The Before (3 page)

“No. Those camps are voluntary. You don’t have to send us anywhere.”

“Just this morning the news said that congress is going to mandate all teenagers be sent away for their own protection.”

“That’s never going to happen. Come on, congress can’t mandate that. And do you really think people will just ship off their kids? That’s ridiculous.”

“People have done it before. In World War Two, in London, tons of people sent their kids out to the country to escape the bomb raids.”

“That’s different. They were at war.”

“You think we’re not at war now?”

All my arguments died on my lips. War? Were we at war?

There hadn’t been a war on American soil since WWII. War was something that happened far from home. In developing countries and desperate places. It didn’t happen in Texas.

“We’re not . . .” I gestured ineffectively and couldn’t finish the sentence.

“They’ve called in the National Guard,” Mom said slowly, like someone delivering horrible news, and I noticed again the toll this week had taken on her. I looked behind the ratty clothes and smudged makeup to see the lines of fear around her eyes, the worry in the tightness of her lips, the tears streaming down her face. “They’ve mobilized army troops. People are fighting for their lives. This is war.”

“Maybe,” I admitted, talking past the anxiety that clutched my heart. War was at our doorstep and I didn’t know how to keep it out. Suddenly, I wanted Mom to pull me into her arms. To just hold me the way she used to when I was young. I wanted comfort she didn’t offer and I didn’t know how to ask for. “I don’t know. But I do know this: If the government mandates we get sent off to Farm facilities, then being with Dad wouldn’t stop that. That think tank he works for is south of here. They’re in the direct line of those . . .” I stumbled over the word for those creatures. “Those things.”

I didn’t know what to call them. No one did. From the pictures and videos I’d seen, they didn’t look human anymore. They certainly weren’t acting human either. They didn’t just kill indiscriminately. They hunted teenagers. That information had been on the news almost from the beginning, but I’d read other things online—maybe just rumors and speculation—that they didn’t just hunt teens but that they drank their blood. Like horrible monsters, like parasitic ticks. That they cracked open the rib cage of anyone they caught and they drank their blood straight from their hearts.

Of course every emo girl in the world was calling them vampires. As if there was something romantic about monsters that wanted to drink your blood.

I shuddered just thinking about them. And every instinct I had told me to get as far away from them as possible. “We can’t go with Dad. It’s ridiculous to even consider going closer to those things!”

Mom looked uncertain—something else I wasn’t used to seeing. “Then what do we do?”

From the doorway I heard Mel playing with her Slinky, which she used to self-soothe. She moved it back and forth from one hand to the other so it made a
sllluuunk, sllluuunkk
sound. I turned to see her standing there. She just stared at us, her head cocked slightly to the side in that strange way she had. She always reminded me of a grackle when she did that.

She hated when people talked about her like she wasn’t there. Not that she’d ever said as much, but I knew. I would hate it. So I turned to her and gave her the rundown on the conversation with Dad.

“What do you think?” I asked.

She frowned and rocked her Slinky back and forth a couple of times.
“Everybody in the whole cell block,”
she said flatly.
“Was dancing to the jailhouse rock.”

Mom shot a confused look at me. I’d always been better at deciphering Mel’s riddles, but this one stumped me. My mind raced through the possible links to reality. Cell blocks were in prisons. Was it something about a prison? Or was it dancing? Or jailhouse rock? Music? “Jailhouse Rock” was a song, right? An
Elvis Presley
song. Uncle Rodney was an Elvis nut.

A nervous chuckle gurgled up in my throat. Everything about this situation was absurd. As crazy as Mel’s suggestion was, maybe she was right.

“I think she’s right, Mom. We should go to Uncle Rodney’s.”

Chapter Four

Mel

If I should know thyself and knowledge is power, then there is strength in knowing what I can’t do. I am not strong enough outside my routines, away from my house, in a world where monsters are real. I have enough trouble with the monsters in each of us. I can’t face the monster that each of us could become. I know my strengths, and I’m not that strong.

We are truly trapped between the devil and the deep blue sea.

No matter how charming a devil he is, no matter how melodious his voice, no matter how strong and comforting his arms, he is devil still. And devil tricky and devil not to be trusted.

King says the devil’s voice is sweet, but he’s never heard my father talk. A voice sweeter than music to my ears, but a music of his own I never heard. No one else has ever talked so much without making a sound. No one else ever had my love without earning it.

How can we choose a devil that once was most loved and now is gone? The voice of
Goodnight Moon
that said goodnight, but never good-bye? How can I choose him now when he didn’t choose to stay?

No matter how tempting it is to let this choice be made for me, I can’t do it. Choice is a luxury and I can’t eeny meeny miny moe this, but maybe together Lily and I can catch a tiger. Maybe we can pick the option other than the sweet-voiced devil and what the government wants to facilitate.

There is a voice sweeter than my father’s. Sweeter than
Goodnight Moon
. A voice as sweet as blue suede shoes and hound dogs. If I have the choice, I choose Elvis.

Chapter Five

Lily

The patrolman stopped our car twenty minutes from the house. We’d moved fast once I convinced Mom, but it had still taken a couple of hours to pack a few bags and load up all the MREs Uncle Rodney had sent last year. No one really believed we’d be there a year, but Uncle Rodney had a BYO-MRE rule that I doubted he’d break even for family.

But in the end, we didn’t even make it out of the metroplex. The streets were almost empty, which made it impossible to ignore the flashing lights when the squad car came up behind us.

