The Aftermath

by Jen Alexander

  His gray eyes harden. Standing there red-faced and strained, Declan seems to grow a few more inches. I refuse to let him get to me. Inside, I’m trembling and my head screams for me to back down, but I stare directly into his eyes, thrust my shoulders back and cross my arms over my chest.

  “Trust me, I care about a lot more than just getting my job done.” He twists me back around and nudges me forward. I stumble but quickly catch myself. “You, Claudia Virtue, are no good to me if you can’t hold your own, if you have no idea what you’re doing and I end up guarding your ass at every corner.”

  “You guarding my ass? How’s your stomach feel?” I look back just in time to witness him cringe and drop his gaze to where I’d kicked him in the gut more than an hour ago.

  “Maybe I stand corrected.” Smirking, he jerks his head forward. “Let’s go.”

  This time I walk beside him. The quietness is back, although I don’t feel as though he’ll shoot me now. Every few moments, he casts a sideways glance at me. And it makes me uncomfortable.

  “Your reason for needing my help is kind of...ridiculous.” I rub the back of my hand across my cheeks and forehead. My skin is so hot to the touch I just know the painful blisters will come soon. “You work for the game. So, how’s it possible for you not to be able to find characters?”

  “You’ve been aware of yourself for what—a few days—and you’re telling me how to do my job?”

  “No, I’m telling you your job doesn’t make sense.” I’ve spent too many years with everything around me an illogical mess not to ask questions now.

  “There are literally hundreds of firewalls that prevent bringing any outside navigation devices into the game, even if it’s a moderator trying to find a character. Our bosses would rather drop us off by aircraft onto the game board with a ‘good luck’ and some food than risk a rival company getting their hands on a valuable character.”

  “But—”

  “It’s complicated,” he snaps.

  Of course it is. Which is why asking about it means even more silence from Declan.

  We take our first break after something in his bag starts beeping. Stopping in the street, he leans against the remains of a windowless seven-passenger van and pulls out his AcuTab. “Why’s it making that sound?” I ask as he moves his fingers swiftly across the flat screen.

  “I’ve got it set to monitor our food and water. It beeps—we rest. In the Provinces, though, we link them to our homes so that the central system installed in the house can just announce what it is we need.”

  Ingenious, but I don’t tell him that as I focus all my strength on dragging myself from the highway and into the woods. Declan walks ahead of me, his steps energetic. Excited. Almost as if he’s mocking my inability to keep up with his quick movements. I shake the idea from my head. Right now, thoughts like that will only make this trip worse for me.

  I’ll have plenty of time to loathe Declan while I’m helping him locate who he’s looking for and letting Olivia take control of me in the meantime.

  Gritting my teeth, I slide down beneath the shade of a willow tree, drop my head onto my lumpy backpack and curl into a tight ball. A few feet away, Declan rummages noisily through his bag. “It’s impossible to get any rest with you doing that,” I point out, opening one eye.

  He pulls out two plastic packages and tosses one to me. It lands a couple of inches from my face. “You’re welcome, Virtue.”

  I prop myself up on my elbow and pick it up. Small and rectangular, it’s slightly bigger than a protein bar and in a similar wrapper. There’s a picture of a creepy smiling boy on the front. He’s holding his thumb up in approval; below him, there’s large block writing: “CDS. Complete Nutrition in Every Pack!”

  “Is this food?” I wiggle the packet. “You’re not trying to drug me, are you?”

  Declan cocks his head to one side and gives me a funny look. “It’s a CDS. You know, Complete Daily Sustenance. They make them in the same factory as your nasty energy bars, except they taste a hundred times better and have triple the calories.” When I continue to stare at him blankly, he adds, “You really don’t know what it is?”

  I shake my head. Am I supposed to?

  He drops down beside me, brushing aside the willow leaves that fall into his face. “What all do you remember before becoming sentient?”

