In the After (13 page)

“We’re here, sunshine,” she tells me with a smirk.

I narrow my eyes at her and scowl. She tilts her head, studying me for a moment. Even
annoyed as I am, I am struck by her beauty. She is about my height, but with more
delicate features. Dark hair, dark eyes. All business, she reaches down and pulls
me to my feet. She is stronger than I would have thought and I mentally scratch the
idea of this woman as delicate.

Baby stands without help, and I hold her hand firmly.

The door to the ship opens, revealing a warmly lit room. The woman steps out into
the light. Baby and I look at each other. She smiles nervously, excited. I sigh. I
can see no other option but to follow.

I walk forward, squinting against the brightness. My bare feet make contact with the
soft ground. I feel the grass between my toes and think it is pleasant before my heart
jumps into my throat.

We are outside in the daylight.

Baby panics. She tears her hand away from mine and tries to climb back into the ship,
but the door has already closed behind us. She runs to me and buries her head in my
waist. I search frantically for someplace to hide.

The woman crosses her arms and watches us with an amused grin. “This is a secure area.
There’s no threat.”

In the light of day, I can see her features more clearly. She is gorgeous, but there
is something else just under the surface that mars her beauty. There is a cruelness
in her voice and I can see it again and again, in the way her lips curl, in her deep
brown eyes.

“The Floraes, the creatures, they can’t get to you here,” she tells me. When I don’t
react, she continues, “I think you can understand me just fine,” she says, staring
into my eyes. I look at the ground, unable to meet her gaze. “You need to follow me,
now.” She turns.

We have to get out of the open
. Baby clings to me, desperate to find a safe place to hide.

The woman said that They can’t get us here and I believe her
. What choice do I have?

Baby nods, her eyes still searching. I have to admit that I am unnerved too. There
is grass and a few white buildings, but no creatures as far as I can tell.

Where are we?
Baby asks into my hand.

I think we’re about to find out. Let’s keep our signs a secret for now, okay?
I want to learn as much about our captors as possible before revealing anything.
Signing using only one hand limits what we can say, but we’ve always had leeway in
our language. If you live closely with someone long enough, a deep intuition develops;
Baby and I are always on the same page.

We follow the woman away from the ship toward a large, squat building. We are led
through a black door into a small room. The woman pushes a button on the wall and
speaks, “Kay here with those two post-aps.”

A scratchy voice replies almost immediately. “Kay, you know you’re supposed to bring
them to orientation. Dr. Reynolds is at lunch.”

“Look, Rice, I radioed in that they were hostile and gave you our ETA.” She looks
over at me and winks. “These two aren’t fit to be among the general populace. What’s
the holdup?”

The voice on the intercom pauses. “Bring them in,” he responds in a defeated tone.
A buzzer sounds and the woman pushes a panel on the far wall. A section moves, sliding
open to reveal a doorway.

The woman, Kay, motions us through. “Come on, girls, time is money.”

I smile. There is no money anymore. Time is nothing anymore. Kay catches my smile
and I immediately regret it. Now she knows for sure that I understand her.

We walk through the door and everything is white, sterile. We wind our way down several
passageways, occasionally going through a door or up a flight of stairs. Nothing is
distinguishable. Finally Kay opens a door and directs us inside a large room, painted
a pale blue. After the white blandness of the hallways, I welcome the color change,
but I realize that is what whoever is in charge wants. Kay has pegged us as hostile
and blue is a calming color. I scan the rest of the room, empty except for a metal
table and four matching chairs. It looks like a police interrogation room from a movie,
Before.

Kay doesn’t follow us inside. “You guys hold tight, all right?” she says with a smile
bordering on sincere. “You’ll be okay, kiddo.” Maybe she isn’t cruel, just a little
malicious. She shuts the door and Baby and I are alone.

What’s that noise?
Baby asks.
There’s a strange humming
.

I go to the door and try the handle, but it won’t budge.
I don’t know, maybe the lights?
I didn’t think it would be unlocked but it was worth a try. I trudge back to the
table and sit in a chair.

