In the After (18 page)

Baby took a tentative sip. Her eyes widened. She drank slowly, holding the glass with
both hands, staring at the milk, unbelieving. Suddenly someone jostled her from behind
and she dropped her glass. It hit the table before it rolled onto the floor and shattered.
The noise startled her and she jumped up into the mess.

Adrenaline filled my body and I was at her side in seconds.
Are you okay?
I checked her feet for cuts.

“Why isn’t that child wearing shoes?” someone asked.

“Is she all right?”

“Where’s her Minder?”

Baby crouched and put her hands over her ears.

I was flooded with a sick panic. “Can you all just be quiet?” I pleaded. “Do you have
any idea how loud you all are?” I looked around the cafeteria, overwhelmed. There
were too many people, too much noise. I suddenly couldn’t deal with it.

I grabbed Baby’s hand and we ran, desperate to escape the racket. Outside was the
Quad, which I knew was very close to our building. I stumbled across the pavement,
focused on getting Baby away from the noise. I found our building and yanked her up
the stairs to our apartment.

Inside, I put her on the floor and sat next to her, hyperventilating. Her face was
wet with silent tears and she reached for my hand.

I’m sorry, Amy
.

It’s not your fault. It was too much, too soon
. I held Baby tight.
Feel any better?

Yes. It’s just, there’s this noise in my head. Ever since we got here, I hear it all
the time. When everyone talks with their mouths too, I feel like my head is going
to burst
. She started to cry again, soundlessly. Fat tears rolled down her cheeks.

Whenever you feel that way, you can come find me and we’ll come here, where it’s nice
and quiet
.

She nodded her agreement and I let her cry herself to sleep, stroking her head with
my palm. It wasn’t long before Rice appeared, looking worried.

“Is she okay?” he asked loudly, opening our apartment door. Baby opened her eyes and
glanced at Rice before closing them again and drifting back off to sleep. I put my
finger to my lips. “Did she get cut?” he whispered.

I shook my head. Baby’s feet were strong and calloused. He sat down next to me, with
a loud
thump
. I was very aware of his closeness. I tried to relax, to lose my unease.

“It’s kind of strange, but I think of things as Before and After,” I said at last.

“Before and after the Floraes?”

“Yeah, but now . . . this is something completely different. New Hope, I mean. It’s
like the After is out there, in the unprotected world. New Hope isn’t Before or After.
. . . I don’t know what it is.”

“Maybe New Hope is the now,” he offered.

I smiled. “That sounds like another crappy slogan.”

“Hey, I’m just trying to help. . . . Do you spend a lot of time thinking about Before?”
His voice was full of concern.

“Not really, I think it’s better not to. When I lost everything, everybody, it was
so surreal. It was a long time until the After felt like reality. By then I’d already
accepted that my parents were gone and my friends were dead.”

We sat in silence. I tilted my head and rested it on his shoulder. He tensed for a
moment, then relaxed. We stayed like this for a while. I needed, at that moment, to
feel support—a physical touch that could make me feel this was real.

“You can always speak with someone about it,” he said, breaking the silence. “We have
trained psychiatrists available for anyone who needs them. Therapy is encouraged here.
It could help, you know, instead of keeping it all bottled up inside.”

“Sorrow concealed . . . ,” I whispered.

“Like an oven stopp’d, Doth burn the heart to cinders where it is.” Rice finished
the quote. I picked my head up off his shoulder and looked at him, astounded.

“What? I can’t know my Shakespeare?” he asked with a little smile. “I’m not just a
bio-geek. . . . I’m an everything geek,” he admitted.

I sat with my back against the couch, content to be there with Rice. I wished I could
stay forever, in the quiet.

“I think I need to rest,” I told him. “Would you mind letting us get some sleep?”

“Sure. I know it’s been a long morning.”

That was an understatement. It was only yesterday that Baby and I were taken from
the lakefront, only yesterday I was reunited with my mother, only yesterday I discovered
there were nearly four thousand more people in this world than I dared hope.

