AFTER

by Kelly, Ronald

  "Sweetie, I need the cat now," she said tenderly.

  Grace gave it up easier than she expected. "Go ahead. It was wet and cold anyway. But I ain't gonna eat it."

  "You don't have to. You can eat some of the beans."

  The two lapsed into silence as Joan began preparing the meal; gutting and cleaning the cat. They had stopped worrying about radiation or disease a long time ago. Just the need to eat and survive made those considerations unimportant now.

  As Joan worked, she thought of her former life. It made her ache down deep in her soul to think of those bright, cheerful days as a pastor's wife at the little rural church just outside of Little Rock, Arkansas. Joan had been a Sunday school teacher, choir director, and leader of the lady's mission group. Her love of life and of God was so strong there was nothing she couldn't accomplish.

  Then the Burn came and all that fell apart. She and her husband, Hank, had prayed diligently and faithfully, but God almost seemed to have turned a deaf ear to them and they received no answers. Then, one night, Hank had lurched up out of bed and informed her that the Lord had sent him a message in a dream. They were to go to New Orleans and minister to those in need. Joan hadn't been as optimistic about her husband's new-found calling, but she was his wife and had been raised to follow her husband, no matter how foolish his intentions might seem.

  The Big Easy had been a cesspool of evil unlike any Joan could have imagined. Joan had feared for her family, for the safety of the children, but Hank had ignored her protests, saying that the glory of God came before all else. He had begun to preach on the streets, expounding on salvation and the virtue of the Gospels, and, for a while he seemed to be reaching the people. There were those in the city who had grown weary of the drugs, the violence, the rampant sex in the streets, performed in the open without discretion and shame. They yearned to return to how life had been before the Burn, when murder, rape, and cannibalism had been taboo and unacceptable. Hank's street congregation had grown from dozens to hundreds and, for a while, it truly seemed that God had a hand in the renaissance of decency and morality.

  Then came the night that the T&D invaded one of Hank's meetings, interrupting him in mid-sermon. The gathering had scattered, for they feared these infidels above all others. Torture and Devourment… that was the religion that they preached; torture porn was their scripture and raw flesh was their sacrament. Joan and Grace had hidden from sight and watched in horror as Hank and their son, Daniel, had been stripped of their clothing… then of their flesh. Joan could still hear the horrid shrieks of her loved ones, as well as the unimaginable noise of skin being peeled, inch by inch, from moist, throbbing muscle. Then father and son had been devoured alive. Joan had clamped her hands over young Grace's ears and prayed for the deaths of her husband and son…. but it was a long time before her prayers were finally answered, longer than she could have ever imagined.

  For weeks afterward, she and Grace had lived in the dark alleyways and abandoned buildings; both near starvation, unable to fend for themselves.

  Word about them got out on the streets and she soon knew that all hope was lost. A woman and a small child alone was fair game. Soon, hunting parties of cannibals and sex fiends were scouring the city, searching for them. Joan had hooked up with Mike by accident and necessity. Having nothing more to trade for his protection but her own body, she had given herself to him. They had been together for three years now. There was no love involved in their relationship, if you could call it that. To him Joan was nothing but a lay when he got the urge. In exchange, she and Grace ate and lived… something that wouldn't have happened if they had remained on the streets much longer.

  Joan drove the depressing thoughts from her mind as she continued preparing the meal. She skewered the cat on a long iron rod and roasted it over the fire, then opened the beans with a rusty can opener.

  "Mama… sing to me," said Grace, sitting on the floor, hugging her knees tightly to her chest. "Sing ’Jesus Loves Me’… like you used to do."

  "Baby… you know how mad it makes Mike when I sing. Let's not get him riled up tonight. Okay?'

  "Will you sing to me later? When we're alone?"

  "Yes," said Joan feeling incredibly sad and tired. "I promise, sweetheart."

  Grace sat there, silent for a while. Finally, she asked the question. "When will we go next?"

  Joan thought about it. "I only have two pills left." To achieve the proper effect, she usually took one and gave Grace a half. "Maybe tomorrow. Where would you like to go next?"

