The Aftermath

by Jen Alexander

  “No.”

  “Then what is it?”

  Declan shakes his head, his disheveled curls falling around his dark eyes. “Does it matter? He’s not dead, okay?”

  “I don’t understand why you’re being so secretive about who we’re looking for. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m as much a part of this as you are.” The bottoms of my shoes scuff across something sticky on the floor, and I hold back a shudder. It’s dried blood. This is the exact spot where I shot the flesh-eater a few weeks ago. Swallowing hard, I maneuver around the stain and move closer to Declan. “How long are we going to walk in circles, searching for someone who may not even be in this area? If you tell me his name I can—”

  “What, Virtue? Track him down with the navigation system in your head? Sentient or not, you are still a character.”

  “There’s always the map.”

  “The map?”

  “Yes. You know, the giant grid of the area. It tells where all the characters are at any given time.”

  “And how do you propose we get a copy of this?”

  “Don’t you have one?”

  “Of course not. If I did, we wouldn’t be in here, would we?” he demands. “I’ve already told you I’m not able to access it in here. There’re too many firewalls.”

  “So it would help.”

  “Why does it matter if it would?”

  I take a couple tentative steps toward him, and he shines his AcuTab on my face. “Because I’m able to see it...in my head.”

  Declan’s eyebrows furrow together. Pressing his lips into a thin line, he says, “Stop wasting my time so we can finish up here. I want to hit as many locations as possible by sunset.”

  When he turns to stalk off to the stairs, I grab a handful of his black shirt. He twists back around with his eyes narrowed, seething. I press closer. Our bodies touch.

  I will not let some game moderator bully me.

  “Why would I lie about something so small? Why else would I have even risked my life by traveling west? It looked different on the map, so I automatically assumed that was my way out.” Maybe if I looked harder, thought things out instead of running at the first opportunity, I would have gone southeast first. Then I wouldn’t be standing here arguing about wasted time with you, I add silently.

  “Okay, what does it look like?”

  I consider ignoring this question. He’s implying that I’m making this up, and it doesn’t sit well with me. But a dribble of perspiration runs into my right eye, and I realize I want to get out of this hot building as soon as possible before I melt. “A bunch of red-and-green writing and pictures. Kind of dizzying, but it shows everyone’s first name and whether they’re Survivor or flesh-eater.”

  I don’t tell him I’m able to see Survivors’ points, too.

  Declan pulls on the hem of his shirt and wipes sweat from his forehead. His knuckles are white. “How did you get it?”

  I bite my bottom lip. I haven’t considered what explanation I should offer for having access to the map. It’s not as though I can tell him I jump into Olivia’s head and, every now and then, I’m fortunate enough to see the map. So I pretend like this is normal. “Sometimes I see images of it when I sleep. Like a dream, I guess. My glitch, maybe?”

  If I blame everything on the glitch, then I’ll be fine.

  “I should’ve guessed,” he mutters. Resting his forehead against his hand, he draws in a harsh breath. “Do you know how insanely valuable that map is?”

  Something in his tone startles me. It’s strained, shaky. Fearful and yet excited. “Doesn’t everyone have access to it?”

  “No, Claudia. I’ve never heard of a gamer who does.”

  When I don’t speak, just sink down on the tile floor and rock back and forth, he joins me. “Another anomaly,” I say at last.

  “Don’t get me wrong. There’s a map each gamer is able to access. It’s basic and shows names of towns and monuments. But what you’re talking about is cheating.”

  It’s so strange to hear that word in reference to The Aftermath that I laugh. Tremulous, partially deranged laughter. I don’t stop until he shoots me a dark look, and even then I hiccup every few seconds.

  “What kind of game would it be if everyone had a map like that?” he says. “Wouldn’t be worth playing, would it? Your gamer would just breeze through the game because she’d know where everything is. What she has is rare—what’s in your head is rare.”

