I jump through the opening into the alley, aiming the gun at the figure. I’m lucky. He’s only a few feet from the entrance. I move as fast as I can and place the barrel to the man’s temple.
He sucks in a breath. “Please. Don’t,” he whimpers.
He isn’t a man. He’s a boy, fourteen or fifteen at the most. I almost feel bad for him, but then my anger flares up. These men are taking away our home.
The boy holds a handgun limply in his hand. I grab it from him and shove it toward Baby. Baby cradles it to her chest and watches us. Pushing the boy down to his knees, I press the barrel of my gun right up against the back of his head.
I could kill him. I have the silencer. The creatures might sniff out his body before his friends break through the fence. They might never know we’ve killed him, assuming instead he is a victim of Them.
Baby’s hand on my back brings me back to my senses. The boy is blubbering and he smells like urine. He’s pissed himself. I can’t kill him, but I can’t leave him to run back to his friends and tell on us. We need a head start.
I raise my arm and hit the boy as hard as I can with the butt of the gun. He falls over and slumps against the gate.
Baby backs away from me, horrified. Did you kill him?
No. He’s just asleep, I assure her.
She looks at me doubtfully. She steps forward to inspect him. She moves his arm with her foot. The boy moans and his head jerks slightly.
She steps back, satisfied.
He won’t be asleep for long, I warn her. Where’s the gun I gave you?
Put it in my pack.
Good. We have to go.
Baby runs toward me, her hand outstretched. I grab it and lead her away from our house, through a neighbor’s yard, out onto the street.
Where are we going? she asks.
I don’t answer. I have a few houses in mind, none very secure. Night is only just beginning. We have plenty of time to find somewhere to hide before daylight. Baby is safe for now; that is what’s important.
Together we jog in the direction of the lake. There is a house I pilfered a few months ago that has a largish attic. It is musty and crowded with boxes, but it will be a good place to spend the day. It’s not far, maybe half a mile.
We make it there long before dawn. I find some old blankets in a closet and spread them out on the floor. It isn’t super comfy but it will still pass as a bed for Baby.
Eat something now, I tell her. We can’t make any noise during the day. At all.
Baby unwraps a candy bar. Even as quiet as she is, the wrapper crinkles. We are not protected here. We have no fence to keep Them out now.
After Baby eats, she looks at the book she packed, turning each page with care. She falls asleep clutching it close to her body and I carefully take it from her hands and place it back in her bag.
At dawn, I watch from the attic window as the streets fill with Them. I can’t stand the sight and sit next to Baby. I try to sleep, but can’t.
I pull the picture of my parents out of my bag, taking the photo out of the heavy frame. I feel the smoothness in my hand. I touch the happy image, leaving white fingerprints all over their faces.
Everything I had is now gone. I am feeling so sick and numb inside. I look at the picture until it blurs, tears falling down my face.
Once again, my world has ended.
CHAPTER TWELVE
We stay in the attic a couple of nights, but I soon realize that we need to keep moving if Baby and I are going to remain sane. We can’t stay in one place and pretend it’s our home. It’s too much like being trapped. We have to get used to a completely different life.
There is no fence to protect us if Baby accidentally drops her book or if one of us coughs. I long for summer to end, for the days to be shorter. But then I remember that we won’t have any heat. Maybe we can find a room to burn a fire, keep the light inside somehow. I have some time to figure it all out. As of now, we have to wait until nightfall to even use the bathroom.
Not that there are working bathrooms to use. When I explain to Baby that she will have to go to the bathroom and not flush the toilet, she looks at me like I am insane.
There’s no water, I explain. And even if there was, the flush would be too loud. At our house we only used the bathroom in the basement. You couldn’t hear it from outside. I realize I have to stop thinking of our house; we can’t go back there.
We also have to get used to not bathing regularly.
You smell, Baby tells me after a week. We are holed up in a basement near the park, waiting for day to end.