Mom and I exchanged nervous glances. She hadn’t been speeding—Mom was hard-core about that kind of thing. She pulled over and I turned around and murmured comforting nonsense to Mel, who was starting to rock back and forth.

A moment later, the police officer shined a flashlight in through the window of the car.

“Can I help you, Officer?” Mom asked.

He panned the light from Mom to me and then back to Mel. It was only dusk, so he should have been able to see us without the flashlight, but he used it anyway. I don’t know if he was just a jerk or being overly cautious.

“Can you tell me what you’re doing out and about this evening?”

“Is there a problem, Officer?”

The flashlight darted back to Mom and she raised a hand to shield her eyes. “You appear to be illegally transporting teenagers over the county line.”

Mom stiffened. “These teenagers are my daughters and I wasn’t aware that going out for a drive with them was breaking any laws.”

“Can you tell me where you’re taking these girls?”

“I don’t have to tell you where I’m taking them. They are my own daughters.”

“Ma’am, there’s no need to get violent.” His hand dropped to the butt of his weapon.

“I’m not violent. But I am a lawyer and as far as I know it’s not illegal to drive my children anywhere I want.”

I pressed myself back against the seat of the Toyota. I had never once heard Mom play the lawyer card. It freaked me out that she was playing it now. Between that and the aggressive tone of the police officer, I didn’t know what to think. If the rate of the
sllluuunks
coming from the backseat was any indication, Mel was even more freaked out than I was.

“Ma’am, you are obviously unaware the governor declared martial law.”

“When?”

“Less than an hour ago.”

“That’s—”

“Which puts you in violation of the mandatory five p.m. curfew in addition to trying to illegally transport adolescents over the county line.”

“That’s not illegal!” my mother protested. Her entire body radiated tension. She was leaning toward the door, like she was ready to leap from the car and take this guy down.

The officer inched closer and leaned in through the window. “Ma’am, I’m going to let you off with a warning, but I will be escorting you back to your place of residence. I need to see your driver’s license to verify your address.”

“I do not need to be escorted home!”

He thrust his hand through the window, making Mom jerk back. “Your license. Please.”

Even though the words were polite, his snarling tone said it all. This was a man pushed to his limits. What had started as a routine stop had devolved quickly.

“Not until I see your badge!” Mom’s hand went to the keys, like she was about to start the car and drive off.

From the back of the car, Mel let out a low keening noise. She was seconds away from losing it completely.

The officer shined his flashlight into the back of the car, where Mel rocked. It flickered over her features briefly before returning to Mom’s face. “What’s wrong with her?” he asked sharply.

“With who?” my mother asked back.

“With her.” He jerked his light toward the backseat.

Mom stiffened, indignation blazing in her eyes. “My daughter is on the autism spectrum. There is nothing
wrong
with her.”

For the first time in days, Mom seemed like her old self. I wanted to cheer.

Until I saw the fear flicker across the police officer’s face. Mel moaned in distress and he recoiled in revulsion.

Yeah. I’d seen that response to Mel before, especially when she was younger. People in restaurants or the grocery store who were repulsed by Mel’s differentness. People who would pull their own children closer to them to somehow protect them from her. As if autism was something that might spread. As if it were a virus. As if having it made Mel a monster.

When people responded to Mel like that, it embarrassed me or angered me. It had never frightened me. Until now. Until I saw it in the eyes of a man armed with a gun.

I saw his hand tighten on the butt of his weapon, saw him flick open the snap on his holster.

Panicked, I lunged forward and grabbed my mom’s arm.

“It’s okay,” I said desperately. “Let’s just go home.”

Mom looked at me with panic-glazed eyes. “He has no right—”

I leaned past her to talk to the officer. “We live at 1213 Green Dale.”

I reached for my purse, but the officer whipped out his gun. “Hands where I can see them!”

Mom yelped and threw herself in front of me. “Jesus!”

“I’m just getting out my wallet!” I shrieked.

Mel started rocking, panicked and fearful.

“Hands where I can see them!” he demanded again, his gaze darting from the front seat to the back. From me and Mom to Mel.

“I’m just reaching for my wallet,” I said again, trying—desperately—to be the calm one here, because everyone else seemed to be spiraling out of control. “My wallet is in my purse. You can see my license. It has our home address on it.”

“Has she been exposed to the virus?” he shouted.

“No!”

“Are you sure?” he demanded. “Has she left the house unaccompanied? Been in the presence of anyone exhibiting symptoms? Have you seen any unexplained wounds or injuries on her person?”

“No!” Mom yelled back. “She’s just autistic. There is nothing wrong with my daughter!”

“We’re not doing anything wrong,” I pleaded. “I swear!”

His gaze narrowed as he studied us. My heart pounding in my chest matched Mel’s frantic rocking and I prayed she would calm down. What would he do if she lost it completely? We had to get out of here. Fast.

“We haven’t left the house in days. We haven’t seen or talked to anyone but you since the outbreak. I swear! You can follow us home to make sure we go there. Please, just let us go!”

Slowly, he lowered his gun. He didn’t slip it back in the holster but held it at his side. “I want to see some ID. From everyone.”

It took forever, what with me moving slowly so I didn’t freak him out anymore, but finally I pulled out my and Mom’s driver’s licenses and Mel’s state-issued photo ID.

The officer stared long and hard at each of the cards before handing them back. “I’ll escort you ladies home. I suggest you don’t leave the house again until you’re ready to deliver them to the Farm facility transportation hub.”