  Rare. I’m sick of hearing that word. For once, I want to be the norm. “So my gamer has something she shouldn’t have?”

  Declan backs away from me, and I can’t help feeling disappointed that our bodies no longer touch. Keeping his eyes off mine, he rubs his hand over his face. “I don’t know. I mean, that type of map is usually available only to game developers, high-level moderators.”

  It takes me a moment to digest this information. “So she’s a moderator?” Olivia might be like him. A cruel, high-ranking, female version of Declan.

  “Maybe, maybe not. But she’s dangerous either way, so we have to be even more careful.” Drawing his eyebrows together, he takes a tentative step closer to me. “Is there anything else you know about her?”

  Another opportunity to come right out and tell him about my ability to see what she’s seeing. I stare at his profile, wondering what he’ll say. Then I decide against it. There’s something—and I’m not quite sure what it is just yet—screaming at me, telling me how dangerous it is to say anything and it’s not just because I’ll be revealing that I remember what happened between us here in this building.

  Don’t tell him, that familiar warning voice in my head shouts at me. It’s distorted and fuzzy, but I know it’s important that I listen.

  “No,” I say.

  Declan glares at me for a long moment as if he’s mentally processing my bluff. “His name is Wesley,” he finally says.

  “Wesley.”

  “He’s a flesh-eater.”

  “I’ve gathered as much,” I say. “I’ll keep an eye out.”

  * * *

  I don’t find Wesley for the first couple of days after Olivia resumes her game play. Part of this is my fault—excruciating headaches keep me from staying in her head any longer than a half an hour at a time before I have to break away. Although he doesn’t complain to me, it’s obvious that Declan is frustrated and angry it’s taking me so long to find his assignment. I hear it in his voice when I tell him I was unsuccessful again, see it in the way his eyes lower to the cellar floor and his cheeks flush.

  He doesn’t think I’m trying hard enough, so I tell him about The Badlands. We make a plan to take the trip into the mass of flesh-eaters at the first given opportunity.

  But on the third day when Olivia zooms out on the game map and I’m able to easily locate Wesley, I realize the other reason why I couldn’t find him. He’s twenty miles away from here. No longer in Nashville like Declan believed him to be, but on the outskirts of town. And to my relief, his location is nowhere near The Badlands.

  I can’t make out his picture, because his face is downcast, but he’s the only Wesley I’ve found and he’s in an obvious flesh-eater den. I can tell because that tiny spot on the map is so overrun by names in red it looks like a bloody palm print.

  As soon as Declan and I get the chance, we’re leaving to find him. Then he’s taking me over the border.

  Another week passes—no, it crawls at a snail’s pace. Olivia plays The Aftermath a few hours every day, but only when Ethan is around. She comes into the game late one evening while everyone sits around the bar comparing weapons they’ve stolen from the latest raid. She steers me out of The Save and down the steps, parking me nonchalantly on one of the bar stools. And she makes an announcement that gives me my way out.

  “I’m going with my father to Calwas
for a week as of tomorrow,” she says. “And you’re all going on Group Save.”

  I hear them agree, see them nod, and my heart pumps a little harder. A little happier. But then April says, “That’s ridiculous. Don’t be such a selfish, greedy bitch, Olivia. I paid for the game, same as anyone else, so I get to play whenever I want.”

  Tapping my fingertips on the counter, I look at Ethan. He smiles at me and shrugs. Then I say, “It’s not open for debate. Don’t like the rules, leave.”

  April rises up from her spot on the floor by Jeremy. I expect her to argue with me, then disappear into The Save. Instead, she plants her palms on either side of my chest and shoves me down.

  I fall off the stool backward and onto my hands. The old hardwood scrapes my palms raw. For a moment, Olivia doesn’t have me do anything. I don’t move. I don’t blink. This might be a test—Olivia might be attempting to see if I’ll react when threatened—and I’m smart enough to pretend like I’m not at all here. But then April rushes at me again, her fingers curled, flame-red hair flying around her face.