You’re not exactly lemon fresh yourself, I inform her.
We need to wash our clothes too. She tugs at her shirt, stained with sweat and dust.
I agree. I feel so gross. It’s taking me a while to work things out. We can go to the lake tonight and take a swim, I suggest at last. It is creepy to be out in the open like that, but I am pretty sure They don’t like large bodies of water. We’ve gone to the lake to retrieve drinking water, but I don’t want to run into any other survivors. Not yet anyway.
I don’t know how to swim, Baby signs.
You don’t have to swim. We’ll go to the beach. You can just stand in the water. It will be like a big tub.
Can we bring soap? Baby asks.
Sure. Why not?
But we drink that water. She shakes her head. I smile. If she knew the sign for duh, she would have made it.
We’ll bathe far from where we get water for drinking. It’s a big lake, Baby.
Maybe—she looks at me slyly—you can teach me to swim.
No. It would be too much noise, I explain. Baby frowns and twirls her hair. She’s started pulling out strands lately. I tell her to stop, but she still tugs at it when she thinks I’m not looking.
Leave your hair alone. Do you want to be bald?
She pouts. She looks at her book for a while, then signs, I’m hungry.
It’s not dark yet. You can’t eat. Usually before daybreak I unwrap some food for us to eat, but I didn’t have a chance to last night. We barely found the basement in time. It is the closest we’ve ever cut it to being out at first light.
Baby pulls at her hair again. I don’t know if it is from the stress or the boredom, but she needs something more than surviving the day. I need something more too. We are stuck.
The lake is beautiful at night, even a dark, cloudy night like tonight. It’s strange to see the city skyline illuminated only by faint moonlight. Gone are the days of light pollution, and I wish I could remember the last time I saw the city at night from the lake, and who I was with. Fourth of July with my father? Out during the summer with Sabrina?
We avoid the harbor area, where boats, half sunk, jut dangerously from the water. They could not survive the first winter in the ice-covered lake. Later I may look for a lifeboat or a dingy, something to take Baby out farther into the water.
It’s cold. The way Baby moves her hands is the sign language equivalent of shouting.
It’s good. I’ve already dunked myself in the water and am trying to convince Baby to wade in deeper than her ankles. If you just come in a little more, you’ll get used to it.
She folds her arms across her chest and moves a little farther into the water. She’s shivering. I hold out my hand to her. She was happy to strip down for relief from the sweltering, humid heat, but when faced with the cold expanse of water, she shied away.
Come on, don’t be afraid.
I’m not afraid. She inches forward, taking small, dramatic steps.
If you come out here I’ll wash your hair. I hold the bottle of shampoo up and shake it temptingly.
Oh, all right. She plunges into the water, splashing slightly. I eye the shore. We aren’t being very loud, but I’m still concerned. I don’t know if They can swim.
Baby’s eyes are distractingly white, reflecting the moon. I can’t help but think how eerie it is, as she makes her way toward me. She blinks and her eyes look normal again, a tri
ck of the light.
I stand where I know her head will be above the water. Her teeth chatter slightly with the shock of the cold and she opens her mouth wide to stop the noise.
You’ll be warm once you get used to it, I tell her. I squirt the shampoo into my hand and massage it onto her head. We can do this every night in the summer, but maybe we will get used to a bath once a week during the cool months, and not at all in the winter.
I scrub Baby’s scalp with my fingers while she holds the shampoo bottle. She squeezes it to make bubbles in the water.
Okay, now hold your nose and dunk your head.
She takes a deep breath, puffs out her cheeks, and holds her nose. She slowly lowers her head into the lake, her eyes open wide. She wants to see what is under the water.
Close your eyes, I quickly sign. You’ll get soap in them.
She snaps her eyes shut just as her head disappears. I see her outline under the water, her hands in her hair trying to rinse out the shampoo. When her head breaks the surface, she grins.
Feel better? I ask.