  Grace thought about it. "How about the fair? With rides and games and cotton candy and gooey caramel apples?"

  "That sounds like fun," agreed Joan. "Okay, the fair it is." She forced a bright smile for her little girl. "We'll go to the fair and have a wonderful –"

  Abruptly, a sharp pain shot through Joan's abdomen, doubling her over.

  "Mama? What's wrong?"

  Joan closed her eyes and breathed in deeply before she could answer. "I – I just got a pain… in my stomach. It's nothing, baby."

  From the doubt in the child's eyes, Joan suspected that Grace knew that she was lying. The pains had been getting worse, especially over the past few days. She had tried to conceal the growing swell of her belly from her daughter, wearing a floppy LSU sweat shirt to cover it. But she was certain that Grace was aware that something was wrong.

  Joan focused on her work and tried to drive it from her mind. And she tried not to think about the pills, either. Only two left, which meant that she would have to go out and find him. But it was necessary… for both her sake and Grace's.

  Although she was ashamed to admit it, the Paradise Pill was the only key to Heaven that Joan truly had faith in these days.

  The county fair was a flurry of wonderful sights and sounds.

  Colorful lights decorated the rides, glowing in neon brilliance of red, blue, orange, and green against the night sky. The music of a calliope played, while the barkers on the midway touted the challenges of their games, and the laughter and thrilled screams of those around them lifted their spirits. Their bellies grumbled hungrily as the delicious scents of popcorn, hot dogs, and funnel cakes filled the air.

  Joan clutched Grace's hand tightly and smiled down at her. "Are you ready to have some fun?"

  "You better believe it!' said the girl with a big grin.

  Together, they headed into the swirling commotion, skipping and laughing, the sawdust beneath their feet making them feel as though they were walking on clouds.

  Joan and Grace rode a half dozen rides in a row; the carrousel, the Tilt-a-Twirl, the Scrambler, the Haunted House, the swinging pirate boat, and that giant slide that you ride down with a tow sack beneath you. Afterward, they ended up on the midway. They threw darts, tossed rings, and shot water into a clown's mouth until its balloon head exploded and Grace won a huge brown teddy bear nearly as big as she was.

  Later, they sat at a picnic table eating corndogs with mustard and deep-fried Twinkies. "Are you having a good time, baby?" asked Joan.

  "The best!" the little girl told her. "I just wish that… well, they could be here. Danny loved the Scrambler so much."

  Suddenly the colorful lights seemed to lose some of their brilliance and the music and sounds of the fair grew softer, more distant. Joan squeezed her hand. "Remember, Grace. We can't talk about them… can't even think about them… or the pill doesn't work. It's a chance to forget… if only for a little while."

  Grace nodded. "Yes, ma'am." As she drove the thoughts of lost loved ones away and her smile brightened, the fair cranked back up full force. "Hey, you wanna ride the Ferris wheel?"

  Joan matched her smile with one of her own. "Why not! Come on!"

  Soon, they were secured into a bucket seat – Joan, the teddy bear, and little Grace – and were riding the big wheel upward into the night sky. The fair below them was like an ocean of light. They laughed as they made several spins, dipping earthward, then shooting up toward the heavens once again.

>   It was during their fifth pass, that something went wrong. They were at the very top, when the Ferris wheel came to a grinding halt. Their seat rocked to and fro, and for a scary moment, Joan thought they would flip out of their restraints completely.

  "Mama?" asked Grace. Her voice was frightened. "What's happening?"

  "I don't know, baby." The lights below them grew dark and the sounds faded into silence. A drop of rain hit Joan's forehead, then another. "I think it's ending."

  "But it's too soon!" cried the girl. "There was so much more to do!"

  As the rain began to fall at a steady pace and the night grew ever darker, Grace looked over to find that Joan was gone. Someone held her hand, but it did not possess the comfort and security of her mother's grasp. A furry, hand-sewn paw sprouted claws. They anchored deeply into her young flesh, drawing blood. She was horrified to find that it was the teddy bear – three times bigger than before – who clutched at her, refusing to let go.

