In the After (17 page)

We reached another large, nondescript building that looked more like a prison than
a school. Inside, each door was painted a color to correspond with the jumpsuit colors.
The doors even had windows, so I peeked in a yellow one as we walked by. A cluster
of children, all wearing yellow, were sitting quietly, while their teacher lectured
from a chalkboard.

“This is where all the kids go during the day. The bottom floor is classrooms for
children under twelve, the second floor is for Class Five, and the top two floors
are the dorms.”

“Dorms?”

“For children without a parental claimant.”

A parental claimant? Those must be the kids who were found wandering around without
their parents. Kids who had watched their families die.

“How awful,” I whispered, looking at Baby.

“They’re very well taken care of,” Rice assured me. “You shouldn’t be worried.”

I signed to Baby everything Rice told me as we walked up the stairs.

What if I don’t like it? Can I leave?
she asked.

No. You’re supposed to learn things, even if you don’t want to
. She nodded, trying to understand, but clearly confused.

“This is where the Class Five students study,” Rice said as we reached a set of red
doors.

“I guess I won’t be attending classes, since I’m not the right age.”

“Oh no, you still can. Your mother said you were a wiz in school. We can test you
in. You may even qualify for investigative study.”

“Investigative study? Is that like college?” I asked, excited despite myself.

“Sort of. You can do your investigative study in biological chemical engineering,
civil and environmental engineering, advanced physics, nuclear science and engineering,
genetics, aeronautics, medicine. . . .” He paused when he saw my blank expression.
“The sciences are extremely important if we’re going to rebuild society. We need better
equipment, better vaccines, people who can design buildings. . . .”

“Not the people who like to study plays, poetry, and novels.” The truth of what I
was saying had sunk in. The arts were probably pointless now that everyone was focused
on survival. I thought back to all my time alone, reading, as the world crumbled around
me. It was the only thing that gave me solace and hope.

Rice seemed to read my mind. “That’s not true,” he insisted. “We need people with
all kinds of talents. Under the director I’m learning how to engineer a society in
which all the members are valued for their unique abilities.”

“You sound like a propaganda poster,” I told him, secretly relieved.

He looked embarrassed. “Sorry. I just want you to understand what we’re trying to
do here.”

“No, I get it. It’s just a little much,” I said, trying to hide my frustration. “Maybe
we can skip the tour and just meet up with my mother?”

Rice looked at his watch. “We still have some time to kill; it’s an hour before we
meet the director for lunch.” But he cut short the lecture and took us around the
side of the building to a playground. Small children sporting either blue or pink
jumpsuits wobbled around, attended by several older women who all wore purple T-shirts.
We sat on a bench and watched them. I never liked little kids much, except for Baby,
but I now felt drawn to them. It was relaxing, seeing them play and struggle.

Baby grabbed my hand.
Amy? Why does that little boy look like you?
She pointed and my eyes followed her finger to one of the blue-clothed children close
to us.

He was playing with a bright yellow truck, filling it with sand and emptying it out
in a heap. When he stood, I could see him better: he had my dark hair and eyes, my
round chin. He did look like me and my breath caught. Staring, I watched as he joined
a line for the slide, impatiently hopping from foot to foot. When he reached the stairs,
he rushed up, took a misstep, and fell forward.

“Adam!” someone yelled. One of the teachers rushed to his side and scooped him up.
She checked him and comforted him, wiping the tears from his face.

I could feel Baby’s eyes on me. Rice’s too. I must have looked terrible or at least
in terrible shock.

“I think that’s my brother,” I whispered, also signing my words to Baby.

The color drained from Rice’s face. “Oh my gosh, how could I have been so stupid?
I’m so sorry, Amy.” He put his hand on my arm and I didn’t pull away. “I should have
thought. I knew the director’s son would be here. I should have prepared you.”

Baby buried her head in my side and wouldn’t look up. I pushed aside my own distress.
What’s wrong?
I asked when I finally managed to place my hand in hers.

If you have him, you don’t need me
, she said, her worst fear coming to light. With all the events of the past day, I
hadn’t thought about how Baby would react to my “new” family.

