will shoulder the burden. You're free, Andrea."

  I look up at him. "You know, something Jake said last night -- this morning, whatever -- really stuck with me."

  "Please tell me you're not going to reference that damn television show again."

  "Not by name." I don't smile at the thought, but I kind of want to. It's just that this is too serious. "Think about it, though: why does the chosen one, or whatever the official designation is... why did I have to fight alone? Why haven't you guys figured out some kind of weapon that works on the King, or on his minions, that you can use? There's got to be a way."

  To my surprise, it's Dr. Colibri who answers. "We're close," she says. "The technology honestly isn't there yet, but maybe in another twenty years--"

  "That's not soon enough!" I pick up my head and rest my hands, palms-down, on the table. "All of humanity hinges on one teenage kid and whoever trains her--"

  "Or him."

  "Or him." I give Dr. Colibri a dirty look; she really didn't need to interrupt me just then. I know the warriors of goodness -- she still hasn't told me what they're called, so I'm going to make something up -- aren't always female. "You can't tell me there haven't been times where the training wasn't good, or the person got ambushed, and it was a near thing."

  The Professor sighs. "She's right, Diane."

  "Damn it, that's not the way we do things--"

  "Then maybe it's time for a change," he says, his voice hard. "Maybe Andrea's right."

  A long, tense silence. Then Dr. Colibri says, "maybe she is. But we won't know what's going to happen until the next one's found."

  "When that happens," I say, "I want to be there. I want to help with the training."

  "That's... not done." But she sounds like she's considering it.

  "That's because no one's faced the King twice. Either the warrior dies or you guys kill him. And, by the way, you still haven't told me exactly who you are or what your shadowy organization does."

  "She's got us there, Diane." I hear the smile in the Professor's voice even though I can't see his face from where he's standing. "And you can't deny that she's got valuable experience that we can use."

  Dr. Colibri sits there for a few seconds and then, suddenly, slams her fist on the metal table and turns away, going back to her computer. I open my mouth but the Professor taps my arm and, when I look up at him, he shakes his head.

  All right. Fine. Let her sulk.

  While I wait, I take out my phone -- it was on the table in the room with the couch -- and text Jake, just to check up on him. The response is terse, but then, he always texts that way: MIL fine. Lisa and Lexie still not home. Glad you're okay. Call when you can.

  Poor Jake. And now that Alexandra's gone, there's no way for me to show Lisa who I really am, who Jake's really been helping all this time. I can only hope that either they manage to reconcile. Or that he breaks it off... although, honestly, I don't think that we're ever going to end up together. After what I did, even if he forgives me, it'll still be in the back of his mind.

  "Damn," I whisper.

  "What is it?" the Professor asks.

  "Isn't everything supposed to go right after the good guys win?"

  "Maybe in the movies. But like you keep saying--"

  I join in the familiar refrain: "This is real life."

  That's when Dr. Colibri turns to face us. "Yes. It is. And it's time we started acting like it."

  "What?"

  She doesn't smile, but her eyes are lighter and some of the tension in her posture has leaked away. "Take a few days off," she says. "Wrap up your affairs as Alexandra. But on Monday morning, you meet me here."

  "What for?"

  "Your new job."

  My eyes go wide. "Really?"

  "Was I unclear?"

  "N... no. No, of course not."

  "Good." She folds her arms, the old Dr. Colibri back in full force. "What about the media?"

  I check the clock on my phone: 5:30. "Let me call Paul--"

  "The reporter?"

  "Yeah. Him. Let me call him, tell him I want to do one last interview. Let me say goodbye to the city that I just saved."

  "Your decision."

  "My decision." I get up from the stool. "You do have a spare outfit for me, right? I don't think showing up with my clothes bloody and torn would give the right impression."

  She actually cracks a smile. "I'll see what I can do."

  The Professor offers to lend me his car, but I decline. I'm used to taking the bus; it's not a hardship. I carry my duffel bag to the bus stop nearest the lab and catch the 27. It's fully dark by the time I arrive, and as I walk down the little side street to the station, I fit the mask in place. It's not my usual mask -- that one's probably still somewhere on the grounds of the Speedway -- but it gets the job done.

  Paul meets me at the door. "Alexandra?"

  I nod. "Sorry about the clothes. I'm going to need to change."

  "Of... of course." He leads me to the green room and I lock both doors before swapping my regular clothes for the clean, perfect outfit that Dr. Colibri just happened to have in a cabinet in her lab. It was almost as if she was expecting me to hang onto the mantle of Alexandra even after everything that happened.

  But I'm over that now.

  We do the interview in the lobby. I sit on the couch, Paul on a chair that doesn't look terribly comfortable. The microphone cable going down the front of my costume isn't such a joy either, but I worked here long enough to know things are done.