Baby shakes her head.
It’s loud and
. . . She’s struggling with her chair.
I can’t move it in
, she says.
It’s stuck
.

I look at where the chair meets the floor. It is bolted down. So is the table. I sit
back and shrug.
It’s so we can’t take them
, I tell her.

Really?

No, it’s so we don’t throw things around when the people come to question us
.

Oh
. Baby looks disappointed.
When are they coming?
she asks, suddenly excited. She realizes that we are going to meet more people.

I don’t know
. It’s cold in the room and I can hear the air conditioner running. I look at the
ceiling and notice a medium-sized vent big enough to push Baby through if I have to.
I hear the door lock release before it swings open.
No open signing
, I remind Baby. She nods.

“Hello there,” a teenage boy stumbles into the room, holding a stack of papers. He
reminds me of the boys I went to school with Before. Not the jocks or the popular
kids. The geeky ones, who looked a little socially uncomfortable, but you always knew
they were going to go to Harvard and change the world. He looks up and I wonder who
decided it was a good idea to throw him in a room with potentially hostile people.
He looks only seventeen or eighteen. From what I gather, we are here for our psychological
evaluation, but this boy looks nothing like a trained psychiatrist. He’s tall, bigger
than I’d first thought, and kind of cute. He’s wearing a white lab coat and jeans.
He makes me feel a little better about this place; the jeans make it all seem harmless.

The boy dumps his papers on the table and starts sorting through them. “Now where
is . . . oh, here.” He looks up at me, flushed, and I see that his eyes are a piercing
bright blue. He takes a pair of glasses from his coat pocket, cleans them with his
shirt, and perches them on his nose.

“Oh yes, Kay’s report. You two are the hostiles?” He looks doubtfully from me to Baby.
“You don’t seem very threatening . . .” He catches me staring at him and I look away.
“. . . and if you are hostile, then Kay should have handcuffed you to the table.”

He takes out a pen and scribbles on a piece of paper. “Now, what are your names?”

I stare at him blankly. Baby takes my hand under the table.
What does he want?

Our names
.

Are you going to write them down for him?

No, not yet
.

Is he a great-man?
She means is he important.

No
. A white coat doesn’t make you an expert. But it definitely suits him, showing off
his broad shoulders.

“Ummmm, do you understand?” he asks, not looking directly at me. His face is very
red and his shaggy, blond hair resembles a mop. It looks like he hadn’t bothered to
comb his hair today, or any day this week for that matter. There is no way he is in
charge of anything, so I decide to wait and see who else they will send. My mother
always did say I was arrogant.

“Look, I can get you situated, but you have to help me. . . . I . . .” He shakes his
head. “You don’t understand anything I’m saying, do you?” he mutters.

He touches his hand to his ear, and I see he has a black earpiece similar to the one
Kay wore. “Hey, Rice here. We’re going to have to save these two for Dr. Reynolds.
I’ve been unable to get a verbal response. They seem harmless.” He listens. “Yes,
that is my initial evaluation despite the Guardian’s concerns. Let’s keep the Class
Five for further study, and let the Class Three mix in with the current observation
group.” He pauses. “Yes, come get the child.”

I stand and pull Baby off her chair. I shove her behind me with one hand and reach
under my sweatshirt with the other. I feel for the gun, pulling it from its harness.
I don’t want to harm him but I point it at the boy. There’s no way he’s taking Baby
anywhere. His mouth drops open. With his hand still to his ear he makes a squeaking
noise.

He closes his mouth and swallows. “Yeah,” he says, eyeing us. “You need to get Dr.
Reynolds up here, now.” I realize he is still speaking to the person on the other
end of his earpiece. “I don’t care,” he tells them between clenched teeth. “Then get
the director. They have a
gun
.”

He moves his hand from his ear and puts both arms above his shoulders. “Look, there’s
no need for that. I’m just trying to help you.” His voice trembles. “I promise.”

I lick my lips. It is a safe place here, from Them anyway. I don’t have to be quiet.
I can ask him questions, get answers. But still, I can’t bring myself to speak. I
have lost my voice and am so very exhausted.