You’re my sister
, I told her.
It doesn’t matter how many other people we love, we’ll always be sisters
.

Baby nodded, still with her head on my side. She didn’t want to let go of me, and
I didn’t mind. She anchored me to who I was.

I looked up at Rice and smiled. “We’re okay,” I assured him.

“Great,” he exhaled loudly, genuinely relieved. He clearly wanted to move on. “Let’s
get some chocolate milk.” He grinned at Baby. “Would you like that?”

Baby raised her eyebrows and half smiled. She didn’t understand him, but she knew
he was excited about something and wanted her to be excited too. She waved her hand
in front of her face.

“Fan!” Rice shouted, pleased. I smiled. The tension melted away, though I was still
unsettled.

I like him
, Baby told me.

Me too
.
He’s . . . nice
. I wasn’t sure how I felt. His knowledge of this place was comforting, and he did
make me feel at ease—which was something I hadn’t felt in a long time. He was also
cute, and something dipped in my stomach every time we were close. But after being
on my own for so long, I wondered if I would recognize a crush if I tripped over one.

“Can you teach me more of the words in your language?” Rice asked, snapping me out
of my thoughts. “It’s fascinating, all the modifications you’ve made, especially how
sometimes you sign into each other’s hands when you don’t want people to know you’re
communicating.”

“Oh, you noticed that?”

“It’s not obvious,” he assured me, “but sometimes you hold hands and tell me what
she’s saying. Either she’s letting you know somehow or you’re a mind reader.”

I bit my lip. “You wouldn’t believe the latter, would you? You shouldn’t underestimate
my psychic ability.”

“I’ll believe it if you guess what I’m thinking right now.” He turned and looked intensely
into my eyes. I noticed again how good-looking he was. He and I stared at each other,
not saying anything, for what felt like minutes. I smiled, a real smile this time,
not the forced, tense imitation of a smile I’d been wearing all morning.

It was strange. On some level I genuinely felt comfortable with Rice, almost like
he was a friend from Before. I raised my thumb and pointer finger to each temple.
“You are thinking . . .” I feigned concentration. “. . . that you wish you didn’t
have to babysit two post-aps when you could be off somewhere engineering chemicals.”

“Clearly you are not a mind reader.” He grinned, turning to Baby. “I’m actually enjoying
this. You and Baby are . . . different.”

“Thanks,” I said sarcastically.

“No, I mean in a good way.” He looked at me again. “I’m really glad you’re here. And
I won’t tell anyone about you two being able to communicate through touch.”

“Thanks,” I said again, and this time I meant it.

We walked to another large white building that turned out to be a standard cafeteria.
A smell that made my knees weak hit me immediately.

Burgers. Not pigeon burgers. Not squirrel burgers. Not rat burgers. Honest to goodness
hamburgers. I sniffed the air. There was another scent, just as heavenly: French fries.

My stomach growled loudly. I looked at Rice and grinned. “I skipped breakfast.”

“We’re supposed to wait for your mother . . . but go ahead, if you want.”

We made a beeline for the servers and I grabbed a tray. But before I got in line,
I stopped.

“I don’t have any money,” I told Rice.

“It’s okay, we don’t use money here. We have enough resources for everyone, at least
for now. If you live here, you get whatever you want.”

“Fan.” I smiled and piled plates onto my tray, thinking of what Baby would like to
eat as well. Hamburgers, fries, a baked potato, three slices of pizza, some kind of
burrito thing, and two pieces of crude-looking apple pie. I made my way past a table
of kids my age, all dressed in red, and another table of pregnant women, talking excitedly.
I brought the food to an empty table and signed to Baby that she shouldn’t place her
shoes on the tabletop. She dropped them under her chair and looked at me expectantly.

Well, dig in
, I told her with a smile. I ate until I was in danger of bursting. Baby was on her
second slice of pizza. Rice just watched us, trying to make conversation.

“You know, you’re not really eating beef.”

“You could have fooled me,” I mumbled, my mouth full.