  "Look at us, Gracie," said the bear in Bristol's gruff voice. The head of the plush animal burst open in an explosion of cotton and blood, giving birth to the man's leering face; sweaty and tattooed. His eyes burned with that hungry expression she feared so badly. "Way up here… all alone. Where no one can see what we do… and no one can hear you scream."

  Joan awoke to find Grace's fingernails bearing painfully into her hand. The child's palm was clammy to the touch. She shook the grogginess from her mind and, in the gloom of the closet, saw that her daughter's eyes had rolled back into her head. Only the whites showed, jittering wildly in some accelerated form of REM.

  "Oh God, no!" She pried her daughter's fingers loose and knelt over her.

  "Grace… darling, listen to me. Come out of it. Please… you're almost there."

  The seven-year-old bit down hard on her lip. Blood spurted, splashing across Joan's right cheek. A pitiful sound emitted from Grace's throat; a mixture of horror, agony, and defeat.

  Please, Lord, the woman prayed, for the first time in a long time. Bring her back to me. Don't take her yet!

  Then Grace was past the portal between nightmare and reality. She sat upright with a loud gasp. Her eyes returned to their proper position, pupils fixed and tears welling above her lower lashes. "Oh, Mama!" she cried.

  "I'm here, baby," Joan cooed softly. She embraced her child and felt her shudder violently. "You're back. Back here with me."

  Grace sobbed into her mother's shoulder. "It… it began to rain… and you were gone… and he was there… on the Ferris wheel with me!"

  Joan didn't have to ask who he was. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to, sweetie..."

  "He… he hurt me, Mama! He put his…"

  Her mother pressed her closely; partly to comfort her, partly to smother the terrible words she might utter. "Shhhh! Quiet now. It wasn't real, baby. It didn't happen."

  "But it could," moaned the girl. Her crying slowly lost its momentum.

  Limply, she lay in her mother's arms.

  Yes, Joan was well aware of that frightening fact. But that was not what disturbed her most at the moment. Something had gone horribly wrong with tonight's trip. The pills weren't working the way they should; weren't lasting as long as they once had. She had suspected that when their trip to Grandma's farm had been cut short. Usually a normal dose lasted six hours, but lately they were waking up in half that time. And now, from the looks of it, Grace's blissful dream had changed into a nightmare… and without the mental connection between mother and daughter that the drug once promised.

  She glanced at a wind-up alarm clock that sat on top of the water heater. The glow-in-the-dark hands showed the time as one-thirty in the morning. Slowly, Joan pulled her little girl to her and covered them both with an old army blanket. They had four or five more hours to sleep before Mike and Bristol would come demanding their breakfast.

  Joan lay in the darkness and listened to her daughter's breathing. It finally slowed and grew steady as slumber took her. Just sleep, angel, she thought, stroking Grace's sweat-dampened hair. But don't dream. You've suffered enough for one night.

  A few minutes later, Joan joined her in sleep. But it was a fitful one, totally devoid of the serenity that normally followed a Paradise trip. Once or twice the sharp pain in her abdomen woke her – a nagging reminder of the one she would seek tomorrow – but, somehow, she ignored the discomfort and managed to drift away again.

  The following afternoon, she set off into the ruins of the French Quarter, in search of Stivers.

  She left Grace locked in the kitchen closet, as she always did when it was necessary for her to venture beyond the restaurant on her own. Joan had armed herself with a butcher knife from one of the utensil drawers, donned thigh-high waders and one of the gray slickers, and headed out into the rain.

  Muddy water washed around her shins as he made her way along Rampart Street. She kept her face well within the oversized hood and her hands shielded within the folds of the sleeves. Over the years the aftereffects of The Burn had severely altered atmospheric conditions, turning "acid rain" into precisely that. If not protected properly, no one had a chance in such a driving downpour. In only a few minutes, the upper layers of their epidermis would melt away, exposing the raw muscle and bone underneath.