I hear the door unlock once again and see it begin to swing open. I point the gun
at the opening.

“It’s just the director,” the boy assures me. “She won’t hurt you.”

A woman steps through the door. She is tall with long, brown hair, and I instantly
picture her with bright purple flowers in her hair. The kind you wear in Hawaii when
you are on your honeymoon. I lower the gun and freeze.

Then, for the first time in three years, I find my real voice.

“Mom?”

“Are you feeling better?” A woman’s voice wakes me and I sit upright in bed. She is
standing by the door, a meal tray in hand. I don’t recognize her, but she looks commanding,
her gray-blond hair tied back into a tight bun
.

“Who are you?” I ask groggily. “What day is it?”

“I’m Dr. Thorpe. Do you know where you are, Amy?” She sets the food down, retrieving
a small paper cup from the tray
.

“I’m . . . I’m in the Ward, aren’t I?” I ask tentatively, my brain in a fog
.

“Yes, very good. You were brought here after your breakdown. Do you remember?”

I shake my head no. I know who I am. I can recall blurred faces, me being taken from
someone. Who are they all? While I struggle to think, Dr. Thorpe hands me the cup,
which contains three pills. “What are these?” I ask
.

“They’ll help you.” She takes a larger plastic cup from the tray, walks to the sink,
and fills it with water. She sits next to me on the bed and offers me the cup of water.
I hesitate, then take it
.

“I’m not sure I should take anything without talking to my mother first,” I tell her,
uncertain
.

“Your mother is well aware of your course of treatment.”

“Where is she? When can I see her?” I ask, unsettled. I take a deep breath, trying
to calm myself
.

“I will have to consult with Dr. Reynolds.” She sounds kind, but something in her
voice just isn’t right
.

“Is he the one who prescribed me these?” I shake the cup of pills. She nods, smiling
reassuringly. “What are they?” I ask again, confusion clouding my head
.

“Medication to help you get better.”

Get better? What exactly is wrong with me? “And if I refuse?”

“I’m sorry, but that’s not an option, Amy. I’d prefer you take the pills now. Otherwise
I’ll have to call an orderly in here. I know you don’t want that.” The doctor’s kind
manner has turned cool
.

I hold the cup to my mouth and shake the pills in, trying to conceal them under my
tongue as I swallow all the water. I give the empty cup back to the doctor, but she
just walks to the sink and refills it
.

“Let’s try again, shall we?” she asks, handing the cup back to me. I frown, considering
an alternative. There is none. Eventually I give in and swallow the pills. After the
doctor checks my mouth to be certain I’m not hiding them, she brings me the tray of
food
.

“Now, you must eat all of this,” she tells me firmly. “And if you refuse, you’ll be
force-fed, and I know you don’t want that either.” She gives me a pointed look before
she leaves, the door clicking shut loudly behind her
.

I pause for a moment, looking around. My room is sterile—white walls, a small sink
and toilet in the corner, and the bed I’m sitting on. I’m still trying to figure out
what is going on—to remember what brought me here. I look down at my food and, unwillingly,
I make myself eat it, my stomach already queasy. Either the drugs aren’t settling
well or it’s the stress. After I finish, I push the tray onto the floor and lie in
bed, clutching my stomach. Despite the pain, I fall into an uneasy, pill-induced sleep
.

When I wake, I don’t know if it’s been hours or days. I can’t help but wonder: Where
did it all go wrong? I struggle to think back to when I saw my mother for the first
time in years
.

• • •

“Amy?” My mother looked at me, unbelieving, her hand covering her mouth. She walked
forward slowly. “Is that you?”

I nodded. I’d already begun to cry. Not the silent tears that I’d developed in the
After, but loud, blubbering sobs. Baby held tightly on to my waist. I could tell she
was agitated.

My mother crossed the room and instantly I was in her arms. It was strange yet comforting.
She smelled the same as I remembered: fresh and flowery. I bawled onto her shoulder.
She rubbed my back, and I got lost in the feeling.