In the After

by Demitria Lunetta

  I stay up long after Baby has gone to bed, reading to keep my mind occupied, not ready to close my eyes. Every time I do, I see the ship and the figure in black, reeling in the creature for capture. I don’t understand any of it and I don’t like the not knowing. The last few years have been awful, but I now know how the After works and how to survive. With the arrival of the ships, I am lost again, just like in those weeks when They first came.

  I wake at dawn, sobbing. I’d been dreaming about the night’s events, only this time we were not so lucky. In my nightmare, Amber’s screams brought Them straight to Baby. I saw it all in slow motion, Baby bitten and clawed as she called out for help, but I couldn’t help her. I was paralyzed with fear.

  I get out of bed and check on Baby, awake in her room. I was asleep, she explains. Something woke me. A noise outside. She is always waking at the slightest sound, when a tree branch falls or a bird sings.

  Want a story? I ask, but she shakes her head no. I sit with her until she falls back asleep, then go to make myself some tea. I’ve had time to calm down, and I want to blame Amber for all this, but I know I can’t. I shouldn’t be so angry at her; it wasn’t really her fault. It was mine. I should not have let her come with us. My dream is still fresh in my mind. Baby could have died. I don’t think I can stay in the After without her.

  I decide to see if Amber has fallen asleep yet. I want to apologize for being so harsh to her. I grab a package of long-expired, but still-good Oreos to use as a peace offering and tiptoe down the basement stairs.

  Amber has made the room hers, decorating it with construction paper chains and Baby’s crayoned pictures. The room is still and I am amazed at how quietly Amber is sleeping, when she can’t even walk around in socks without stomping like a baby elephant. She also snores more often than not.

  She isn’t snoring now, though. I walk across the basement floor with a strange feeling in my stomach. Something isn’t right. I pull back the blankets.

  Amber is gone.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  I broke the news to Baby as soon as she woke up, after I checked to make sure the gate was locked and Amber hadn’t taken anything important. Baby is crushed. We don’t say it, but we both think Amber is dead. She couldn’t make it a block on her own, much less live out in the city with no comfy, secure house. With no one to feed her and take care of her, she would be alien lunch in no time.

  You’re glad she’s gone, Baby accuses, her face dark with anger.

  I shake my head. I’m sorry I yelled at Amber, but she put us in danger. I needed her to understand. I try to put my hand on her shoulder, but she pulls away, her arms crossed. She’s never been difficult like this before and I’m worried.

  Baby’s lip quivers. She turns away, not wanting me to see her cry. I reach out to hug her, but change my mind. Maybe she just needs some time alone. She doesn’t remember ever losing anyone.

  I go downstairs to the basement. Amber taped up a bunch of Baby’s drawings and pictures cut out from old magazines. I start to take these down, grimacing at long-dead models and TV heartthrobs.

  I fold up the blankets and place them to the side. The papers I gather and put in a plastic bag. I’ll throw them away on our next outing. Baby doesn’t need to be reminded of Amber every time she comes downstairs.

  I sit on the couch and put my head in my hands. I’m not that horrible. It was all just a coincidence. I should have exercised more caution, but I can’t blame myself, even if Baby resents me. Whether or not I meant for all this to happen, I still have to make it up to Baby somehow. There are other survivors. I can watch a few, see who is trustworthy. I can invite people to live here. We don’t have to be alone.

  I feel a tap on my shoulder. I turn to find Baby glowering at me, angry. She is so damned quiet. I didn’t hear her come down the stairs.

  What are you doing? Her little fingers move furiously. Sometimes I forget how young she is.

  I’m just trying to clean up, I explain.

  Baby grabs the bag of drawings and cutouts. Amber and I made these. She crumples them against her chest.

  I know. I thought it would be better . . . I stop signing. I’ve never seen Baby so mad. Once again I’ve made the wrong choice. I should have left Amber’s room the way it was, for Baby to sort out when she was ready.

