In the After (20 page)

She hugged me before she left, a reassuring squeeze that actually did make me feel
better. Flipping through an old nature magazine, I wondered if Dr. Reynolds was really
as phony as I thought he was, or if I was just projecting.

The secretary stood suddenly, which startled me.

“I’m just going to run to the restroom, hon,” she said, looking at me like I was an
absolute freak. “Do you need to use the facilities?”

“Um, no. I’m good. Thanks.” I sat back down and pretended to read the tattered magazine.

As soon as she left the room, though, I felt like I might need a bathroom, if just
to splash some water on my face. I hurried out the door, but barely managed to see
the secretary disappear around a corner. I attempted to follow her but every hallway
looked the same; I followed one corridor that led to another identical one. When I
tried to backtrack, I got turned around.

“Crap,” I whispered. I was completely lost.

After a few long minutes, I heard voices down the hall and tried to follow the noise.
Again, I turned the corner too late and saw a black door with a
RESTRICTED
sign closing slowly. I rushed forward and slipped inside just before it clicked shut.
The hallway was empty. Where did those people go? I walked forward, my shoes echoing
loudly on the hard floor. Out of habit I slipped them off and tied the laces together,
draping them over my shoulder.

I slowly continued down the bright hallway. I didn’t know what I was doing; I just
wanted to find my mother and go home.

I noticed the hallway wasn’t like the other ones. One side was lined with black doors,
one of which those people must have disappeared through. The other wall had several
windows. Curious, I stepped closer to the nearest window and peered through the glass.
I looked into a small room, completely white except for a green form against the far
wall. The green splotch wasn’t part of the decor, though, and it began to move slowly
across the room.

It took me a second to realize that I was looking at one of Them. I quickly threw
myself against the opposite wall, my heart beating out of my chest.
Why was the creature there?
Breaking into a cold sweat, I realized that this must be where the Floraes were studied.
This is where They were kept.

I slowed my breathing back to normal and gathered enough courage to approach the glass
again. The creature shuffled unhurriedly, circling its confined space. It had no reason
to do otherwise; it clearly could not sense that I was there, that food was near.

I walked slowly down the hall to look into the next room, where a Florae was feeding
on a pig. Frenzied, it focused entirely on the task at hand: gore, slash, consume.
The walls dripped with blood as the Florae ripped the pig to shreds, gnawing on its
flesh.

I quickly moved to the next room. There, the window was oddly bright. The Florae inside
didn’t shuffle mindlessly, but instead remained still in one place. It looked shrunken,
as if its skin were too tight for its body. It was hugging itself, its mouth open
in a scream of agony I couldn’t hear. Its skin was dry and flaking. I looked to the
ceiling and saw that extra-bright lights bombarded the creature.
UV?

Floraes loved the sun but something very bad was happening to this one. I wondered
if there were ways to use this in a weapon, or if there were areas of the planet where
they couldn’t survive. Fascinated, and heartened by the possibility, I moved on.

In the next room the creature shuffled, as it did in the first, but after a few seconds
the floor lit up. The Florae trembled uncontrollably and fell, unable to remain upright.
Writhing, its skin sparked where it was in contact with the floor. I’d seen enough
Floraes wander into our electric fence to know what was happening. The creature was
in agony, convulsing as electricity flowed through its body.

After a moment, the room was back to normal and the creature stood. Jerking slightly,
it resumed its shuffle around the room. I waited until the floor lit up again, watching
the Florae as it suffered, then resumed its behavior as if nothing had happened, unaware
that it would soon again be in horrific pain. I had no idea how long I watched the
cycle. It was mesmerizing.

“Amy?!”

I couldn’t stop staring at the creature sprawled on the floor again, twisting as it
was electrocuted. How much could it take? Why didn’t it die?

“Amy. Amy! Look at me.” I broke my trance and turned to find my mother inches away.
She grabbed ahold of my head, forcing my gaze on her, into her eyes. “Amy?”

I blinked hard. “Yes?”

She didn’t ask how I got in or what I was thinking. She simply steered me toward the
door, quickly through the maze of hallways, and back into Dr. Reynolds’s waiting room.

