In the After (3 page)

The creature’s foot touched my shoes where I’d left them by the door. In a flash it
dropped to the floor and sniffed at my sneakers. I continued to back away, my socks
soundless on the cold tile. It moved forward, crawling on its hands and knees. Something
settled in my bag with a thud. Its head snapped up in my direction and in a flash,
it ran toward me. Without thinking I grabbed a jar of tomato sauce and hurled it at
the creature.

I aimed for its head, but the jar sailed over it and smashed against the floor. That
made it stop. It looked back and forth, unable to decide if it should investigate
the new, louder noise.

I stood as still as I could.
Please don’t see me. Please don’t see me. Please don’t see me
.

The gun was at my side in its holster. I could reach it and shoot before the thing
reached me, but that would draw every one of Them within earshot.

It moved closer, searching wildly. The smell of rotten meat filled my nostrils, almost
making me gag. It looked right at me but could not see me with its milky-yellow eyes.
I held my breath, afraid to even blink. The creature moved frantically, its black-blue
tongue licking its fangs. Its closeness made my skin crawl.

It was becoming more difficult to hold my breath. I could push the creature and try
to run, but They were so fast it would catch me before I could reach the door. Its
teeth were unbelievably pointy, too big for its mouth. Hot, putrid breath blew onto
my face.

It edged closer and I took a small step back, sickened. I clenched my teeth, willing
myself not to give in to my terror and run. My foot hit a can, hard. It rolled down
the aisle, away from me. The creature rushed toward the noise, almost brushing against
me as it went by. I made myself as small as possible, knowing if we touched, if the
creature discovered me, it would be the end.

Luckily it knocked over more cans on its way, creating a clatter, confusing itself.
I used the diversion to run toward the exit. My socks made no noise on the hard floor.

I silently jerked open the door and power-walked home, looking over my shoulder every
few seconds. My heart in my throat, I was convinced the thudding in my chest would
be loud enough to bring Them all running.

I finally reached my house and fumbled with my key. I panicked when I couldn’t get
the gate open immediately, but taking a deep breath I managed to find the keyhole.
I unlocked the gate and slammed it behind me, no longer caring how much noise I made.
I was barely able to turn the interior bolt before the creatures smashed into it.

I ran for the door and once inside, a sick curiosity made me look out the window.
There were three of Them at the gate, milling around, unsure in the darkness. They
hadn’t known I was there until they’d heard the slamming iron. They were so fast.
I would have easily been caught if it were day.

I rummaged through my pack, gorging myself on candy bars and canned ravioli. My father
would have had a fit. I’d always been annoyed when we shopped at the natural food
store, just wanting to eat “normal food.” It wouldn’t be long until I pined for an
endless selection of fresh vegetables.

Much later, I realized that I should have dropped my pack the minute one of Them appeared.
But I desperately needed the food in my bag. My shoes were gone, left at the store,
but I decided soon after that shoes were dangerous. They made too much noise. I started
wearing just socks, but my feet would grow calloused and rough before long, making
footwear unnecessary altogether.

Looking back on that first trip, knowing what I do now, it was a miracle I survived
at all.

I was incredibly lonely that first month, before I found Baby. I stopped keeping track
of the days. Whether it was Monday or Wednesday seemed meaningless in the After.

There were whole days when all I did was read. Sometimes at night I’d listen to my
TuneZ player turned down low, headphones in my ears. I listened to my dad’s playlist,
full of bluegrass and oldies. I told myself that it was a good way to honor his memory,
even though I could barely think of him without breaking down.

I went about my routine, venturing farther and farther away from home. There was a
large supermarket only five blocks away. As far as I knew, there weren’t any other
survivors, so I had my pick of overprocessed food, filled with the toxic preservatives
that my father always ranted against. Now they were keeping me alive.

It was so creepy, to walk through the empty aisles, to “shop.” I avoided the produce
section, quickly turning to compost. Even so, the supermarket smelled awful, but I
began to get used to the stink. I’d never realized how sanitized my life had been,
how clean and contained. I thought about how dirty the After would be, how the world
would change without constant maintenance.

