After the End

by Amy Plum

  She smiled at me. “Now that I’m done with my lecture, here is your reward for listening.” She hands me the ball of clay, and suddenly I’m looking at a miniature version of myself. High cheekbones, full-moon eyes, and spiky hair made by pinching the clay dozens of times. She’s even made the starburst in my right eye.

  “Hey, you’re really good,” I say.

  She shrugs but looks pleased. “When I’m not building log cabins, I’m an amateur sculptor.”

  “Thank you,” I say.

  “No, thank you,” she responds. “I think we just now fulfilled Beauregard’s prophecy. You taught me something, or attempted to. . . . I’m going to keep working on the fire-Reading thing until I make it work. And in exchange, I gave you something to mull over, drawn from my own hard-earned life experience. I’d say we’re pretty even.”

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  44

  MILES

  I AWAKE TO THE SOUND OF THE CLEANING LADY unlocking my door. “Checkout was a half hour ago,” she says, and stands there with her fist on her hip like she’s kicking me out.

  “Uh, could I have five minutes to get up and get dressed?” I ask. She makes a puffing noise and backs out, but leaves the door cracked open. I glance over at the glowing red numbers of the alarm clock on the bedside table. Eleven thirty a.m. My first night in what feels like forever in a real bed instead of on the hard ground, and I want to sleep all day.

  And then I remember why I’m here and leap out of bed, pulling yesterday’s jeans and T-shirt on and running out to the car. I was so tired last night I didn’t even bother to bring my suitcase in with me.

  Okay, Miles, think. Redding and Portman will already be in Salt Lake City by now. Whit and his men . . . who knows where they are? And Juneau? She could be anywhere between that service station and Salt Lake City. It’s useless to try to search for her in between, when I know that the city is her goal. She’ll turn up there sooner or later.

  I pop the trunk, fish out the cereal and a bottle of cranberry juice. Juneau had never seen it before, so of course she had to buy a six-pack, and I remember her excitement with a smile. For the next three hours I eat dry Cap’n Crunch out of the box and take swigs of Ocean Spray (which do not mix well) as I drive to Salt Lake City.

  But once I’m in the city, I have no clue of where to even start looking for her. I try to think like she does. She had talked about that prophecy of the serpent and the city by the undrinkable water and seemed to think that she would find the next piece of the puzzle once she arrived. But what would she look for? Where would she go to look for a sign?

  I drive around the downtown area, looking for anything that catches my eye. Temple Square. Capitol Hill. The shopping district. All I can think is that modernity freaks her out, so she would probably head to a park or the lakefront. My stomach’s growling, so I park the car and go into a sandwich shop and order some food. I’ll eat next to the waterfront. When I give the cashier my credit card, it comes back as declined.

  “Try it again,” I say, and end up having to pay with cash. I’ve got twenty bucks left in my wallet, so I head to an ATM. It eats my card. When I go into the bank, the teller tells me that my card has been reported as stolen. And then I know.

  “What the hell, Dad!” I yell into the pay phone.

  “Watch your language, young man,” he growls. “I told you to come directly home. What are you doing in Salt Lake City?”

  “How do you even know where I am?” I yell.

  “My assistant, Sam, is tracking your card use.”

  “He reported it as stolen!”

  “I’ll have him rectify that as soon as you reassure me that you are on your way to L.A. and I will see you here tomorrow.”

  “I’m not coming home. I’m staying here until I find the girl.”

  “If you do, Miles Blackwell, you can forget about Yale. I have my men on this, and I don’t want you messing it up.”

  “But Dad,” I begin. The phone line clicks as my dad hangs up.

  I head back to the car, flipping through my wallet as I walk. Twenty bucks to my name and my dad’s Shell card, which can only buy me gas. I’m not leaving. I’m not going home, but where am I going to stay? I’m not Juneau—I can’t survive off the land. What am I going to do until I find her—snare pigeons with my phone charger and cook them over a campfire in the public park?

  I press the button to unlock my car, accidentally popping the trunk open. Walking around to slam it shut, I see something I had completely forgotten was back there: the tent and camping supplies.

  I glance around at the stunning mountain scenery surrounding the city and smile. I can’t afford a hotel room, but I can sure as hell camp.

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  HarperCollins Publishers

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  45

  JUNEAU

  BY NIGHTTIME I’M DESPERATE TO LEAVE. BEING cut off from all communication with my clan makes me feel so out of control I can barely sit still.

  Tallie helps me limp outside, draws a circle on the ground with a stick, and tells me to throw Beauregard’s bones while thinking about my father. This reminds me so much of contacting the Yara that it makes me wonder once again if there is more than one way—Whit’s way—to Read and Conjure. And that Tallie’s just using a different method and vocabulary to get the same results from the same source. Although the thought is destabilizing, it also appeals to me. I take the dried old bones in both hands and toss them inside the circle.

  Tallie squats down and studies them. She runs her finger along a series of small bones lying perpendicular to one another. “I don’t know why, Juneau, but it looks like your quest ends here, right now, at my house.”