“Oh, I was wondering where you got to,” the secretary said.

“I just took my daughter to get some air,” my mother told her. She sat me down. “Amy,
put your shoes back on,” she instructed quietly.

I was still carrying them over my shoulder. I dropped them to the floor and slipped
them on one at a time. My mother was the one who bent down, untying the laces from
each other and retying them properly. After she sat back in her chair, I stared at
the floor for a while, uncertain of what I should do.

“Mom . . .”

“We’ll talk about it later, Amy.” My mother smiled brightly at me as the door to Dr.
Reynolds’s office opened. “And how was Baby?” she asked cheerfully.

“Are you okay?” Dr. Reynolds asked, looking at me.

“My . . . my stomach hurts,” I offered.

“Let’s get you home,” my mother said, helping me up from my chair. “It can take a
while to get used to a normal diet.”

I reached over and took Baby’s hand, not wanting to let her go for even a second.
As we walked, I debated telling Baby about the lab Floraes, but decided against it.
I didn’t want to upset her. Still, I couldn’t get the image of the creature being
electrocuted again and again out of my head. Tortured.

My mind focused back on Baby, her psyche-eval.
What was it like?
I asked as my mother led us from the building and back to the apartment.

I played with some toys. . . . He didn’t even loud speak at me
.

Weird.

We had lunch at the apartment while my mother tried to explain the purpose of their
experiments. “We need to test their pain threshold, their reaction time, their ability
to withstand fire or electricity or . . .”

“I get it, Mom.” She didn’t need to justify the why of it. I was clearheaded again
and more curious about what they’d found out from all their testing, what they’d learned
about the Floraes. When I asked my mother, though, she was withholding.

“That is a conversation for another time,” she told me. She eyed me intensely. She
was the one thing I could trust in this strange place but I knew she was also an integral
part of it. She was my mother and the director, both. “And I know I probably don’t
have to ask, but you know not to mention what happened earlier, right?”

“I won’t.” I didn’t want to get in trouble. Or get my mother into trouble, for that
matter.

“Good. All right.” She exhaled. “Who wants a cookie?”

Baby raised her hand, excited. In two short days she’d learned to recognize her name,
my name, and the all-important word
cookie
. As I watched her eat, I tried to push the visions of the Floraes from my mind. I’d
thought, for a brief time, that I was free from Them. I knew then that even in New
Hope, They would plague me.

Baby appears at the foot of my bed. At first I think it’s a dream. They’ve increased
my medication, and things are getting fuzzy again. The line between my daydreams and
reality is blurred. It’s hard to keep everything straight. But then I see Dr. Reynolds
has followed Baby. He pulls up a chair and watches as she jumps in bed to snuggle
next to me
.

She grabs my hand
. Amy, I’ve missed you!
Her face is bright and shining
.

I’ve missed you too.
I begin to cry
.

“Amy, what’s wrong?” Dr. Reynolds asks
.

I shake my head. “I don’t know.” Dr. Reynolds now has a strange look on his face,
almost a smirk
.

I close my eyes
. Are you happy crying?
Baby asks. She must be signing into my hand but I swear I hear a child’s voice echoing
her words. “Are you happy?”

I open my eyes and study her, hoping that I’m not just hallucinating. That she is
real. Baby grins at me, and I glance at Dr. Reynolds. “That must be it,” I tell them
slowly. “I’m crying because I’m so glad.” I don’t really know how I feel, other than
disoriented
.

I focus on Baby and sign
, What about you? Are
you
happy?

She looks at me
. Things are fan. I go to school and Rice comes to visit me all the time. We talk
about you.

Rice?
I suddenly get a flash of a boy’s face—cute, blue eyes, shaggy hair, glasses. He’d
made me a promise to help me
. You talk about me? About helping me?
I sign, puzzled
.

Baby shakes her head, then looks to Dr. Reynolds. “But he said he would help me,”
I say, confused
.

“Who said they would help you?” Dr. Reynolds asks sharply
.