  Joan checked several abandoned buildings that Stivers used for manufacturing and selling his wares; crack, meth, Ecstasy, and, of course, Paradise. None of the places looked as if they had been occupied for days or even weeks. She finally located him in an old funeral home on the corner of Bourbon and Kerlerec.

  Wading through eighteen inches of water, she entered the structure, passing through the lobby and viewing rooms. All had been ransacked and stripped of their furnishings and fixtures. Joan heard a sputtering roar somewhere within the building and knew that she had found the right place. She made her way through the funeral home until she reached a back room that had once served as a display room. Six caskets – decorated with graffiti and gang signs – floated in the stagnant water. Their lids stood open, telling her that they had been used as makeshift beds the previous night. Beyond the coffins, a narrow staircase led to an upper floor.

  "Stivers?" she called up to the gloom at the top of the stairs.

  There was a long moment of silence, then his voice answered… a harsh, high-pitched whisper. "Who is it?"

  "Joan. Joan Porter."

  Again silence. Then "Come."… followed by a peal of snickering laughter.

  Joan shuddered and closed her eyes. She gathered her nerve, then ascended the steps.

  For years she had heard rumors of mutation; of people evolving into something less than human after being bit or attacked by radiation-infected animals. Joan had thought it to be nothing more than an urban legend – like something out of a bad science-fiction movie – until she had come across Stivers. He had made a believer out of her… in more ways than one.

  When she reached the top of the steps, she found that Stivers had covered the windows with heavy black paper, shutting away the outside light. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she studied her surroundings. The upper floor had been turned into a small lab. A dozen hotplates were connected to a gas-powered generator. Each held a ten gallon pot of boiling chemicals. The fumes made Joan light-headed. There was no telling what Stivers was concocting.

  "Where are you?" she asked, raising her voice above the noise of the generator.

  A shadow separated from the darkness of a far corner and stepped forward. The man – or thing – known as Stivers was short, lean, and slightly hunched, but that was all that was distinguishable about him. He was dressed in a long, black overcoat with a hood much like the one on Joan's raincoat.

  His face was hidden deep within the hood and only the moist gleam of his eyes could be seen. He wore black rubber gloves; partly due to his work and partly to conceal his hands. The slender fingers were abnormally long – a good seven inches – and seemed to be pointed at the ends.

  "I came for my…"

&n
bsp; "Yes," rasped Stivers. His breathing was harsh and labored. "I know what you came for."

  He walked over to four cookie jars that sat on a table and motioned to her to join him. He lifted the head off one that bore image of a grinning monkey and dipped his slender hand inside. It emerged with a plastic sandwich bag containing a number of tiny purple pills. He tossed them on the table top.

  Joan took a couple steps forward. She counted the pills through the plastic and eyed him suspiciously. "There's only ten. You usually give me fifteen."

  "It's a matter of supply and demand," Stivers told her. Inside the shadows of his hood, his face – long and malformed – twitched. "Supply is low, while demand is high. My stock is limited."

  "So make more," Joan told him anxiously.

  "The materials to make it are in short supply, too," he told the woman, watching her carefully. "I may have to stop manufacturing it entirely."

  The thought of no more Paradise made Joan's heart sink. "No, please… you can't."

  Stivers chuckled softly. "Be glad you've got your ten. Who knows… we may not even be here tomorrow. The dykes may burst and flood the entire city. Like God did in Genesis… because the world had grown so utterly wicked." His eyes sparkled within the hood. "Do you think I'm wicked, Joan?"

  "No," she lied. She considered the defective pills she and Grace had taken during the past few days. "They're not working right. Not lasting as long as before."

  "Like I said, materials are limited. I've had to cut the ingredients to make it last. Sadly, you take what you get."

  Joan stepped forward and reached for the bag of pills.

  Stivers laid his long-fingered hand over her prize. "Payment, please."

  The woman felt sick to her stomach. This was the part of the transaction that she loathed.

  "Payment, please…. or Paradise will be lost."

  Joan knew there was no need to stall. Reluctantly, she pulled off her sweat pants and panties, and, lying atop the table, offered herself to the Devil.