I like taking baths in the lake. Her blond hair shines in the moonlight.
Baby, would you like to learn how to float?
She nods eagerly. I put my hand on her back. Lie flat.
On what?
On the water, like it’s a bed. Take a deep breath first.
Baby gulps in some air and moves back into my hand. I push up slightly and Baby’s feet rise. She instinctively holds her arms out on the water’s surface. When I feel she is stable, I let go, holding my hand above her face so she can see my gestures.
See . . . you’re floating by yourself.
Baby smiles, afraid to move.
Keep breathing and you won’t sink, I promise.
I wash my hair while Baby drifts. It’s nice to feel clean. The cold water is refreshing, especially after the heat of day. We are stuck inside without air-conditioning and it’s so hard to sleep when it’s hot.
Baby jerks upright suddenly.
What?
I felt something, against my leg. She looks down into the water, searching.
It was probably a fish.
What if They live under the water? She starts to head back to shore.
They don’t. They don’t like the lake.
What if there is a new kind, like the ones in the ship. What if They like being in the water? She looks around wildly, unsure of where to head to safety.
They couldn’t live down there. I try to calm her.
Mermaids do. She is already to our pile of belongings, putting her dirty clothes on over her wet body. I follow her over.
Mermaids are just a story, I tell her.
She looks up at me, tearful. No they’re not. Mermaids are from Before. Like horses. You said horses could live in the sea.
Seahorses aren’t horses that live in the sea . . . I start to explain but stop myself. It doesn’t really matter if she has the Before straight in her head. She can believe in mermaids and horses that live in the sea if she wants.
You’re right, I tell her. But mermaids and seahorses have a special way of breathing under the water. The monsters don’t.
Baby looks out over the lake, searching for creatures or maybe for mermaids.
I rummage in my bag and hand her a bundle. You can leave those smelly old clothes. I pilfered the house while she was asleep.
Baby takes the clothes and examines them. We have to wear dark, neutral colors so we won’t stick out at night, but I found a practical brown dress, something that will keep her cool in the summer heat and still be good to run in if we need to escape. Baby holds it out in front of her, smoothing down the fabric. She pulls it on over her head.
It’s a little too big, but Baby doesn’t seem to care. She twirls around, making the bottom of the dress billow out into a bell shape.
Thank you, Amy.
You’re welcome. I also took clothes for myself, some dark jeans and a black T-shirt. I got the shirt from a stuffy, messy room plastered with rock posters, a dusty guitar in the corner.
Before I get dressed, I motion Baby over and hand her a pair of scissors. I want you to cut my hair short, I tell her.
How short? Baby wants to know. We usually trim each other’s hair every few months.
Short short, I tell her.
Why? Her own blond hair is sort of thin; it never gets tangled.
Because it’s too hot. I just don’t want to be bothered with it. I haven’t combed it in a week and it is starting to turn into dreadlocks.
You’ll look funny, she warns.
Not if you do a good job. I kneel next to her and hope she can make it sort of straight.
She starts to snip away, tentatively at first, but then she gets into it. I feel the hair drop down my back and all around me. Already I feel lighter. Baby steps back to examine her work.
How does it look? I ask.
Not bad. She bites her lower lip. Not good either.
I slip back into the lake to rinse myself off. My fingers slip through my short hair. I can’t see it but it seems like Baby made it even on both sides, close to my scalp until just above my ear, then a bit longer on top.
I look like a rock star from Before, I try to convince myself. In truth, I already miss having long hair, but it just isn’t practical. Who is there to impress anyway?
I dress in my new clothes, strapping my gun back over my shirt. Baby gathers her things, carefully placing the gun we took off the boy at the house at the top of her bag. I want her to carry it, to use it if necessary. I showed her how. It makes me feel a little safer to know she has it, in case something happens to me.
I heft my bag to my shoulder. Let’s look for a place on the lakefront tonight. We can find a mansion.