“It’s a synthetic protein that we manufacture from soy and a chemical compound.”

“Sure tastes real. My dad used to make us eat soy burgers all the time and they weren’t
half as good as these are.”

“We’ve perfected the formula this past year,” Rice told me, obviously pleased. He
went on to explain how there was a nearby dairy farm that they were able to save when
the Floraes arrived and how they kept the cows fed a steady diet of a synthesized
organic compound that maximized milk output with minimal caloric intake. I tried to
listen, but I was lost in the euphoria of the banquet in front of me.

Days seem to go by here, but there are no windows in my room and I am unsure about
the passage of time. More often than not, I am unable to focus. I can’t think very
well. When I ask questions, no one answers. I’ve learned that probing just confuses
me and I keep forgetting why it is important in the first place. I’ve stopped asking
for my mother, for Baby. If either of them came to see me I do not remember their
visit
.

I am brought meals and medication by Dr. Thorpe or one of the nurses. I dutifully
swallow the pills and whatever food they put in front of me and fall asleep soon after.
I like being asleep. When I’m awake my head is foggy
.

Eventually Dr. Thorpe encourages me to leave my room and visit the common areas and
the small cafeteria. There I eat with the other inhabitants of the Ward. They don’t
talk and neither do I. I leave them alone. I don’t want to cause any trouble
.

There is a large window in the common room and I sit and look out it sometimes. There
is nothing to see really, the glass is thick and covered in bars, but past that I
can make out some trees. I like the color green. It goes on endlessly. When the wind
shakes the leaves, it seems as if the world is rattling
.

Sometimes, when I’m lost in the trees, I feel someone there, sitting next to me, holding
my hand. The hands are rough and much larger than mine, but gentle and masculine at
the same time. I feel like they belong to someone I should remember. Sometimes he
doesn’t hold my hand, but I still feel him there, watching over me. When I turn to
look, though, he’s gone and I wonder if he was really there at all
.

• • •

He stares at you when he thinks you’re not looking
.

Maybe it’s the fan haircut you gave me
. Crossing my eyes, I stuck my tongue out at Baby.
I can’t help that I’m beautiful
.

He’s looking at your face, not your hair
, Baby told me with a slight smirk. I realized she was giving me a hard time. I made
another face at her, but I inwardly smiled and tried to hide my blush. I looked up
and saw Rice watching us, trying to figure out what we were saying. He raised his
eyebrows questioningly.

“Baby was just talking about my awesome haircut,” I lied. “She did it herself.”

Rice smiled widely. “She did an excellent job . . . very . . . even.” He gave Baby
an enthusiastic thumbs-up.

See, he likes it
. I told her.
Maybe you should get your hair cut just like me
.

Baby’s eyes widened, and she nodded her head vigorously.
Then everyone will know we’re sisters!

“And that?” Rice asked, echoing Baby’s excitement.

“She wants her hair cut just like mine so people will say we look alike.”

Rice’s amusement faded. “I don’t think that’s the best idea.”

“Why not?” I touched my Mohawk self-consciously.

“It’s just . . . not the style for children here. You wouldn’t want to make her too
different. . . . I mean . . .” He struggled for the words to explain, but I understood.

“More different than she already is?” I muttered.

Baby was still looking at me expectantly.
Well? When will you cut my hair too?

Maybe later
.

Baby pouted, not understanding. She’d never had to deal with social norms. I wanted
to cheer her up, so I turned to Rice.

“There was mention of chocolate milk, for Baby,” I reminded him. I wanted some too.
I hadn’t had fresh milk in a long time.

Rice nodded and practically jogged over to the counter, returning with two glasses.

Drink it
, I told her.

What is it?
She wrinkled her nose.
It’s very brown
.

It’s good
. I took a sip to show her. As the sweet creaminess hit my tongue I was transported
back to my childhood. Before the After. I gulped down the milk, not even pausing to
breathe. The liquid added uncomfortably to my already full stomach, but I tilted the
glass until the last drop trickled into my mouth. Rice and Baby stared at me as I
put the glass down and wiped my lips on my sleeve.