Baby thinks she is talking about her and grins. I really like you too, Amber.
I wonder how often Amber whispers to Baby. If she keeps it up, Baby will begin to understand English. I wonder if she’ll start to talk then, or if the silence has become a part of her.
I step to back away, but Baby hears me and looks up. She narrows her eyes at me, and I’m shocked to realize that she’s unhappy that I’m there. She wants to be alone with Amber. I feel as if I’ve been spying.
It was a rabbit, I sign.
I know, Amber told me. Her guarded look fades, but I’m still left with an uneasy feeling.
No whispering, I sign to them both. Baby nods quickly, ashamed, while Amber just shrugs.
Not bad now. She means there is no harm in whispering in the basement.
Whispering is always bad. Always bad. I repeat it so she gets the picture. I go upstairs and sit at the kitchen table. For the first time ever with Baby, I am the outsider.
It is a couple of weeks after Amber’s arrival before we need more supplies; I’ve put it off for as long as I can. I wanted Amber to settle in before we left her alone, but we need more food. Amber has used most of the shampoo and soap, and Baby is starting to complain that her clothes don’t fit. She grew like crazy as soon as the weather warmed up, getting taller and thinner. Also, we have to start collecting and hoarding supplies for the winter, although it is months away. Once it snows, it’s impossible to walk outside without making noise.
I write Amber a note, explaining that Baby and I need to get supplies. I watch her read it, her smile disappearing as her face changes from excited to disappointed.
You leave Amber? she asks unhappily.
Yes, we have to. We need food. I point back at the note. I’ve explained it all.
Amber come. She starts to walk toward the door where Baby stands, ready to go.
I put my hand on Amber’s shoulder. No.
Why?
I look at her. She’s learned a lot about how we live day to day, but she is still clueless about the world outside our house. Our home is paradise compared to the real After. Amber is like a child, and even Baby has better survival skills.
It’s dangerous. Dangerous is a word she knows. I’ve used it often.
Please, she signs. “I can’t stay here alone,” she whispers desperately. Her forehead wrinkles with concern, and her eyes are already welling up.
My jaw tightens. This behavior just proves that she isn’t ready to face the outside again.
Amber’s nose scrunches and her lip trembles. I look away from her, ashamed of myself. It’s not fair to leave her on her own when she is just getting used to being part of our family.
Okay, fine, I sign and she immediately brightens. I take the note from her and find a pen. But you have to watch us and do exactly as I tell you, I scrawl across the back.
Yes, she quickly agrees, relieved.
I hand her a backpack and give her some socks. She walks around the house barefoot, but she isn’t used to walking on pavement scattered with twigs and stones that could damage her feet. The socks will offer a little cushion without added noise.
Is it safe? Baby asks as we open the door and head toward the gate.
We’ll take a short trip, something easy for Amber.
We only go a block. There is a big house on the corner that I’ve avoided exploring, since I knew the people who lived there. They had children, a little boy and a girl about Baby’s age. I hope their daughter’s clothes will fit Baby, otherwise we’ll have to take a much longer walk to the stores downtown. We have to plan ahead for that one, and Amber definitely can’t come. She isn’t ready for a silent, eight-mile hike.
The door to the house is locked, so we walk around to the side yard. Their back door, sliding glass, is smashed to pieces. A shredded blue curtain moves with the breeze. I turn to Amber and Baby and point out the glass shards. Baby follows with Amber close behind.
The living room smells of mildew. The open doorway has allowed the rain to damage the walls and floor, leaving black mold on the carpet that has crept halfway up the nearest wall. The paint has peeled in long strips. Even so, you can still tell that the former occupants were well-off. The living room is furnished nicely, intricate wood chairs and a plush cream couch, now on its side and spotted with dirt.
Baby, you check the kitchen, I tell her. I’ll take Amber with me to look upstairs.