O . . . Baby pauses mid word. Did you hear that?
Hear what? I ask, puzzled. I look around and then I see it. A ship, landing.
I turn back to Baby. Run. Now. I sign as the blinding light appears.
Before I have time to turn, I hear a swoosh, and Baby is knocked into me and we fall. Her body weight presses against my chest. I gulp for air. We are a tangle of arms and legs, held tightly inside a strong web of netting. Luckily Baby is mostly on top of me, so I don’t have to worry about crushing her small body.
We begin to move. I twist my head so I can see through the netting. We are being dragged toward the ship, just like the creature, that night with Amber. I can’t reach my gun, but I feel Baby’s hand within my grasp.
Desperately I sign to her. Baby, where is your bag?
Here. She shifts her weight slightly, maneuvering the bag into my hand. I undo the zipper and reach inside. I feel the cool metal of the gun against my fingers. I don’t know what happens inside the ship but I’m going to be ready.
We are almost to the ship doorway, the gaping hole in the side of the craft. We are lifted from the ground and sway within the net for a moment before being deposited roughly onto the floor. I can barely see anything in the dark, but I feel a presence come closer.
Suddenly the net falls away and my hands are free. I roll over Baby into a crouch. The creature looms over us, covered in a shadowy black material from head to toe. I raise my arm, gun in hand, and fire into the creature’s body.
It’s not the recoil of the gun that surprises me. I’m ready for the gun’s push against my arm, the memory of childhood shooting lessons still etched in my mind. What shocks me is the noise. I’ve forgotten how loud things were Before. In the enclosed space, the noise is amplified and my eardrums feel as if they will shatter.
The creature jerks back and clutches its chest where the bullet struck. I pull Baby to standing but cannot see a way out of the ship. It’s small and cramped with no windows, and the door has already closed tight. I can’t even tell where the opening is. We are trapped.
Baby grabs my hand. It’s not dead.
I look back to the creature. It didn’t fall over; it doesn’t even look very hurt. It seems to study us, debating what to do.
I shove Baby behind me and fire again. Now I’m prepared for the deafening boom. The bullet hits the creature’s shoulder, and I watch closely. There is no tear in the creature’s suit; the bullet just falls to the floor with a clink. I can’t believe it. They aren’t smart; They are mindless killers. How can They design a bulletproof suit? How did They even make it to our planet?
The creature lunges at us and I throw myself in front of Baby to take the brunt of the hit. I’m knocked off my feet into the wall of the ship. My shoulder crunches sickeningly and the pain brings spots of light in front of my eyes.
I attempt to stand, but the creature is already on top of me, wrestling the gun from my hand. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Baby ready to jump on its back.
I ram my fist upward, into the creature’s jaw. I know I can’t hurt it, but I need to fight back, even if it only distracts the creature for a few seconds to give Baby a chance. I punch again, a little lower this time, hoping to find a tender spot under its chin.
I hear the creature choke inside its suit. I’ve gotten its neck. I shove it, trying to get away, but it forces me back down, pressing on my shoulders. It reaches for its head and pulls at the black material. It’s going to eat me here and now, no matter what its original purpose was for capturing us. I made it angry and it isn’t going to wait.
As it removes the material from its face, I close my eyes. I can’t bear to see its green skin and pointy yellow teeth. I wait for the pain. I want to die quickly.
“What the hell did you do that for?” a woman yells.
I open my eyes and stare into two very pretty, dark brown eyes.
She is beautiful. She is human.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
I lie on the floor, dumbfounded, not knowing how to react.
I still can’t believe that underneath the strange black material is a woman. A regular, human woman. Her features are Asian; her accent is American.
“You’re the first person to ever shoot me,” she tells me, “and I think you broke one of my ribs.” She pushes herself off my body roughly and stands. I sit up, looking for Baby. She hurries to my side and sits down on my lap. I hug her close.
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