  Olivia propels me to my feet. My vision blurs and my head spins, like a wobbling merry-go-round. I catch April’s fist just as it comes toward my face. Twisting her wrist, I kick her feet out from under her. She drops to the floor, and I straddle her waist, jabbing my knees into her sides. I can hear the others behind us—all of them admonishing April. Olivia forces me to repeatedly slam April’s face with her own fist.

  I jump into her mind for a split second. She’s punching at her screens calmly—crisp, systematic movements that make me feel cold inside. When I return to my own head, I find myself kneeling over April. I wipe the blood—hers—that’s dripping down the back of my right hand onto her T-shirt and glower at her.

  “As I said before, we’re going on a Group Save tomorrow. And if I were you, I’d look for a new clan while I’m away. Wouldn’t want to return to find your character deleted and all your points gone, would you? From what I hear, you might not be able to get a new one. It would be a shame for you to have to become a character yourself.”

  My heart skips a beat.

  Is it possible for Olivia to have someone else’s character deleted?

  Does she hold that much power over the other gamers, and The Aftermath itself?

  I walk away as poised as Olivia was in her gaming room, but my insides are pulled into tight, fraying knots. It’s not until I return upstairs later that I realize my own palms are bleeding.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  The next afternoon, I stare around The Save for the last time. I am elated, breathless, but I’m also sad. I sit on the corner of the bed where Ethan lies. Landon left him flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling. I slide my hand into his. There’s a silly part of me that expects it to be cold, like a corpse, but it’s not.

  “I’ll figure out a way to get you out of here, too,” I whisper, although I know he can’t hear me. Just like I know that even if I find a way to free him from the game, he won’t be the person I thought was my friend. He might even hate me. But at least he’d be able to make that decision for himself.

  Declan stands in the doorway, his bulging bag high on his back. The corners of his lips twitch. I can’t decide if he looks as though he’s about to smile or frown. Then he says, “Heart-to-heart talks with a comatose person are a waste of your time. And that means you’re wasting my time.”

  “Don’t be so insensitive.”

  “I’m just saying,” he says. “The person you’re talking to is somewhere else right now—and if that person were awake, he wouldn’t even know who you are.”

  “You know, for someone who works for LanCorp, you sure as hell sound an awful lot like a sympathizer.”

  “I’m just speaking the truth. Besides, I never said I liked my job.”

  “Then quit.”

  “After this assignment,” he promises. “Then I’m letting go of LanCorp. Now, say your goodbyes so we can get out of here.”

  But why is this particular job so important? Why did he ever start working for a company he loathes in the first place? I imagine his assignment has to do with money. Declan will leave The Aftermath with an enormous paycheck, I’m sure of it.

  “Kiss your boyfriend so we can go, Virtue,” he says.

  Before I can respond, he’s gone. I hear his heavy footsteps on the stairs, then a bunch of slamming noises on the first floor. Rolling my eyes, I turn back to Ethan. I touch a hand to his cheek.

  “If you’re in there—in Rehabilitation or wherever—just know I’m breaking you all out.” My eyes dart around the room. At Jeremy and his dark good looks. And April, whose face is bruised and bloodstained from our gamers’ fight last night. Will she even still be here if I manage to come back for her?

  When I head downstairs, Declan is pacing in front of the side door. He holds out my backpack, and I sigh. It’s heavy. Full of weapons and bottles of water. Another day of travel, lugging around a bag that weighs as much as I do. Lucky for me, this is the beginning of the end. I pull the bag onto my back and follow him out of the bar. Away from the life I know.

  Away from the game.

  * * *

  We make the trip in seven hours and arrive during that part of the day when the heat makes everything seem as if it’s moving in slow motion. The flesh-eater den is inside an antebellum home. In my opinion, it’s a strange place for a group of cannibals to hole up. The home is strangely beautiful, majestic, for a pseudoapocalypse—two stories, rows of windows and at least a dozen columns. There’s a balcony, too. It wraps around the second story of the house, and I can imagine stepping out on it, gazing up at the cold night sky.

