In the After (4 page)

An opening suddenly appears in the side of the craft, more like a hole than a door.
Three of Them stumble out, snarling. The gap closes and the ship takes flight, straight
up into the air, silently, before vanishing.

I start to crawl back, but quickly realize that They are headed toward me. I pull
my hood over my head and lie perfectly still, my hands tucked under my body. It’s
still dark out, but first light is coming fast.

Crap
, I think as I hear them approach. They crest the hill and shuffle by me. I wait silently
until They are out of sight and consider my options. Unfortunately I don’t have many.
I scramble to some nearby trees and climb one easily. Settling in, I guess I will
be there for a while.

The sun is rising, but it looks like clouds are rolling in from the lake. I pray for
a storm. They hate storms, especially loud ones with thunder and lightning. I can
make it home easily in the rain. I remember being in the park on a similar day long
ago. My mother had a rare moment for us and had asked me what I wanted to do. I insisted
on a picnic, even though the weather was dreary. We wore our rain gear, yellow boots
and plastic coats, and ate egg salad sandwiches in the rain. It’s one of my favorite
memories of my mother. I couldn’t have been older than four or five.

I wait for the downpour and consider the ship. Clearly it’s theirs, but I can’t imagine
one of Them flying it. Maybe there are different kinds of Them? It’s possible that
the ones I’ve seen are the mindless drones, sent to rid the planet of us pesky humans.
Maybe there are smarter ones, ones that can build things like that ship. Ones who
have plans. Perhaps the ones I’ve seen are only the first wave, sent ahead to destroy
us.

The rain starts, but only a drizzle. The newly lit morning sky is starting to darken
and I let my mind wander to my other experiences with Them, one in particular that
made me truly understand that there was no going back to Before.

It was before Baby, but not long before. Now, three years ago seems like a lifetime.
Only a month into the After, I’d started searching houses, looking for signs of life.
Most were simply empty, although some had a few bloody pieces of clothing in a bedroom
or broken belongings scattered in a hallway.
This is where They had gotten the occupants
, I often thought.

It was well after dark, so though I was cautious, I was also confident. I used the
sidewalk, instead of keeping to the shadows. I chose houses at random, tried the doors.
Most were unlocked. A few were missing altogether, torn apart by Them. People left
all kinds of useful things behind, food being the most important. I also liked looking
through their books. As much as people loved e-books, there were always paper books
around. You can tell a lot about people by the kind of books they owned.

I’d taken to pilfering to alleviate my boredom and keep sadness at bay. You could
see just how far a family had gotten, how prepared they were. There were a lot of
half-eaten lunches, a few packed suitcases. There were never any bodies, which I was
glad for, but there were plenty of questionable stains, and a few odors that I’d rather
not have walked nose-first into. At first I was afraid I’d run into Them, but you
would never find Them in an empty house. They preferred to be in the open during the
day, hunting, and at night . . . well, I didn’t know where they went at night. There
just weren’t very many around when it was dark . . . unless you made a lot of noise.

I never pilfered houses directly around where I lived: somehow that would have been
wrong. I’d known those people. They weren’t the faceless masses. They were neighbors,
my parent’s friends, and with associations would have come memories, which I didn’t
want. In those early days, before I’d hardened, my only chance for survival relied
on maintaining tight control over my emotional life. Breakdown would have meant death,
but sometimes a memory would open the gate a crack.

I found a promising house a few blocks from home, with no broken windows but an open
door. I had hope that maybe the family that lived there made it out of the city before
They showed up. Whoever stayed there had clearly tried to hurry, probably left at
the first sign of trouble. I stepped inside, quickly helping myself to their canned
goods. I searched the bedrooms for winter clothes, unsure if I would be able to use
the heat in the winter. I’d been stockpiling blankets and coats.

One bedroom was painted all lavender and I assumed it belonged to a teenage girl.
I went to the closet, hoping the clothes would be my size. On the floor next to the
closet was a yearbook from my high school. I sat on the floor and thumbed through
it. It was from the previous year, so my picture was in the freshman section. I paused
over Sabrina’s photo, feeling my throat catch at the sight of her smile. I remembered
being so jealous that her picture came out better than mine. One of my tears hit the
page and I quickly flipped to the front section, which had scrawled notes to
have a great summer
and
good luck in college
.