  The red light goes on. The photographer gives a countdown. We do a microphone check and I say my name -- and spell it, even though it's a pretty easy one. Then we start.

  The interview lasts an hour, and then I have to change, and then Paul insists on driving me home, I think just so he can talk to me -- well, to Alexandra -- for as long as possible. I don't hold it against him. I used to be a superhero, after all. I ask him to let me off near the little market I usually shop at when I don't want to go to Super Target, and we shake hands. "I'm going to have to ask you not to watch th
is part," I say.

  "Why?"

  "Because I'm going to take my mask off, and it wouldn't be much of a secret identity if you knew what I looked like."

  He nods. "Before you do..."

  "Yes?"

  "I just want to say..." He looks uncomfortable. "Thanks. For everything."

  "I needed to tell someone. We had a good working relationship--"

  "Not that."

  "Oh."

  A long pause. "Thank you for saving us," he finally says. "Both times."

  "Anytime."

  I smile. He nods. Then he looks away and, for the last time, I gently pull the mask off my face and open the car door. "Goodbye, Paul."

  "Goodbye... Alexandra."

  I nod, even though I know he's not looking, and step out of his car, shouldering my bag as I go. I don't look back; I just walk into the market and head for the deli counter, where they make the sandwiches.

  By the time I'm done and back on the street, Paul is long gone and the mask is in the duffel bag with the rest of the costume. I carry the food home -- it's only about three blocks -- and let myself into the apartment.

  "Hey, guys," I call, hitting the light-switch and bumping the door shut with my hip. "I'm home."

  Buffy meows indignantly.

  I drop the food.

  My back hits the door and I slide down to the floor.

  "Oh, no... oh, oh no..."

  Buffy walks up to me, followed by Willow, and they stare at me. Willow lets out a few small mews and waits expectantly, but I can't do anything.

  My eyes fill with tears and I reach for my cats. Willow is only too happy for me to hold her, but Buffy edges away. "Damn it," I whisper. "Damn it. I'm so sorry. I got so used to talking to you guys and... and I forgot... and..."

  Willow snuggles her face against my neck and starts to purr.

  And, after a few seconds, Buffy deigns to nudge her head against my free hand. I stroke her ears and run my hand through the soft fur on her neck.

  She purrs too.

  This... this is going to be the worst part. Not having Willow's keen, unexpected insight; not having Buffy call me an idiot or berate me for doing something stupid; not having someone to talk to at all hours. And, worst of all, I didn't even tell them it was going to happen. I didn't give them a proper good-bye.

  My dinner forgotten, I sit in the foyer with my cats, and I cry.

  And that's how I spend the rest of the day the Dark King died.

  Some superhero I turned out to be.

  EPILOGUE

  SAME TIME, SAME PLACE

  +++++

  Buffy's sitting on my chest again. I can smell her breath.

  "It better not be the middle of the night," I say without opening my eyes.

  A long pause.

  Then: "meow."

  Crap. Still not a dream.

  I open my eyes slowly, turning my head to look at the bedside clock. "Quarter past seven. Not so bad. I think you're better than an alarm."

  All she says is "meow".

  Then, just because she has to be like her sister, Willow adds a little "mew" from where she's curled up in the pillows.

  "Okay. I'm up."

  Buffy meows once more and then stands up. It's unbelievable how much pressure the paws of a ten-pound cat can put on my breasts. I swat at her, but she's too fast for me -- for a while, I was quick enough to catch her, but she's back in charge now. At least she's keeping her claws in and not pulling at my blanket.

  I reach over and smooth my hand along Willow's spine. She offers a perky "mew" and starts to stretch, opening her mouth to yawn at me.

  "You're really adorable. You know that, don't you."

  When she finishes stretching, she jumps down from the bed and heads for the kitchen.

  "I'm not feeding you guys until I'm done in here!" I call, getting out of bed and pushing the door shut -- the last thing I need this morning is cats underfoot.

  In the bathroom, after I use the toilet and brush my teeth, I take a moment to stare into the reflection of my eyes. No matter how hard I look, though, there's no blue glow -- not even the barest hint. Just plain old brown Andrea eyes. It's disappointing, but in the past six days I've come to terms with it.

  Alexandra's gone. Time to be Andrea for real now.

  I shower, primp a little, and put on a black business suit with a royal-blue blouse. In the kitchen, I rinse the cat bowls and then give Buffy and Willow fresh food and water before starting the coffee maker and taking out the cereal. I measure exactly one serving and dump it into a bowl, then add milk and some sliced strawberries. I've been given a second chance in the appearance department, and I'll be damned if I'm going to screw that up. I'm not a huge fan of Special K, but it's better than those shakes I was drinking when I was Alexandra again.