  I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say. I’m not perfect. I don’t have all the answers. I’m just trying to keep us safe. I start to cry softly. Please. I hold out my hand. Please don’t hate me.

  Baby’s face softens. She places the bag of papers on the floor and sits next to me on the couch. I hug her close.

  I don’t hate you, she tells me. I just feel . . . She searches for the right word. I feel empty.

  I rest my head on top of hers. I am so sorry.

  Baby nods and scoots onto the floor. She opens the bag of papers and begins to sort them into piles. Can I put these in my room? she signs, without looking up. For when Amber comes back.

  I place my hand on her shoulder. Yes. I don’t tell her that Amber is almost certainly dead.

  Baby no longer sleeps in my room. She is more withdrawn. She likes to sit alone and look at her picture books. She isn’t even very excited when I bring her new, better-fitting clothes. She glances at me, shrugs, and puts them in her closet.

  Don’t you want to try them on? I ask.

  Maybe later.

  I go to my room to read. Baby doesn’t want me around and I don’t want to force her. I wonder if my parents felt the same way; I never wanted to hang out with them either. Not once I turned ten and decided they were lame. I wish I’d done more things with them, not given them such a hard time. I try not to think about it too often because it’s too much. How was I supposed to know I’d never see them again?

  I start to read my American History book from sophomore year. I always liked history; it was like ancient gossip. I sometimes go back over old homework, try to remember what I was learning. Everything except math, that is. I could never get the hang of precalculus. The only good thing about the After is that I never have to worry about math homework.

  I doze off. I dream I’m at the zoo with my parents. I’m about Baby’s age, six or seven, except I’m not myself. I am Baby. I have a balloon and a little plastic cup with a lion on it. I love the zoo.

  Suddenly my parents are gone. Everyone is gone. I run around looking for people, but I can’t find anyone. I begin to cry.

  “Be quiet,” someone tells me, but I can’t see them so I keep on sobbing. “Shut the hell up!” comes the same voice, except this time I recognize it. It is my voice. I haven’t heard it in a very long time.

  I see why I’m supposed to be quiet. The lion is no longer on my little plastic cup. It is standing in front of me. It roars, showing off its sharp teeth. I am frozen with fear. Suddenly the ground begins to shake. I try to regain my footing, but I fall to my hands and knees. The quake continues. The earth splits apart. I open my mouth to scream but nothing comes out.

  I open my eyes. I’m in my bed and I’m me again. Only the vibration continues.

  I turn over. Baby is shaking me. I push her hands away, but then I see the look on her face. Her eyes are wide, her jaw clenched. Something has frightened her and it takes a lot to scare Baby.

  I sit up. What is it? What’s happened?

  I hear someone at the gate. Baby jumps on me. Maybe it’s Amber.

  I push her to the side, onto the bed.

  I go down the stairs and peek out the window. There is a man in army fatigues studying the gate. He picks up a stick and throws it at the fence. It sparks where it hits and then falls to the ground. He looks at the window and I duck down, hoping he hasn’t seen me. When I look again, he is gone. I have an empty feeling in the pit of my stomach.

  I run back up to my room. It’s not Amber; it’s a man, I tell her. I need you to get a bag together. You’ll need some food, a change of clothes, and your pocketknife. I know she will listen to me. Even if she’s been surly lately, s
he knows that this is serious.

  Baby nods, still frightened. Can I bring my books? She already understands that we might have to go.

  No, I tell her. She looks at the floor, frowning, but doesn’t bother to beg. The sight is enough to make me feel guilty. One book, I relent. She needs to have something familiar.

  Where are we going? Are we leaving now?

  No. I just want us to be ready. Just in case. I try to smile reassuringly, but Baby isn’t buying it. Go, now. Put your bag by the back door when you’re done. Baby runs off to her room.

  I start to pack my backpack. Some clothes, a water bottle. I take a can opener from the kitchen too. I grab the gun and holster from my nightstand and put it on. We have to be prepared for every possibility.