  Flipping the CDS packet between my hands, I shrug. I don’t remember anything other than The Aftermath, but I don’t want to tell him that. And that’s the thing about being sentient: I don’t have to do anything I don’t want to do.

  At least when Olivia’s not playing me I don’t.

  He snorts. “Okay, so you’re not going to answer me. How about this one—what all do you remember about the day you woke up?”

  I stick with silence for now. When he climbs to his knees, leans over my head and examines it with his eyes and hands, I cry out.

  “You were hit recently.” There’s something different about his voice—a note of sudden apprehension—and I know without a doubt he realizes that he’s the cause of this. The question is, will he tell me?

  “You were hit hard recently,” he continues.

  Once again, yes...because of you.

  “I don’t remember what happened that day,” I lie. “And I don’t remember anything about who I was before all this.”

  Sighing, Declan sags against the tree trunk, tilting his head to one side to stare at me with his piercing gray eyes. “Your memories from before you were put into the game should come back sooner or later.” There’s relief in his voice.

  Would it still be there if he knew I was already somewhat aware of myself well before that day in the courthouse? That I had no recollection of my life before The Aftermath even then? That I’m fully aware of what had happened with him?

  I smile, despite the panic building in my chest. “You sound so sure.”

  “I am. And hopefully it’ll happen before I take you to the border so you can find the people out there who love you.”

  There’s nobody on the outside for me. I’m sure of that because if there were, nothing would stop me from remembering them. No, whatever happened to me must be too traumatic to recall. I bite the tip of my tongue and listen to him explain the tiny packet I’m holding. Apparently, the CDS will keep my belly full all day and then some.

  But despite how delicious that first bite is—and it really is the best thing I’ve ever eaten—all I can think of are stale protein bars.

  * * *

  We don’t stop again until after nightfall. Declan says we’ve gone twenty miles, but I swear it’s more. Every muscle in my body feels like molten lava as I curl up with my backpack again. He pulls a cushiony sleeping sack out of his bag and rolls it onto the forest floor. Staring at him enviously, I hate that I didn’t bring my own blankets from the shelter. Tonight is an anomaly, so cold it reminds me of midwinter—not the end of summer. It’s a startling contrast from just a couple of hours ago, when the sun was so hot, the path ahead of us seemed to blur, and the asphalt burned the bottoms of my feet through my flimsy shoes.

  Declan shines a flashlight over my face and gives me a half smile. “You’re welcome to share.”

  I don’t know if he’s being sarcastic or just kind, but I don’t budge. I purse my lips together and bring my knees as close to my chest as my muscles will allow. “I’m good, thanks.”

  “You know pride is man’s number one downfall, right?”

  I roll my eyes. I don’t need a lecture from this boy. What I need is sleep—a few hours away from this world of cannibals and deceptive gamers—and away from him. Especially him.

  “Funny, I thought my downfall was having my brain screwed with on a daily basis.”

  Shaking his head, he chuckles. I stare up at the night sky and hug myself tightly, clenching my teeth to keep the
m from chattering. Declan rustles around for a few minutes and then he’s silent. I’m just about asleep when he whispers softly, “You’re lucky.”

  I open my eyes. In the darkness, I can see the outline of his body through his sleeping bag. The soft glow of his tablet screen casts a bluish glow over his face. I wonder what he’s looking at.

  “Why’s that?” I ask. “Why am I lucky?”

  “You’re sentient...you’re getting out.”

  But I don’t feel lucky. I feel beaten and bruised. Like there are so many obstacles standing in the way of me leaving this game that I may never reach the border Declan promises to escort me to.

  No, I’m not lucky at all. Because even if I do break free, I’m selfishly abandoning everyone I know. A little noise escapes from the back of my throat.

  “The game is just going to get worse in the coming months,” Declan says. “They’re introducing something new and even more dangerous than before. You’ll be out before it takes over, though.”

  What he says sends a million questions pinging through my skull. What could be more dangerous than using humans as game pawns, fighting off cannibals daily? Will he tell me what he means?