I visited the supermarket often, wanting my cabinets to be full of nonperishable food.
It became routine. One night, though, I had the greatest shock since the After began.
I discovered Baby in the produce section, her chubby fingers shoveling rotten, month-old
grapes into her mouth, hands and face stained with purple juice. She could not have
been more than three or four. Her dirty, blond hair was matted into pigtails, pink
hair ties still in place. She had been injured; her skirt was stained the rusty brown
of old blood.

I took a step toward her and immediately her large, brown eyes were on me. She didn’t
cry out or even flinch. As quiet as I was, she’d heard me approach. After studying
me for a few seconds, she padded silently in my direction, her arms outstretched.
How was this tiny being still alive?

I almost left her there. I was already hardened from what I’d witnessed. Instead I
picked the girl up and carried her home. I decided that if she cried on the way, I
would leave her. If she squirmed, I would just drop her. If she so much as whimpered,
I would have tossed her aside for Them to find. How much I had changed in just a few
short weeks of living in the After.

But the girl had not made a noise. I’ve witnessed Baby cry many times since that day.
Her lips tremble like any other child, her nose wrinkles, and tears run down her cheeks,
all in silence. I watch her sometimes while she sleeps, guilty at what I almost did
all those years ago. I don’t want to think about what my life would be if I had given
in to my heartless thoughts. I don’t know what I would do without Baby, left alone
with only my memories of Before.

When Baby came, it was like starting over in the After. I was no longer alone. I still
wonder how she survived for so long, since she was so young. It helped that she was
quiet and had good instincts. She knew not to make a sound. She didn’t whine when
I cleaned her wound, pouring hydrogen peroxide to kill the germs. A chunk of flesh
was missing from the fatty part of her thigh, but it seemed to have healed over enough
to prevent infection. After I’d cleaned and wrapped her leg, I checked her for other
wounds, but the only other abnormality was a strange diamond-shaped scar at the nape
of her neck, just near her hairline.

Even though she looked in good shape, I still walked to the pharmacy and scavenged
antibiotics to give her as a precaution. I figured she could take the same pills I
was given for my skin infection the year before. I also scavenged some new clothes
for her, and when I returned, she was waiting silently at the door.

I gave her the antibiotics, guessing at the dosage. I also gave her a bath and washed
and combed her hair. After that, Baby became my shadow, following me silently around
the house. Sometimes she’d stop and stare at a window or wall and I assumed she was
damaged from the After, unable to focus. Once she stopped mid-step, suddenly turning
and running to hide behind the couch, and a few seconds later I heard the fence spark.
I realized that she knew They were outside and was frightened. She could hear them,
often when I couldn’t.

I tried to comfort her, but I knew I needed some way to communicate with her. Vocalization
was out of the question, voices always drew Them, and I did not want Them constantly
testing the fence. It seemed easier just not to talk, and Baby was smart enough to
understand this. Or maybe what she had witnessed had shocked her into silence permanently.

I dug out my dad’s book on sign language and began to teach her and myself. Through
the years we’ve modified our language to fit our purpose. We sign into each other’s
hands when we’re near. Now, we can have an entire silent conversation moving only
our fingers, but when we started I used only a few simple words.
Food. Quiet. Bad. Good. Baby
.

Calling her Baby seemed to fit; for all I knew she was the last toddler on earth.
She took to the signs remarkably well, mimicking my every action. She became my constant
companion. She wanted to be everywhere I was and do everything I did. If it had been
Before, I would have been annoyed, but I was starved for human interaction. Baby didn’t
just become my family, she became my entire world.

Amy
. Baby wakes me by signing onto my face. Three years have passed, so she’s a child
now, not a baby, but my label has become her name.

What?
I ask crankily.
I’m sleeping
.

I saw it again
, she tells me, her fingers move with a desperate swiftness.
The ship
.