It wasn’t yesterday; it was a lifetime ago.

• • •

“Are you doing okay in here, Amy?” a voice asks
.

I smile, my eyes half closed. Why wouldn’t I be okay? Everything here is so peaceful
.

“Do you recognize me?” The boy inserts himself in front of me, blocking my view of
the trees. I try to focus on him. He has shaggy, blond hair and glasses. He looks
smart. Is he one of the doctors who take care of me? He seems too young to be a doctor
or a nurse
.

“You’re . . . a friend?” I ask, unsure
.

“Yes, I’m a . . . friend.”

He is frowning, so I reach out and place my hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay. They’ll
make you better here. That’s what they do.” I try to reassure him
.

He pulls away from me, still frowning. “Oh, Amy, I am so sorry.”

I shake my head. I don’t understand what he would be sorry for
.

Then he leans in and whispers softly, “I’m going to get you out of here. I promise.”

My mother’s face flashes in my mind. I want to see her and Baby
. Why am I here and not with them?
“Maybe you should talk to my mother,” I say loudly. “She’s the director, you know.
She can help you get me home,” I tell him excitedly. The boy looks horrified and backs
away
.

“What’s going on here?” A nurse comes over to check on us
.

The boy’s expression turns cool. “It’s okay. Ms. Harris was just a bit agitated,”
he tells the nurse calmly. He takes off his glasses and cleans the lenses with his
lab coat. “She was asking for her mother.”

“Should I inform Dr. Thorpe?” the nurse asks, uncertain
.

“No, I’ll let Dr. Reynolds know,” the boy tells her with finality. After she leaves,
the boy leans in again. I think he is going to kiss me on the cheek but instead when
his lips brush my skin, he whispers so low I almost do not hear him. “Watch for Kay.”
He pulls back and looks in my eyes. There is kindness in his
.

Kay.
The name is so familiar. There is a glimmer of recollection before it slips away.
He squeezes my hand as I stare out the window and watch the trees tremble in the breeze.
As the boy starts to leave, I yell after him, “You should definitely talk to my mother.
She would want to help me.”

But something is nagging at the back of my mind and I’m not so sure. A wave of fear
washes over me
. Why hasn’t my mother come for me? Where is she?

• • •

“I came as soon as I heard,” my mother said the minute she walked in. “Are you okay?”
She sat next to me on the couch, hugging me, then Baby.

“I’m fine. Baby dropped a glass and freaked out because of the noisy cafeteria.” I
patted Baby’s shoulder. “Then I super freaked out,” I admitted.

“You’re still getting used to things here. It’s only been a day.” She twirled her
fingers through my short hair. “I shouldn’t have left you alone so soon.”

“It’s okay.” I didn’t mention that we’d gotten along fine the past few years without
her. “Rice is really nice. He was a good tour guide.”

“Tonight it will be just us girls.” She smiled at us. There was a knock at the door
and she corrected herself. “I mean, just us girls and Adam.”

My mother went to the door and collected a toddler from a woman wearing purple. “Thank
you, Stephanie,” she said, shutting the door and carrying the little boy into the
living room. “Come meet your brother, Amy.” She carefully placed Adam on the floor
and watched me expectantly, waiting.

“Oh, okay.” I sat on the floor and smiled faintly at my mother. I took a deep breath.

“Adam, say hello,” my mother prompted.

“Hello, Amy,” he said loudly, his voice surprisingly husky for a child.

“Hello, Adam.” I watched as his chubby hands grabbed a teddy bear and then ran it
over with the toy truck. “I’m your sister.”

“I know. Mommy shows me your picture.” He looked up at me. “You’re pretty.”

I relaxed a little and smiled, amused. “Thank you.”

He stood jerkily and fell toward me. He landed against my chest and I could feel his
breath on my cheek. He put his arms around my neck and rested his head on my shoulder.