  But when I softly call out his name, he doesn’t answer. I roll over onto my side, cold and even more lost than before.

  * * *

  I dream of cold metal tombs, of electroshock guns with fiery metal probes and moderators dressed all in black chasing after me. I wake up hot and sweaty, with sunlight burning through my eyelids. As I stand, my legs tangle up in thick fabric, and I nearly fall back down. Two rough hands grip my shoulders and steady me. I peel my eyes open to find Declan grinning down at me.

  “You snore, Virtue,” he says. “And I mean, loud, obnoxious snoring that’s bad enough to—”

  I knock his hands off my shoulders and hop backward. The sun catches his face—the flesh around his nose is bruised and purplish from where I hit him yesterday, and I feel a tiny swell of pride. That is, until I realize I’m wrapped in his sleeping bag. At some point during the night he must have put it on top of me. Something large and uncomfortable forms in my throat, but I fight it down.

  “Thanks,” I whisper. I disentangle myself and roll the bag into a tight bundle. When I place it on top of his rucksack he gives me a curt nod.

  “You’re a girl. And when it started snowing, you were shivering like a freezing puppy. I don’t want you to die before we both do what we agreed on.”

  My head snaps up. “It snowed?” What was the deal with this ridiculous weather?

  “For about an hour just after one.” He begins stuffing the sleeping bag into his sack. “Don’t think it really bothered you, though. You never stopped snoring.”

  I should be worried about snow in the middle of August. Or my current situation—being with a boy who epitomizes the word enemy for me. But I can’t help smiling when I turn away to gather my belongings.

  The walk today is more grueling than yesterday’s. Every time I bring up what Declan said before falling asleep last night, he changes the subject. We talk about the sudden shift in the weather (it’s well over one hundred degrees) and how long he’s been a moderator (just over a year), but he refuses to discuss the new threat that’s on its way to the game.

  We stop to take a breather just after noon, at an abandoned convenience store off the side of the road. As we walk across the parking lot toward a row of gas pumps—some of which have been ripped from the concrete—he clears his throat. I glance over to see him holding my gun, and my mouth falls open as he holds the handle out to me.

  “Are we having a duel, Declan?” I ask, and he rolls his gray eyes.

  “You wish, Virtue, but no. I just want to make sure we don’t have any unwanted guests that are going to sneak up on us. You’re going to check out here while I look inside.” Touching the faded credit card swipe of one of the few upright fuel dispensers, he leans in close to me. “We’ll meet right here in five minutes, okay?”

  The corner of my lip jerks up. “If I don’t show up, then assume the worst, okay?” I start toward the back of the building only to stop and turn around when he says my name.

  “Don’t run away,” he warns. “I’ll be pissed and you’ll be wasting both our time if I have to find you.”

  Creep.

  But because I really have no choice but to stick with Declan at this point—after all, he knows the way out of The Aftermath—I don’t venture away from the convenience store. It doesn’t take me long to determine there’s nobody lurking about who will massacre us. I’m just about to ignore his order to meet him at the fuel pump and go inside to join him when something familiar catches my eye.

  Sagging against a graffitied sign advertising a soft drink is a bright blue backpack. My chest contracts as I force my feet toward it. I bend down, placing the Glock on the ground, and pick the satchel up, dangling it from the tips of my fingers. There’s something in it. Even before I drag the zipper back, I know that I’ll find protein bars and bottles of water.

  So I don’t finish unzipping the bag. I simply stare at the blood.

  Tiny splotches cover the bottom of the blue bag. Even more—so much more—stains the ground a few inches from where I kneel. How far did those two boys make it before they were attacked?

  Are they still alive?

  “You okay, Virtue?”

  I startle, dropping the bag. Spinning around, I punch Declan in the chest and shout, “Don’t do that! Don’t scare me like that.”