Trembling, I quietly closed the yearbook and set it back on the floor. Whoever owned
it would not be in college now, and they certainly did not have a great summer. I
wiped the tears from my face and composed myself, my stomach aching from the unexpected
glimpse of what was.

I left there with my bag of cans and walked toward my house, exhausted and ready to
call it quits for the night. That’s when I saw a house with a light on in the basement.
A light? Someone’s home
. I stopped, stunned. Someone else had a generator or solar panels. Someone else was
alive.

I crept toward the window cautiously, painfully aware that light attracted Them. I
looked all around me; something was very odd. For some reason, I glanced up. Over
the basement window, about eight feet up, hung a refrigerator suspended from a cable.
It was a trap. I smiled. A trap for Them.

I backed away slowly, not wanting to trip over whatever mechanism would spring the
trap. I searched my pack for a pen and ripped out a blank page from one of the books
I’d taken.

My hands shook as I scribbled,
I’m alive too. I’ll be back here at midnight tomorrow
. I looked at the paper and added,
Please
.

Elated, I placed the note under a rock just in reach of the light from the window.
Whoever rigged the trap would see it when they came to check if they were successful.
I figured I could return for a couple of nights.

When I came back the next night the trap was sprung, but the note was still there.
Whoever set the trap had not yet returned. I placed my note closer to the fallen refrigerator,
glad that the creature underneath was almost entirely covered. Its feet stuck out
awkwardly and I thought of the Wicked Witch’s sister from
The Wizard of Oz
. We’re sure as hell not in Kansas anymore, Toto.

I had to suppress a laugh, but then the creature’s leg twitched and I realized that
its slaughter was recent. I backed away, cautious that others could be close by. I
walked home, slightly disappointed but also hopeful, knowing I could return the next
night.

For two days I waited, with no one in sight. I wondered if they kept track of time
or owned a watch. I still wore my dad’s old-school digital. More for the memory of
him than anything else. I wanted to wear my mom’s Cartier, but the ticking was too
loud in the absolute quiet. Each night I began to doubt my plan. I wondered briefly
what the person or people were like; what if they were avoiding me on purpose? What
if they were unfriendly? The thought of being able to interact with another human
being made me desperate.

On the third night, there was someone waiting, crouching in the bushes. I was used
to watching for Them, so I spotted him at once.

“I can see you,” I told him in the loudest whisper I dared. “Hello? Please come out.”

He stood and looked me over. I couldn’t see him well in the dark, but he was tall
and his shaggy hair framed a face I couldn’t quite make out. Backing away, he waved
for me to follow. I almost couldn’t believe that there was another human alive. I
wanted to yell or hoot, but I swallowed my enthusiasm and tried to calm myself. Even
so, I was shaking slightly as I trailed behind him to an apartment building a few
blocks away. He unlocked the entrance door and motioned me inside.

We went up several flights. Some of the stairs creaked, making me uncomfortable. It
wasn’t long ago that I would never have dreamed of following a man to his apartment.

At the top floor, the man unlocked the door and went inside. I looked up and down
the hall, hesitating for just a moment before going in after him. He shut and locked
the door with a
click
. Then he flipped on a switch and I was startled by the sudden brightness. I looked
to the windows but they were blacked out, keeping Them from spotting the glow. A gentle
hum sounded from another room.

“You can talk. They won’t hear us,” he told me.

I looked at him clearly in the light. He wasn’t young, but he wasn’t old either, probably
about my father’s age. Fortyish. I wrinkled my nose. In his enclosed condo, I could
smell him for the first time. It was likely he hadn’t showered since Before. His shaggy,
blond hair almost covered his eyes and an unkempt beard framed his face. I guessed
he hadn’t shaved since Before either.

“Who are you?” I asked. “I mean, what’s your name?”