Baby nods once, all business. I smile sadly. At that age I complained about cleaning my room and thought my parents were mean when they made me clear the table after dinner. I sometimes wonder what kind of child Baby would be if none of this had happened. Would she be that weird kid in the corner of the playground who never spoke to anyone, or would she be the daredevil on the jungle gym?
Where Amber go? Amber asks. She is looking around uncertainly. Her eyes rest on a dark spot on the carpet. Even though the blotch is several years old, there is no mistaking the black-red stain. Someone has died there. Amber stares at the unpleasant splotch, her forehead wrinkled. I realize I should have warned her about what to expect.
I wave my hand to get Amber’s attention. Her gaze lingers on the spot of blood for another moment, then she focuses on me, eyes glassy.
It’s okay, I tell her. I grab her hand and lead her across the living room. We need to find the daughter’s room and grab some clothes for Baby while she searches for canned food. I don’t want to take longer than necessary.
We find the staircase past the dining room. I test the stairs first, making sure the water damage doesn’t extend to the wood. I don’t want to fall through and hurt myself since there isn’t anything I can do if I break a bone.
The stairs are solid, though a couple sag. Two squeak loudly. I make a mental note of which ones, so I can avoid them on the way back down. I motion for Amber to follow. Her face is pale, her lips pressed firmly together. She’s still shaken from the gore on the carpet and imagining what took place there.
I take her hand again and lead her slowly up the staircase. The wall is lined with family photos. One is pushed sideways, a picture of the little girl taken at the lake. She wears a bright pink bathing suit, grins at the camera. I had a blue-and-white-striped suit when I was her age. “Cheese-it,” my dad used to tell me before he snapped a photo.
I reach out to straighten the picture but suddenly change my mind. At the corner of the glass is a smudged red fingerprint. After being attacked downstairs, someone tried to escape up here, to hide. I try not to think about it. I’ve had to survive my own horrors; I don’t need to live the terrors of others. I squeeze Amber’s hand. There will be more bloodstains upstairs.
At the top of the stairs, I scan the hall for signs of what happened there, but there is no broken furniture, no gory scene. I know better than to feel relieved. The hallway is full of doors, any of which could lead to the room in which They caught their prey.
The door closest to the stairs is the only one open. The wood is littered with deep scratches and the door handle is missing. I glance through the doorway but can’t make out anything in the dark.
Stay, I tell Amber.
I walk the few feet, holding my breath, and step inside a large bathroom. A shower curtain lies across the floor, ripped to shreds. I sniff the air. It leaves a metallic taste in my mouth. The plush bathroom rug feels strange between my toes. It is too soft and fluffy for the After.
I force myself to look into the tub to confirm what I already know. Someone tried to hide from Them in here, but wasn’t quiet enough. The white ceramic is splattered with blood. The spots are brown with age, and hair is sticking to the porcelain sides. I swallow hard.
When I back out of the room, closing the door firmly behind me, Amber stares, her eyes asking, Well?
I shake my head no and try the next door down the hall. The room is big, with a king-sized bed and fancy carpet—definitely not a kid’s room. I almost move on, but I notice a bookshelf against the far wall and my curiosity takes over. Amber keeps to
my side as I browse the titles, deciding which to take. After a while, she grows bored and wanders to the walk-in closet.
Suddenly Amber shrieks.
I turn to the closet, my heart pounding. Is one of Them in there with her? I’ve never come across one in an empty house, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t possible. I back toward the bedroom door, ready to sprint and hide. If it found Amber, it will be distracted for a while and I can grab Baby and get out before it’s done feeding.
Something moves in the closet and I brace myself for a disgusting green head and glowing yellow eyes. Instead, Amber appears in the doorway, her face jubilant. She holds up a bag.
“Prada,” she says with a grin, not bothering to whisper.
We have to leave, now. I grab her arm and drag her toward the door. If They heard her, we don’t have much time. Amber cries out slightly as I pull her down the stairs, my fingers digging into her skin. I don’t care that I am hurting her. Baby is downstairs, alone. We need to find her and get the hell out.