  We keep the bags ready, but after four days the man doesn’t return. Baby talks about it constantly and I’ve run out of ways to distract her.

  Is he going to hurt us? she asks, signing one-handedly. In her other hand she clutches a fork. She’s eating peaches from a can. The juice dribbles down her chin and stains her shirt.

  I won’t let that happen. I hand her a napkin. Stop making a mess. “You don’t have a maid,” is what my mom always used to tell me, even though we did have a housekeeper. When I pointed out the obvious to her, she would say, “Do you pay her wages?”

  Amy, if that man comes back, are you going to hurt him? Baby asks, eyeing the gun that I have not taken off since we spotted the outsider, except to shower.

  If I have to, I tell her. She stops eating, her fork paused midway between the can and her mouth. I don’t want to frighten her, but she needs to understand that we could be in danger. All of Them are monsters, but not all monsters are Them.

  Maybe he was just lost, she ventures.

  Maybe.

  Maybe he’s nice.

  I frown at her. I doubt it.

  Amber was nice.

  Eat your peaches. You have to get going soon.

  Baby shovels the rest of the fruit in her mouth, chewing carefully. I told her that tonight she can go scavenging on her own. We need food again and one of us has to stay home, in case our visitor comes back. I debated leaving Baby with the gun, but I don’t think she can shoot someone if push comes to shove. I’m not all that confident that I can either, but I’m willing to try.

  Baby keeps smiling and pushing her head up tall. She is excited; I can tell by the way she won’t sit still. I hope she can channel that energy later, but I’m not overly concerned. She is a smart girl, fast and quiet. She can take care of herself out there, for a few hours anyway.

  Baby clears her place and grabs her two bags. One almost empty to hold food and supplies, one filled with garbage to drop down the block. She stands by the door and hops up and down silently.

  Do you have everything you need? I ask, unwilling to let her go just yet.

  Yes. She rolls her eyes.

  You have the key for the gate? I’ve already checked twice to make sure it was in her pocket. I can’t stand the thought of her stuck out there, even though I’ll be watching from the window.

  Yes, yes. You know I do.

  Okay, I sign. Then what are you waiting for?

  She grins and opens the front door, quickly stepping out into the night. A few feet away she comes to a halt. She turns back to me, no longer smiling.

  What? Is one of Them at the gate?

  Baby’s mouth opens. For a second I think that she is going to scream, but she doesn’t. She’s just surprised.

  There’s someone at the gate again, she signs.

  I look past her to the fence. The man has returned and he is fiddling with the gate. Large black gloves cover his hands, protecting him from the electricity.

  Get inside now, I order.

  Baby hurries past me and I slam the door as loud as I can. I want to bring Them to the gate. I need that man to be gone.

  I head over to the window and watch. The man not only has protective gloves, he has other tools as well. In one hand, he holds large shears. He is going to cut the fence so he can get inside. We’ll be completely exposed to Them.

  I try to think. What can I do? I reach immediately for the gun and hold it in my hand. I don’t want to kill him. Maybe if I just show him I have it he will go away.

  Stay here. Don’t look out the window, I tell Baby.

  I jerk open the door and an idea strikes me. I reach over and flick on the porch light. Even if the door slam doesn’t bring Them running, the light will. They love the light.

  The man looks up briefly, but continues to work. I hear a low snarl, and smile. They will be coming soon.

  “Circle in,” a voice in the distance yells. I squint against the light. Other figures gather around the first man. He is not alone.

  I run back inside and up the stairs at full speed. I need to get to my bedroom window, where I’ll have a better view. Baby looks at me questioningly as I run past, but stays where I told her to.

  From the window upstairs, I can see that there are several men, at least five. I spot a few of Them down the street, running toward the light. They will be at the house in a matter of seconds. One of the men sees Them and holds up a gun.

  I breathe a sigh of relief. The guns will only bring more of Them. The men will be finished in a few minutes. The damage to the fence looks minimal. We’re safe.