I couldn’t help it. In one clumsy motion, the little boy had inserted himself into
my heart.

That evening we talked and watched old movies and ate homemade snacks. It almost felt
like Before, except my mother never did any of those things with me Before. She was
always working. I half expected her to head back to the lab. She did whip out her
computer during one of the movies and occasionally took calls on her earpiece, but
mostly she was all mine. Baby loved “girls’ night,” and played trucks with Adam happily.

Rice stopped by at one point to drop off the shoes that Baby left in the cafeteria.
She took them and beamed at him happily.
Thank you
.

“What about for Amy?” my mother asked him. “She told me the shoes I picked out for
her were too small.”

“I’ve been meaning to ask you for some normal clothes.” I tugged at my red jumpsuit.
“Rice explained the color-coded thing was only for kids younger than seventeen.”

“Honey, what are you talking about? Your birthday isn’t until August.”

I paused. Could I be wrong? I never really kept careful track of time in the After;
I was only vaguely aware of the passage of seasons.

“What month is it?” I was afraid to ask.

“It’s May,” Rice informed me, his voice kind.

“So, that means . . .”

“You’re sixteen.” My mother said gently. “You have four more months before you class
out. Then you’ll be assigned a job.”

“Oh.” I paused. Everything in New Hope was wrong. “Can I study whatever I want?” I
blurted, sounding desperate. I wanted to go back to the subjects I loved. I wanted
to feel normal again.

“Not exactly. I know you were always good at English and you love literature. You
can study those subjects, but you’ll still have to take basic medicine and everyday
science, unless you qualify for advanced study.” She smiled. “I know it’s confusing,
but we have a whole system worked out. If you’re put in advanced study you’re exempt,
which means you don’t have to take a part-time job.”

“And if I don’t qualify?” I asked.

“Then you’re nonexempt and you’ll have to go on work rotation,” my mother explained.
“An assignment will be made for you, but you can request something you’d prefer, like
working at the library or maybe helping with the small children.”

I could live with that. I liked to learn and I wasn’t afraid of work. “Maybe I can
help with the new post-aps that you all bring in.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you know I didn’t have a very good experience. I mean, you stick some crazy
survivors in a room and throw someone young like Rice into the mix. Did you think
that was a good idea?” I was still traumatized from yesterday, from everything. I
turned to Rice. “No offense.”

“That isn’t common practice, Amy.” My mother smiled tightly. I knew that smile. It
was her “things are not going according to plan” smile. I often got that smile Before.
“It would be good to get your input about your experience, though. It’s not a bad
idea to change procedures that aren’t working.”

She looked at Rice and continued, “Maybe Amy can have a special orientation sometime.
That way she can understand the social system we’ve worked out for New Hope.”

Rice nodded.

She turned back to me. “Richard can take you one day. I wish I had the time.”

I felt my heart surge a little, the old resentment setting in: my mother the workaholic.
“I know you’re busy, Mom. I get how it is. Dad always . . .” I stopped myself. My
mother’s pose shifted, suddenly stiff. I knew it was hard for her to hear me talk
about my father. She retreated to the kitchen quietly.

Rice turned back to the front door and I thanked him before he went. “Baby really
enjoyed our tour earlier.” I paused. “So did I.”

He looked at me, his blue eyes shining behind his glasses. “I’m glad I could help,”
he said. “It was nice to meet you, again. You know, without the weapon.”

Suddenly I didn’t want him to leave. He was a friend—a comfort—in an unfamiliar place.
Instead of shaking his hand, I threw my arms around his neck and hugged him.

“Thank you,” I whispered in his ear. When I released him, he was beet red. He mumbled
something incoherent and stumbled out the door.

When I’m not sleeping, or staring out the window in the common room, I spend a lot
of my time watching old Disney movies. Everyone enjoys the cartoons, so there are
always other people here, around me, but I don’t pay attention to them. They sit quietly,
watching contentedly, and I do the same
.