  In order to make the food last longer, I check my e-mail on my phone while I eat. Still nothing from Jake, which bothers me. We talked on Friday, and he said Lisa would come home as long as he promised to re-focus himself on his family. I guess in Lisa's world that means not talking to any other women, because before all this happened Jake and I would e-mail or text at least once a day, usually snarky quotes from one movie or another.

  There is an e-mail from the Professor, though. It's a link to CNN, and I tap it and turn my phone, propping it up against my purse, which I've been leaving on the table for lack of anywhere else to put it. The clip loads and I watch Gina, the CNN reporter who had her chance with Alexandra but blew it, doing a short package to promote her special report, airing tonight: "Alexandra: A Hero Says Goodbye". Most of the clips of me are recycled from the interview I did with Paul, and that makes me smile. "She gave an interview to a local Atlanta television station six days ago," she says in conclusion. "That was the last anyone's heard or seen of Alexandra, the woman who twice saved the people of the Atlanta -- the people of the world -- from eternal slavery at the hands of a tyrant called the Dark King. Tonight, you'll hear her story, in her own words."

  The clip ends. I hit the home button, then drop the phone into standby and carry my bowl into the kitchen, running a little water in it before going to the coffee machine. The K-cups brew directly into my travel mug, so all I have to do is toss out the empty coffee container and it's ready for tomorrow. "Modern technology," I say, nudging Willow with my toe. She looks up at me, then turns back to her food. "I see where I rank now that I can't talk to you. Real nice, cat."

  She doesn't respond, but Buffy does -- I surprise her in her perch on the arm of the couch, pulling her to my chest and hugging her. She squirms away, thankfully without clawing my new clothes, and I go back in the bedroom to run a lint brush over the jacket and find my shoes. The last thing I do is put up my hair, twisting it into a loose bun at the back of my head. My hand brushes over the mark on the back of my neck. It's still there -- a stylized symbol in blue-black ink, maybe the size of a quarter. Now that Alexandra's gone for good, I forget about it most of the time; if anyone sees it, they'll think it's just a tattoo.

  I'm not going to correct them.

  I give myself a once-over in the mirror on the back of the closet door. I think this'll do for my first day of work with Dr. Colibri.

  My purse is much more stylish now -- I splurged a little, got something nice -- and now that I have a car, I don't have to rush out to the bus stop anymore. I've always had the money to buy one; I just never saw the point. But that was the old Andrea. The new Andrea doesn't mind taking the bus, but not when she has to be at work by nine. I check to make sure I have my keys and my phone, then shoulder the thin strap and grab my travel mug. I'm at the door a moment later and that's where I find Buffy and Willow, sitting side-by-side in the foyer, staring at me.

  "You guys be good," I say. "Try not to barf on anything expensive."

  As I head out of the apartment, pulling the door shut behind me, I can swear that I hear Buffy call me an idiot. But when I open it again and give her a hard look, she just gets up and saunters away, tail held high.
r />   "Just my imagination," I say to Willow. "Love you guys."

  Then I close the door again, quicker this time.

  If Willow said anything, I didn't hang around long enough to hear it.

  Acknowledgments

  This book would not have been possible without help from lots of really nice people. The list includes, but is not limited to:

  -- The writing, acting, production, and directing teams from Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Firefly. Without these works, this book would not have been written. From a guy sitting in his kitchen to the people on my TV screen: thank you for everything you do.

  -- Rayne Beloat and Belinda D., my beta readers. This is a lengthy book, and you two didn’t have it for very long. But you got it done on deadline and your help was invaluable. Thanks for your support and assistance.

  -- Laura Goss Shockley and Alexis Lambert, my consultants for all things feminine. I’m not a woman, and there are just some things that I wouldn’t have gotten right without your help. Specifically, most of the stuff about clothing, about the way women think, and the Spanish part of Chapter Three (my fluency is about high-school level -- think “¿Donde esta al baño?”) You ladies are awesome.

  -- John Burkhardt, for help workshopping one of the crucial fight scenes, and also for helping me with research. Thanks to you, the Google search history on my work computer is truly disturbing to behold.

  -- Jonathan C. Gillespie, who got the first look at the completed outline. Your comments and suggestions shaped this book more than anyone else’s, and it wouldn’t be what it is if I hadn’t had you on my team.

  -- Linda Sullivan, Lisa Watson, Liz Helenek, Scott Graham, and Suni Rose. Thanks for your feedback, suggestions, and especially all the encouragement. Every time you said you wanted to see what happens next, I was motivated to write a little bit more -- because I too wanted to know what was coming.

  -- My wife Celestia, who puts up with all of my "complaining about not writing" that I do, along with all the rest of my quirks. I'm thankful every day that you agreed to marry me.