“Jake.” He held out his hand and I shook it. His hand was firm, his skin rough. It
was strange to touch another person.

“I’m Amy,” I said, my voice unsure. He still hadn’t released my hand, so I pulled
it away awkwardly.

“Sorry.” He grinned. “I’m just surprised to see another live human around. It’s a
shock.”

“How . . . You set that trap by yourself?” I asked.

“Construction worker by day.” He grinned again. “Drummer by night. Well, I
was
a drummer. There’s no band anymore.”

“There’s not anything anymore,” I said quietly.

“Whoa, negative Nancy.” He ran his fingers through his greasy hair. “We’re still here.”

I bit my lip, ashamed. I didn’t want to alienate my first human contact. “So, you
were in a band? That’s fan.”

“Fan?” he asked.

“Fantastic . . . It’s what my friends and I used to say,” I explained. Sabrina and
I started it as a joke, to make fun of the people at our school who insisted on talking
in text-speak. Sabrina and I had whole conversations where we pretended to be bubbleheads
and only used the first syllables of words. The rest of our friends got annoyed with
us real fast, but subbing
fan
for
fantastic
stuck.

“Fan.” Jake tilted his head and stared at me. “I like that.”

“What kind of music did you play?” I asked, mostly because I didn’t know what else
to say to him. I read in
Cosmo
once that you can put people at ease by asking them questions on topics that interest
them. The problem was Jake seemed completely comfortable, I was the one who needed
to chill. I had wanted to see someone for so long, but now it all felt so strange
and unreal.

“Death metal,” he told me with a grin. “We used to make a ton of noise in here.” He
motioned toward the walls. “That’s why we can talk; I had the place soundproofed.
The neighbors were always bitching about the noise.”

I looked around, uncertain of what to say. Jake’s condo was nice. He had fancy furniture
and paintings on the walls. One in particular caught my eye.

I gawked. “Is that . . .?”

“A Picasso,” Jake shrugged. “I know what you’re thinking, but it would have just sat
abandoned in the Art Institute. Besides, we have to enjoy the finer things in life,
otherwise what’s the point of surviving?”

“I suppose.” I was uneasy about it but wasn’t sure why it bothered me. Why not take
priceless art? . . . It was hardly stealing. There was no one else around to enjoy
it.

“What about you, Amy?” he asked. “How did you survive? You look like you’re about
twelve.”

“I’m fourteen,” I corrected him. I wanted to add that I read at a college level and
was very mature for my age, but I didn’t. It would have sounded stupid, and what did
that matter now?

“How have they not gotten you? They’ve gotten everyone else.”

“My parents,” I explained. “One was a hippie and one was paranoid.”

Jake frowned, not understanding.

“My mother put in an electric fence; my father made sure we had solar panels, a vegetable
garden, a rainwater basin. . . .”

“You have running water?” he interrupted me.

“Mostly . . . when it rains anyway. The filters work because of the solar panels.”

He stared at me. “Where do you live?” I felt my body tense. There was something in
his tone that I didn’t like.

I looked at him, unsure of what to say. “Lakeview,” I answered vaguely. “But you have
electricity too,” I quickly pointed out.

“A generator. It runs on gas . . . plenty of cars lying around to siphon fuel from.
I also hooked a couple up in empty houses to attract those things.”

“Why?” I asked, truly curious. There were so many of Them, what would killing a few
stray ones do?

“It makes me happy.” He scowled, looking anything but happy. “I feel like I’m actually
doing something. Every night I go on my rounds, up to the lake and downtown and back.
I check on the traps every third night.”

He stepped toward me and I backed away. I smiled awkwardly. Something about him had
me on alert.

“I’m just heading to the fridge,” he told me, his hands up in the air. He opened the
door and grabbed a couple of bottles. “Do you want a beer?”

“Uh . . .” Out of habit, I hesitated. “I don’t know. . . .”

“In case you haven’t noticed, society is in shambles. Our government has collapsed
and we’ve been overrun by creatures from another planet. I don’t think the drinking
age applies anymore,” he told me with a smirk.