  The first creature reaches the semicircle of men and falls without a sound. I blink. Another creature goes down and another. I pound my head against the glass of the window. I want to cry, but know I don’t have time for a nervous breakdown.

  The men have guns, but they have something else too. From where I sit, I can see one pull something long and white from his bag. He holds it up to a black metallic object and shoots. Crossbows. They have crossbows. Where did they get crossbows? They must have raided a hunting supply store. They are handling themselves like seasoned hunters, either that, or they’ve had a lot of practice in the After.

  Without the additional noise, all that’s calling to the creatures is the porch light. It won’t draw them like gunshots. The men just have to hold Them off until they can break through the gate, then they can turn off the light.

  I look again at the man with the gloves. He is being extremely careful, terrifyingly precise. They don’t want to damage the fence because they want to live here. Once they get inside, what will they do with me and Baby? Best-case scenario, we have to share our space with men we don’t know—rough, hardened men who would expect us to be at their beck and call. Worst-case scenario, well, I don’t want to think about that.

  I aim the gun through the glass of the window, seeing what kind of shot I can take. It will be hard to get them all. I’ll have to open the window without them noticing. By the way they are killing the creatures, I can see they are experienced marksmen. I’d only ever practiced shooting at paper targets a long time ago. I’d never actually shot a living thing.

  I weigh my options. If I manage to kill some of them, but not all, Baby and I can still escape, but they will look for us. If we leave quietly, they might just be content to stay and enjoy their newfound home. They won’t bother looking for us when all they want is here. I put the gun back in its holster. My mind is made up. It is too risky to fight.

  I’m heading downstairs when something out the window catches my eye. Just out of reach of the light is a red pickup truck. It looks like the same red truck we saw that night we found Amber. My face burns and I can feel my jaw clench. What has Amber done? Did her brother abandon her or was she just a spy all along?

  I run back down to Baby, taking two stairs at a time. Seizing her arm, I yank her to her feet.

  We have to leave, now, I sign furiously. I take her hand and drag her to the back door.

  For how long? she signs into my hand.

  Forever, I tell her. I feel her stop, her weight dead against my pull.

  I turn and look into her eyes. She stares at me. She understands why we have to leave, but this is the only home she’s ever known.
I grasp her shoulder.

  It’s not safe here. I am telling her what she already knows, but she doesn’t want to believe. Those men, they are going to get inside. If we stay, they’ll hurt us.

  You don’t know that. She tries to convince me, convince herself. They could be good. Like Amber.

  I close my eyes as my fingers dig into Baby’s shoulder. I tried to protect her, but led these horrible people right to our doorstep. I’ve failed her. I open my eyes to see Baby’s face twisted in pain. I let go of her shoulder.

  If we’re still here when those men break through the gate, they’re going to do very bad things to us.

  Baby nods, finally admitting that she understands. I hug her for a second, kissing her forehead roughly. When I let her go, she moves to the back door without direction and picks up her bag of supplies.

  I take my own bag and sling it over my shoulder, double-checking to make sure the gun is still at my side. On the way out the back door, I remember that I haven’t packed a picture of my mom and dad. I run back into the living room and snatch the one of them on their honeymoon in Hawaii. My mom is wearing a long, flowing dress with bright purple flowers in her hair. My dad stares at her and grins like an idiot. I shove the picture in my pack.

  We creep out the back door and edge along the wall, inching toward the back gate. There might be a man back here, I sign to Baby. If they planned the whole thing out, then Amber will have told them about the back gate.

  Amy, careful. I see someone. Baby motions with her hand.

  I look to where her finger points. Where the moonlight shines against the gate, a shadow moves back and forth, pacing.

  I have an idea, I tell her. Give me the key and be ready to follow. Baby digs in her pocket and hands me the key. She steps behind me and I pull out the gun and hold it tightly in my right hand. I stalk toward the back gate, my feet barely making a sound on the soft ground. In one motion, I put the key in the lock, turn it, and pull with all my might.