I sit up and look into her eyes, large and shining. She should be afraid, but instead
she is excited. Her lips curve slightly, almost forming a smile.

Show me
, I demand.

She grabs my hand and we hurry to the roof. I don’t bother to get dressed. Years ago,
Before, I would never have gone out on the roof deck in my underwear. Years ago, I
would have been careful of the neighbors. But now, in the After, there are no neighbors.

See? There!
Baby hands me the binoculars. I look out over the houses. Sure enough, there is another
black object, hovering in the distance. When we first spotted them, I told Baby they
were ships, for lack of a better word. The sign in the book is actually “boat,” but
Baby doesn’t know that. The signs are what I make them, a visual representation. I
didn’t know how to explain “spaceship.”

The ship looks more like a helicopter, anyway, except without the tail end. No windows
either. I can’t hear the engine from where we are and I wonder at the single blade,
keeping it airborne. What differences in technology do They possess? The ship’s material
looks odd: it’s not metal; it can’t be. It doesn’t throw the light back. Even in the
early morning predawn glow, it should still reflect something. I’m impressed Baby
noticed it at all. She must have been on the lookout. We’ve only started seeing the
ships recently and any break from the norm is a cause for excitement. I scan the ground
to see if any creatures are on the prowl yet, but there are none.

I look back to the ship, which hovers in the distance, unmoving. If it is a spacecraft,
why would They wait three years to reveal their mode of transportation? If it isn’t
a spaceship . . . But I don’t even entertain the idea. I’ve never seen anything like
them before. The ships had to have been brought by Them.

The craft lowers itself slowly in the distance. A few blocks away, maybe more. I map
it in my head: Oz Park. It landed in the park.

I’m going to go have a look
, I tell Baby.
You stay here
.

She shakes her head no and points at the sky.

It’s not quite daybreak, but if I leave now I will be pushing it. I can get out to
the park before sunup, but I doubt I’ll be able to make it back home again. I will
have to be very careful.

I run downstairs and put on my camouflage pants and hooded sweatshirt. They are from
years ago and the pants no longer fit me properly, my ankles stick out the bottom.
Floods
, my dad would have joked. I bought them when army greens were in style and haven’t
been able to scavenge any that fit better. Designers probably didn’t take into account
an imminent postapocalyptic scenario; they had no idea how useful these would be.
With the creatures’ poor eyesight, the camouflage pattern helps me blend into grass
or shrubbery. But I’ve never tried it in daylight before.

I grab my pack, with the gun tucked inside. In three years I’ve never shot it, but
I like having it close. I sometimes think about taking a few of Them out, lessening
their population, but there are so many, it wouldn’t do much good.

Before I run out the front door, I kiss Baby on the forehead.
Stay here
, I say with a look. The last thing I need is to worry about her following me.

I jog barefoot to the park. I’ve been practicing running at home on the treadmill
in the basement and have developed a way to breathe silently. My mouth gapes open
strangely, but who is around to judge? I run through the streets, staying close to
bushes and trees. Everything is overgrown now, which provides plenty of places to
hide from Them. The sidewalks are already beginning to crack, with tree roots pushing
upward toward the light of day, and the roads are filled with leaves and debris. I
can feel the unevenness under my feet. It doesn’t make much difference to me since
my feet are so calloused at this point I can walk through the rubble of the After
unfazed.

Oz Park used to be beautifully maintained. My parents, more often just my father,
would take me here when I was little. I loved the swing set, which is now overturned
and rusting away. Most of the grass has died, leaving pitiful weeds and sandy soil.
I make my way through the park, careful to stick to covered areas, pausing under trees
and along fences to survey the area.

When I reach the southwest corner, I sprint up the hill and flop down on my stomach.
I crawl the last few feet through the uneven sand and try to get a better look.

The ship has already landed. It sits in the middle of an old baseball field, its blade
continuing to swing around and around. There are no windows, no door. I scan the area,
keeping my head low. None of Them in sight. But why? I listen carefully, my ears strain
for even the smallest noise, but I hear nothing. The ship is soundless.