  I imagine Declan with me, our bodies close, our mouths touching.

  I breathe deeply. Where did that come from? Heat burns through my body, and I try to avoid making eye contact with him as we sneak past the flesh-eater den.

  Use him and get away, I remind myself.

  Instead of barging right in, we set up camp across the street in a two-room shack. Declan lays all his gear out on the threadbare carpet while I take inventory of our water. There are sixteen bottles left—eight for each of us. Hopefully, we’ll bag more when we go in to get Wesley.

  “How are we doing this?” I ask once I’m done. I twirl his electroshock gun between my fingers. He looks up at me and freezes.

  “Don’t play with weapons, Virtue.”

  I slide it toward him. It rolls two times, then snags on a piece of the carpet. “Scared I’ll shock you?”

  “Scared you’ll shock yourself,” replies Declan. He goes to the window and peeks out the dusty blinds. “They probably won’t log off for another five or six hours at least. There are two guarding the front, two more in the back. Organized. Kind of impressive, if you ask me—usually the people who get these jobs are pretty low on smarts.”

  I don’t care much about the flesh-eaters’ organizational skills—not when Declan has a signal jammer in his bag. “Why can’t you just interrupt their signal like before? We go in, get him out and then we can head for the border.”

  “Not this time. We already know he’s in there, so we’re better off waiting until their shift ends and they log off the game. Sometime this evening.” Placing his head against the window frame, he winds the looped shade strings around two of his fingers.

  “Seems like a lot of work for one character.”

  He shrugs. “It’s my last job. Have to go out with a bang. You understand, right?”

  I nod, but I don’t comprehend. Not completely anyway. I join him at the window.

  “You didn’t mention the dead bodies on the front porch,” I say, lifting one of my eyebrows.

  “Didn’t think you wanted to know.”

  My shoulder brushes his upper arm, and he smiles down at me. Touching Declan leaves me blinded, electrocuted—b
ut in a good way that also makes me confused and out of breath.

  I try and convince myself it’s not him I’m attracted to. I’m enticed by the fact he’s not a character and has the ability to tell me what he’s really thinking. Even if it’s usually something sardonic and irritating.

  Yes, that’s it.

  “What are you grinning like that for?” he asks.

  I didn’t realize I was. Rubbing my lips together, I turn away to hide the warmth rising to my cheeks. And then I catch a glimpse of a familiar face standing guard in front of the mansion.

  Mia.

  Mia is less than five hundred yards away from where I stand.

  Mia, my best friend. The girl who left our clan behind.

  Why is she here, living with a group of flesh-eaters?

  I somehow manage to keep calm. Declan suggests we move away from the window, and I nod, not really hearing him. We eat CDS meals on a makeshift table—our backpacks shoved together in the middle of the room—and share a bottle of water. The entire time we eat, I’m silent. He thinks I don’t notice, but I can tell he’s staring at me from beneath his long eyelashes.

  “Are you okay?” he says at last.

  I frown and look behind me, toward the window. “No. I mean, yes. It’s just that—that girl, the one on the front lawn—she reminds me of someone I’ve seen before.”

  “In the past few weeks?”

  So much longer than that. But I say, “Yes. She was a Survivor then on the map. Guess her gamer finished her treatment, huh?”

  “Maybe, or her gamer may have just had to buy a new character. Remember, it’s one of the punishments when a gamer has to restart the game after breaking one of the big rules.”

  I feel my chest tighten. Mia disappeared after she was stabbed in the abdomen during a rescue mission in The Badlands. Back then I worried, though of course, I didn’t voice that concern aloud. She’d left no note, no explanation as to why she was going, and nobody else seemed to find it strange that she’d disappeared in the middle of the night during a snowstorm. And now...I swallow the last mouthful of water. My throat is so tight I have trouble forcing it down.