I step over the two squeaky stairs, but Amber steps heavily on both. Either she doesn’t remember or she doesn’t care. I can feel my face grow hot with anger. I shouldn’t have brought her; she isn’t ready. If we all die, it will be my fault.
I pause at the bottom of the stairs, quickly scanning the room. I don’t see any of Them. I lead Amber cautiously through the dining room. I stop again. In the next room there is a sound. The noise is faint but distinctive: shuffle, shuffle, sniff. Amber’s outburst brought one inside. It is in the kitchen, where I told Baby to stay.
Wait, I sign to Amber. Danger.
Her eyes close tight with fear. She pushes herself flat against the wall, trying to become invisible. I let go of her arm and hope she has enough sense not to make a sound.
I remove a box of snappers from my bag. I take one, rolling the small, papered bundle in my fingers. I used to love throwing them on the Fourth of July. They were just the right amount of safe and loud that my parents could reach a compromise on. No real fireworks for me. It was a good day when I found an unopened box of snappers in the attic. I had my mother to thank for that once again, since she didn’t like to throw things away.
I duck into the kitchen and throw the snapper as hard as I can against the far wall. The creature is sniffing around the kitchen table, but runs toward the popping noise at full speed. Terrified, I nevertheless fight the urge to laugh hysterically as it smacks into the wall where the snapper hit. I take a deep breath, try to calm myself. It will not help if I panic. If I die, Amber won’t last long and Baby will be on her own.
The creature is now studying the wall, touching it with its fleshy green hands, wondering what the noise had been. It doesn’t immediately turn and focus back in on the room. It knows something was there, something loud, but does not understand where it went. I hear Amber move in the other room and the floor creaks. The creature’s head snaps in the direction of the doorway, exactly where I’m standing.
I’m exposed. It is a cloudless night. Moonlight filters in the window, bathing the kitchen in a soft, silver glow. I can’t risk moving back into the shadows. I try to stay absolutely still.
Most people probably lose their nerve when they are this close to Them. They run or scream, not in control enough to realize it will get them killed.
But I am calm. I am collected. I am nothing more than a statue, a decoration. The noise was just the house settling, a breeze through the window.
I hear a low thump in the backyard past the shattered glass door. The creature’s face twitches.
Go check it out, I think at the monster. Maybe it’s a tasty rabbit.
Before I even finish my thought, I am blinded by a brilliant white light. I have to squint against the sudden brightness, which is so intense it makes my skin tingle.
“What the . . .” Amber says from her hiding spot.
The creature focuses on me, no longer wondering if I am there or not. It might as well be broad daylight. It can see me perfectly. It growls, muscles flexed to run.
It rushes at me and there’s no place to go. Too late I think of the gun at my side. I’m panicked, and there is no way to reach it in time. I’m sorry, Baby. I fall to my knees. My hands instinctively fly in front of my face.
But nothing happens. A long second ticks by. I peek past my fingers.
The creature is barely a foot away, completely covered in some kind of net. It is being dragged back slowly while it tries desperately to escape. It pushes against its bonds and snaps its teeth at me. It is not happy it has missed its meal.
I scramble to the doorway and hide behind the wall, where Amber still stands, shocked. I lie on the floor and poke my head out to watch. The creature is being reeled into a ship, the same dark, soundless ship that I witnessed landing in the park and have seen many times since then. It beams the light everywhere.
The creature does not stop fighting, but it cannot break free. I can see just inside the doorway of the craft. There is a tall figure, clothed in black from head to toe. The figure holds a rope attached to the net that encases the creature. It pulls the still-struggling alien into the ship. The door shuts behind Them and the bright light goes out.
The sudden darkness is a shock. By the time my eyes adjust, the ship has disappeared without making a sound.
I get to my feet. We still have to go, and quickly. The light, no matter how brief, will attract more of Them like a beacon in the darkness. I run into the kitchen but Baby is not there.