  “What?” I ask, aghast.

  “You’ve deviated from the path you’re supposed to take, here.” She points to a bone in the series. “This one is off-kilter, and if you don’t put it straight, you won’t go any further.”

  She looks at me. “If you had to divide your journey into major steps, maybe into important Readings, how would it go?”

  I think. “Well, first I fire-Read and saw Whit near the ocean. Then, once in Anchorage, my oracle directed me to Seattle. Which is where this old man told me how to find Miles, and said I had to be honest with him, but not to trust him. And . . . oh.”

  “What?” Tallie asks, hand on her hip.

  “He said that Miles was the one to take me far,” I say in a small voice.

  “Looks like he hasn’t taken you far enough,” she says. “You’re going to have to tuck your tail and go find him. Convince him to keep going with you.”

  “But his dad is out to get me for some strange reason.” Something strikes me for the first time. “What if Miles’s dad is actually working with Whit and his men? What if Miles’s dad is the one who kidnapped my clan?”

  Tallie shrugs. “Whatever the case, it looks like you’ve got your work cut out. You have to, one, find the boy; two, convince him to forgive you for drugging him and stealing his car; and three, persuade him not to hand you over to his dad.”

  I gape at her. “But without my ability to Read, how in the world am I supposed to find him?”

  “Well, that’ll be a good incentive to get your abilities back. If Whit sent that bird to find you, do you think you could send it to find Miles?” she asks.

  I nod. “I’ve tried that before, with a much smaller distance, and it worked.”

  “Well then, that’s your next step. As soon as you’re ready, you let me know. I can hike over to the general store. Mikey over there’ll let me borrow his pickup truck, and I can get within a half-mile of here if I go back-road. Then I’ll take you to wherever the bird tells you to go. How’s that?”

  “I’ll do my best” is all I say. Although the last twenty-four hours with Tall
ie have raised my spirits, I’m still awash in a sea of doubt. What we talked about this afternoon was like a wake-up call. I know there is some truth in what I’ve been taught. But it’s going to take time to sift through it all and decide what I truly believe. What makes sense. And I don’t have time to spare.

  As if reading my mind, Tallie says, “If you’re anything like me, it’s going to take years to sort everything out in your head.” She drapes an arm around my shoulders. “But one thing at a time. Just focus right now on the thing you need. We’ll try to find your Miles tomorrow.”

  Tallie gathers up the bones and places them gently back into their pouch. And then, leaving me outside with Poe on his special leash, she goes inside. Through a cabin window, I see her settle into the armchair with a book.

  She knows what she believes and has built a life around it. I’m jealous of the simplicity of the path she’s chosen and, for a second, wish I was back in our village in Alaska, where the only goal was survival, and I was sure of what I believed. I almost wouldn’t mind being lied to . . . if I never discovered the lie in the first place. Live oblivious of the deception.

  Life is easier in black and white. It’s the ambiguity of a world defined in grays that has stripped me of my confidence and left me powerless.

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  46

  MILES

  I SPEND THE REST OF THAT DAY AND ALL THE next wandering around Salt Lake City. Any time I’m not scanning the city’s most popular spots for her, I’m in the library, using their computers to research the stories she told me.

  It turns out that her Whittier Graves made headlines in the ’70s. He was part of a group of scientists who were deeply involved in the Gaia Movement. They were all about the protection of the planet: preserving endangered species, curbing climate change, disarming nuclear weapons and the like. Several articles refer to the fact that Whit and some colleagues disappeared during a research trip in South America. And that’s it. After 1984 there is no more mention of him.

  I bet he planted the rumor about South America before going to Alaska just to throw everyone off their trail. A bunch of tree-hugging hippies seceding from society doesn’t seem so far out. But the whole WWIII thing sounds more like those cults who move to another country and drink poisoned Kool-Aid. It’s all about mind control. Brainwashing. Juneau’s story is making more and more sense to me.

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  47

  JUNEAU

  I SPEND THAT NIGHT RESTING MY ANKLE AND thinking about things. Showing Tallie all the amulets and totems we use for Reading and Conjuring had sparked something in my mind. As had Tallie’s advice to doubt everything and think for myself.

  I think that Whit got some things wrong. I don’t need a crutch to Read or Conjure. I don’t need something material to link me with the Yara. I am a living being who is close to the Yara—I should be able to access it directly. Myself. And for once, I take my opal necklace off when I sleep. Okay, it was within reaching distance of me on the floor, but I felt it was a step. I was going to be stronger, and that strength would come from me.

  The next morning when I awake, Tallie is gone. Breakfast is laid out on the table, with a note next to it saying, “Off to find wheels.” I eat and dress, then wait outside with Poe until we see a red pickup truck pull up to the clearing at the bottom of the mountain in the distance.

  I scramble out the door, and though I’m trying to be careful with my ankle, practically run down the side of the mountain. Tallie meets me halfway. She eyes my sack, which has been packed since the previous night, and then my face, red with exertion and drawn with my impatience to get started.