  He mouths a silent curse and rubs the spot where I hit him. “Next time you hit me, I swear I’ll punch you back. And don’t think for a second that I’ll hold back just because you’re a girl!” I don’t answer, just return my gaze to the backpack. Hesitantly, he squats down next to me. “Hey, is everything okay? You look...funny.”

  “It’s fine.”

  He flicks one of the straps on the bag with his thumb. “Does this belong to you?”

  “No.”

  It belonged to two boys—kids who were only a few years younger than me—kids who are more than likely captured or even dead.

  And I hurt for them.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  That evening, after Declan falls asleep a few feet away from me, his AcuTab lying facedown on his chest, I thrust myself into Olivia’s mind. She’s in a dining room with floor-to-ceiling windows. The ceiling is vaulted and, no surprise, windowed. Even though it’s late at night where Declan and I are in the forest, the sun drenches Olivia’s dining room in soft natural light. But I guess since there’s a way to make her rooftop garden display the evening sky with a push of a few buttons, creating the illusion of daylight is possible, too.

  Dragging my attention away from our surroundings, I focus on my gamer, who is in the middle of an argument with a woman sitting at the head of a white oval dining table, her blue-green eyes trained on Olivia as she paces in front of the table.

  “I’m ready to go home. I’m sick of being stuck here if I can’t do anything,” Olivia says, her heels drumming harshly on the polished black floor, the staccato rhythm a perfect match for her angry breathing. When the older woman remains silent, Olivia leans down, digging her fingers into the back of her chair. She doesn’t seem to notice the plate full of food inches beneath her nose. “Mom, please...” The desperation in her voice reminds me of myself a day ago, when I begged Declan to let me go.

  How can Olivia be so fraught when she has so much?

  Shaking her head, her mother races her hands through her immaculate short black hair. “Olivia, we’ve been over this. We’re going home tomorrow morning. You can go back to that...game after academy. Now, sit down and eat your dinner.”

  “You don’t understand, I—”

  “A few missed days won’t kill you. If anything, it might help you wean yourself off the gaming treatment.”
She clasps her hands in front of her on the table. “And honestly, Olivia, it’s time you finished this once and for all. You’re only making things more difficult dragging it out. You must see that?”

  “My treatment isn’t finished,” Olivia mutters through gritted teeth. “What is it you don’t understand about that?”

  Her mother’s face wrinkles into a deep frown. “Your goal is to hit one hundred thousand points and finish twelve missions. At the rate you were going when you first began, you should have fulfilled the obligations of your treatment months ago. I don’t understand why you won’t just make the damn points so we can end this. Don’t you think it’s time to put this obsession away? To move on with the rest of your life so that your father and I can move on, too?”

  “Don’t you mean so that your reputations can move on?” Olivia demands. “Let me ask you this. When that day comes—when I’m done with the game—are you sure you’ll want to unleash me on society?”

  “I believe you’re purposely dragging this game on so that you can try—”

  Olivia shakes her head furiously, strands of her dark brown hair flying into her eyes. “Dad doesn’t believe that. He never has.”

  What doesn’t Olivia’s father believe? And what does her mother think she plans on trying to do?

  Her mother’s scowl morphs into a new expression that scares me. On the surface, she looks calm, but beneath the facade, I can sense there’s enough hatred to fill The Aftermath ten times. “Then you must have him fooled.” She slams her palm down on the left side of her plate and the table lights up. A platform rises up in the center of it. She shoves the plate onto it along with Olivia’s barely touched dish.

  When it lowers a moment later, taking the dirty dishes with it, a monotone male voice announces, “AcuSystem records show that Olivia is at a severe nutrient deficiency in the following—”

  “Ignore,” Olivia and her mother both shout at the same time.

  I guess Declan was telling the truth when he told me that the AcuTabs are linked to their homes. For a moment I’m dizzy with longing, ready to hold my own tablet, to hear a strange crisp voice tell me I haven’t eaten enough nutrients. To simply have the opportunity to eat enough nutrients.