Panicked, I search around the chairs and under the table. Where would she have hidden? I freeze in the middle of the room and crouch, my head in my hands. What if she didn’t have time to hide? My eyes scan the room frantically. There is no blood, no sign of a struggle. She must have escaped somehow.
A dish towel on the floor catches my attention. It is pushed out away from the sink. I rush to the cabinet and pull open the door. Baby looks up at me, relieved.
I grab her and haul her out of the cabinet, hugging her tight. My whole world would collapse if I lost her. I can’t lose her. I pick her up, even though she is much too big now to be carried.
Are you okay? I sign onto her arm.
Yes. I was scared, though. Baby smiles weakly, putting on a brave face. She can deal with a lot, but this was a close call. I hid as soon as Amber made that terrible noise.
I put Baby down, squeezing her one last time. We have to go, I tell her.
She nods knowingly.
I find Amber and we all walk slowly, careful to be silent. Even so, Amber walks way too loudly, her sock-covered feet padding on the sidewalk.
When we get to the gate, I unlock it as fast as I can, making sure Baby gets inside first. I shove Amber after her, pulling the gate shut.
Inside the house I scold Amber. I sign at her furiously, call her names she doesn’t understand. We don’t have words for “stupid” or “idiotic,” I’d never needed language like that with Baby. Instead I say she’s useless. Bad Amber, I claw the words at her.
I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, she tells me over and over. She clutches the designer purse to her chest.
It’s not her fault, Baby pleads. She doesn’t understand.
I look at Amber. How can she not comprehend the danger we face every day? How can she jeopardize our safety for a stupid bag? I glare at her and she begins to sob.
She’s from Before, Baby says.
I sigh. I place my hand on Amber’s shoulder. It’s okay. I force a smile. Go to sleep. We’ll try again tomorrow.
Amber sniffles and nods. She gives me a weak, half smile and creeps downstairs to her bed. I feel a stab of regret.
Baby is right. Amber is stuck with her head in the Before. She doesn’t understand that expensive clothes and shoes are not as important as staying alive. She spent all those years in a bomb shelter, dreaming of a life that is no longer possible. If she doesn’t let go of her fantasies, she’ll kill us all.
Are you angry? Baby asks.
No. I was just sca
red that you were hurt, I explain.
What happened?
I shake my head. Baby won’t understand. To her, things are only as good as far as they are functional, so one bag is the same as another, as long as it isn’t ripped or doesn’t have holes. She wouldn’t get that Amber wanted something because it was a famous brand.
Amber found something that people used to think was very fan.
Something we can use? she asks, probably wondering if it is as good as a dishwasher or candy bar.
No, something that reminds her of Before. She was very excited and forgot to be quiet.
Baby nods her head, pretending like she understood. She wants to believe the best of Amber, and I don’t want to shatter that illusion. I can’t just tell her, We almost died today because Amber is a shallow idiot.
What about the light? she asks. I saw it through the crack in the cabinet.
I tell her about the ship and how they captured the creature with a net. I describe the figure inside, how it wore some kind of black suit.
Why would They capture Themselves?
I don’t know. Now that I’ve had some time to think about it, it really doesn’t make sense to me either. Maybe the creatures were sent to get rid of us so the other ones could come and take over.
You don’t think that, do you?
I honestly don’t know what to think. If They are supposed to get rid of the human race They did a pretty bang-up job in the first few weeks. Why would the cavalry wait years to show up? Maybe it just took them that long to get here. Send in the troops, wait for total destruction, then call in the clean-up crew.
If the other kind comes and takes away all of Them, that will be fan. Baby smiles, imagining a world without monsters.
I nod. But even if They are eliminated, what will replace Them? I don’t want to worry Baby, though, so I suggest we eat some of the new food she gathered. She didn’t drop her bag during the commotion, and I am proud of her. At least her priorities are straight.
After we eat, I tell her the story of Rapunzel, who I decide will run away and go to college instead of being rescued by a prince. Baby falls asleep with her head full of fantasy and I hope she dreams of a better place.
In the After Page 6