  She plants her fists on her hips. “You sure you don’t want to hang out just a few more days?”

  “Um, I, uh . . . ,” I start saying before I realize that she’s making fun of me. “I’m one hundred percent sure, even though you’ve been the best host.”

  “Then let’s go,” says Tallie, taking my pack from me and swinging it into the back of the truck. “Let’s get you back on your path.”

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  48

  MILES

  THE FIRST NIGHT IT TOOK ME A WHILE TO PITCH the tent. After that effort, along with my exhaustion from walking around all day, I didn’t even mind the hard ground. I was asleep by the time my head hit the pillow.

  Tonight, however, I have the tent up nearly as fast as Juneau did. After that resounding success, I decide to push my luck and attempt building a fire for the first time. Not because it’s cold—it’s a bit chilly, but not enough to merit the fire—I just want to see if I can.

  To tell the truth, Juneau made me feel inept about all this outdoors stuff. But in L.A. why would I ever need to build a fire? I’m sure there are a million things that I know how to do that she doesn’t. I mean, she’d never driven a car. Before she stole mine, that is. I’ll bet she’s never used a computer. Although something tells me she’d probably pick that up quickly too.

  It’s obvious that she’s smart. I wonder how long it will take her to get used to living in the real world. And I wonder just where it is that her dad and clan are. Although the rest of her story has panned out so far, kidnapping a whole commune seems a bit extreme. Then again, it would be pretty twisted if they had all picked up and left without her.

  I build a little fort out of twigs and then add some bigger pieces of wood that I’ve gathered, like I saw Juneau do. And I’m about to try to light the pile when I hear a car coming down the dirt road. I freeze. No one’s come anywhere near my campsite, so far as I know, and I’m afraid some park rangers or police are going to arrest me for staying here since it isn’t an official campground. (I had seen signs for some of those, but they all cost money, and I’m seeing how long I can stretch my last five bucks.)

  My first reflex is to hide, but if it’s the cops, they’ll just run my license plate and maybe even call my dad, since it’s his name on the registration. Before the vehicle comes into view, a large black shape flies straight at me, and I duck as it glides within inches of my head.

  I spin to discover the Bird—okay, Poe—perched with its head tipped to one side like it finds my startled expression hilarious. And then a red pickup truck pulls up to the end of the dirt road next to my car. I can’t tell who’s inside until they turn the headlights off, and then I see Juneau step out of the passenger side and walk slowly toward me. She’s limping slightly, and the serious expression on her face, combined with the fact that the driver isn’t getting out of the truck, tips me off to the fact that she wants to talk with me alone.

  “Welcome to my campsite,” I say, gesturing with pride toward the pitched tent and fire-in-the-making. Juneau doesn’t even look at it. She’s staring directly into my eyes as she walks toward me, and for a second I’m afraid that she’s going to come right up and punch me. But she stops two steps away and stands, hands at her side, chin lifted in that proud way she does that usually precedes her saying something awful.

  “I’m not here because I want to be,” she says. “I’m here because I have to be. I need you to keep traveling with me.”

  “I thought maybe you had come to apologize,” I say.

  “For what?” she asks, putting her hands on her hips indignantly.

  “For drugging me and then forcing me to talk while I was in a drug-haze..”

  “What about the fact that you were going to hand me over to your father?” she asks, and her voice is tinged with anger.

  “I would like to explain that to you,” I say, and taking her hand, pull her closer. Her skin is warm, and I find my gaze pulled d
own to her mouth before skipping back up to her eyes. I lick my lips and try to focus. “Juneau . . . the reason I’m still here and not already back in L.A. is that I want to take you to my father so that he can see you’re not the person he’s looking for.”

  “I’m not going anywhere that will keep me from finding my family,” she begins, slipping her hand out from mine. But then, seeing how earnest I am, she concedes. “Okay. Explain.”

  “My dad owns a pharmaceutical company,” I begin. “There’s this new drug he wants to get his hands on—I mean, buy. But the guy he was doing business with disappeared. He heard that for some reason you were the key to getting the formula.”

  “Me?” she asks, astonished.

  “My description was a seventeen-year-old girl from Alaska, around five foot five, with long black hair and eye jewelry in the form of a star.”

  “That sounds like me,” she admits. “But I don’t know anything about a drug. My people don’t even use medicine. All we had was a first-aid tent for cuts and broken bones.”

  I know she’s telling the truth. Her confused reaction isn’t feigned. “I told him he had made a mistake, but he wouldn’t believe me. He sent some men to find you—the guys who were following you in Seattle. I saw them driving around yesterday. They’re here in Salt Lake City keeping a lookout for you now.”

  “So if you know I’m not the one he’s looking for, why are you so eager to prove it to your dad?”

  “I’ve been in his bad books since I got kicked out of school. I think the fact that I went to such lengths to find you, and prove that his sources were wrong about you, would redeem me. But I’m not going to force you to go with me if you don’t want to. And I’m not going to turn you over to his men, either.”