“I . . .” I don’t know what to tell him. I don’t even know if my memories are real.
If only I weren’t so dull. I do know that Dr. Reynolds scares me. Real or imagined,
I know I can’t tell him what Rice said. I look at him and mumble, “I think it’s my
father. He sometimes talks to me in my dreams.”

“Your father is dead,” Dr. Reynolds tells me matter-of-factly. His tone cuts through
me and I begin to cry again
.

“Do you think I don’t know that?” I sob
.

Dr. Reynolds looks at me with disdain as he turns to Baby
.

“Perhaps we should leave Amy to recuperate.” He stands and approaches us
.

“No!” I shout, taking rough hold of her arm. Dr. Reynolds glowers at me. “Can she
just stay a little longer?” I beg
.

“I think it’s best that we leave now,” Dr. Reynolds tells me calmly. “Let go of her.”

I look at Baby. She is frightened and I regret grabbing her like that. Reluctantly
I release her arm
.

Sorry, Baby. I love you.
I start to sob again and can barely see her through my tears. Before she leaves, I
swear I hear a child’s voice this time saying, “I love you too.” But I know it’s just
my imagination
.

• • •

In that first week we were in New Hope, I barely left the apartment. I’d put off going
to school for as long as I could but my mother decided we had to start. I thought
we would have longer to adjust. I didn’t know if Baby was ready.

“All children in Class Two through Five attend school. It’s important that you follow
procedure,” my mother told me. There was no arguing.

After she left for work, I stood in front of the mirror, noticing again how unflattering
my jumpsuit was. I touched my hair, fiddling with the short Mohawk for a few minutes
before giving up. Resigned, I made sure Baby was dressed and combed her hair. I made
her put her shoes on, even though she’d rather just lug them around all day.

Rice had let himself in and was sitting patiently on the couch, waiting for us to
emerge so he could walk us to school. “We’re ready,” I proclaimed, stepping into the
room.

I must have looked uneasy because Rice walked over to me and gave me a half hug. “You’ll
do fine.”

I took a deep breath and nodded as we headed out the door and down the stairs. I was
still worried, but I appreciated his effort to comfort us. Soon we were outside the
school building.

Rice smiled reassuringly. “Go find an adult; they’ll know where you both should be.
I’ll meet you right back here after school at four. Your mother wanted you both to
go to the normal orientation that most post-aps attend. . . . She thought it would
help you get a handle on New Hope and she wants to see what you think about the material.”

I beamed. My mother valued my opinion. It gave me the boost of confidence I needed.
“Okay. See you later, Rice.” I grabbed Baby’s hand and led her through the door.

There weren’t other children in the hall and I hoped we weren’t late. I found a yellow
door and knocked. A woman greeted us, smiling brightly.

“Hi. I’m Amy Harris and this is Baby.”

“Yes, we’re expecting her.” She opened the door wide. I gave Baby a gentle push into
the classroom.

There was no artwork on the walls, no toys on the floor. It seemed more like an office
than a classroom. Students were reading quietly. A few looked up at our arrival, but
most continued to concentrate on their books.

“Baby can’t read,” I told the woman. “And she doesn’t talk. But she’s a quick learner.
If you take the time to explain something, she’ll get it. She’s already starting to
understand spoken words. She knows my name and her name and as of this morning she
knows the word
breakfast
.” I was rambling, desperate for her to understand Baby was special, even if she didn’t
speak.

“We have plenty of children who come to us unable to read and with limited vocal skills,”
the teacher assured me. She was older, her white hair cut in a bob. “We have tests
to measure a child’s potential, nonverbal tests.” She held out her hand to Baby, who
looked at me for reassurance.

I didn’t want to let Baby go, but I knew I had to.
This nice lady is going to take you now. I’ll be right upstairs if you need me
.

What if she mouth talks and I don’t understand? What if I have to go to the bathroom
but they don’t let me?

I turned to the woman. “Baby is concerned that you won’t understand what she’s saying.”

“The director asked us to prepare for her,” she told me, making the sign for Baby,
followed by the “okay” sign. “I know she uses a modified version, but I think we can
make do.”