The Aftermath

by Jen Alexander

  “Just forget I even said anything.” Olivia turns to skulk away. The sound of a clearing throat stops her from leaving as the dining room doors slide open.

  “End the game, Olivia. For all of us.”

  “When it’s time.”

  “I know that Landon is still a part of your little clan.”

  And suddenly this conversation makes a little more sense. Her mother believes she’s purposely dragging out the game to stay close to Landon, to Ethan.

  Olivia’s breath picks up and she drags her hands over her face, giving me a glimpse of her palms, which have notes written on them in messy ink. “So? His parents want him to get better. They don’t think he has some ulterior motive.” But she doesn’t succeed at sounding nonchalant. Every other word her voice raises an octave.

  “His parents are known sympathizers, so I’m curious to know what they think of you—of us. Olivia, they will force him to finish accumulating the points he needs, and then he’ll be gone.”

  “Story of my life. Good night, Mother.”

  When I drop back into myself a couple of seconds later to the sound of Declan’s snoring and the bitter cold night, I almost feel sorry for Olivia. I feel sorry she’s forbidden to see the boy she loves and that she must use this violent game to be with him.

  “But you use me to do it,” I whisper aloud. Declan shifts, opening one of his eyes. Once he sees that I’m still in his sleeping bag, he rolls over to his side.

  My pity for Olivia vanishes. If I’m to escape, I don’t have time to feel pity for the girl who trapped me here in the first place.

  * * *

  Declan and I reach the pedestrian bridge that will take me back to the smelly bar on Demonbreun an hour after the sun comes up the next morning. In seven or eight hours, Olivia will be finished with school for the day and will log in to the game and take charge of me, but I linger on the bridge. She’s the precise reason why I’m not ready to go home.

  Declan waits for me at the end of the platform, watching as I sit on one of the concrete stools. There’s an impatient look on his face. I don’t think he understands how hard it is for me to return, despite his promise of eventually aiding in my escape. Maybe my journey west did take me the wrong way, and maybe I hadn’t thought about what would happen once I broke free of the game, but for a few days I’d believed I was free. I had believed I’d escaped, that I’d never have to be my gamer’s puppet ever again.

  Even if I come right out and tell Declan that, I’m still not sure he’ll understand.

  So I dry the sweat from my face, wipe my hands down the front of my damp T-shirt and I get up. I walk through the enclosure of concrete and suspension wires and metal, and I join him, once again in the cage that is Nashville.

  “It shouldn’t take us long to find him,” Declan says quietly as I lead him southwest, onto Third Avenue. “I promise—we’ll find him so I can get you out of here, Virtue.”

  Every moment I have to spend in The Aftermath as a puppet seems like far too long. An enormous lump forms in my throat, and I don’t dare look at him when I nod. “Good.”

  We pass a boy and a girl scavenging through a large garbage bin. Maybe they’re on some sort of side quest, but more than likely their health gauges are just dangerously low. The girl looks up at us, eyes our giant bags and smiles. Two of her front teeth are chipped and rotten. I can’t help but wonder what she looked like before the person playing her decided to let her forage for expired protein bars and stale water. Before she and the boy began to waste away.

  Declan taps his fingertips on the Glock in my waist holster, and the girl’s flat grin disappears. She lowers her head and starts sorting through the trash again. I want to ask why he didn’t just show her his electroshock gun, since he has no problem threatening me with it, but he touches his finger to his lips and motions for me to keep walking.

  “I told you,” he says once we’re out of earshot. Grabbing my upper arm, he pulls me away from a giant pothole in the sidewalk. “This is a sensitive assignment.”

  I roll my eyes. “And you really think a couple of Survivors who look like they’ll die any day will interfere with your job?”

  He stops walking for a moment to look back at me, tilting his head to one side. Like he’s studying me. I don’t like being scrutinized one bit. “No, the Survivors are shells. I’m more concerned about what their gamers might hear.” He gives me a grave look. “You do know that when your gamer isn’t on, you have to be careful, right?”

  I poke my tongue into my cheek. Is he serious? “Do I look stupid enough to parade around as a sentient character? I already know I’ll have to act as my gamer if I’m forced to interact with other characters.”

  “Never called you stupid, Virtue. Just want to make sure you know what you’re doing.”

  Before I can respond, he’s already walking. I steady myself, then pick up the pace until I’m several feet ahead of him. Fifteen minutes later, we stand in the lobby of the jail I once called home—the building that’s right across from the courthouse where I initially met Declan. It’s stifling in here, hotter than outside, and I shift awkwardly, cringing at how sore my body is.

  “I’m surprised it wasn’t that place.” Declan gestures over his shoulder in the direction of the courthouse. “Prisons are always tricky with their self-locking doors and barriers.”

  The look on his face is expectant—like he’s waiting for me to tell him that I remember what happened in the other building. I keep my expression perfectly still. “Then you’ll have to be careful not to lock yourself in.” I hug myself and rub my hands furiously over my upper arms. “I’ll help you sweep the place for flesh-eaters, but I doubt we’ll find anything. You’re pretty safe with everything you have in that bag. And of course, I’ll come back as soon as the coast is clear with locks and cha—”

  “This isn’t where you and your clan hole up?”

  “Well, no— At least not anymore. But we stayed here for a few months and it’s safe,” I say. “We moved to a new location a couple weeks ago.”

  The muscles in Declan’s shoulders tighten as he paces across the floor, stepping around the weeds that are growing through the cracks. “I’m not staying here,” he says, stopping behind a row of waiting chairs. He grips the back of one and leans in close. “It’s not going to happen, Virtue.”

  “Well then, where do you expect to stay? Because The Aftermath isn’t exactly bursting with luxury accommodations.”

  “With you.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I’m going to stay with you,” he says.

  “I live in a bar with three other people. And, just in case you haven’t paid attention to anything I’ve told you the past couple days, they’re not like me. Unless you tell them you’re a moderator, you’ll be just another target to them. A sitting duck,” I say through gritted teeth.

  And, besides, you’re dangerous. Far too dangerous to stay with me.

  “They’ll never even know I’m there.”

  I release a harsh laugh. “They’ll probably kill you and steal all your food and gear before you walk through the door. After you’re dead, they’ll call it an ‘unmarked side quest.’”

  “I’ll show you how to hide me.”

  “Whatever. Like I said, you’re not staying with me.”

  “And you’ll stop me with what? Your menacing height? Your unbelievable strength?”

  “Don’t. Mock. Me.”

  “You can’t stop me from following you. And you’re better off hiding me than explaining to your clan how you met a moderator sixty miles west of here.”

  Moments ago he’d told me how I’d hide him from the people living with me and now he’s threatening to expose that I’m an unsuccessful runaway. I drop my bag to the floor behind me. I move faster without it, and right now I’m thinking Declan will so
on be gripping his face again in pain. His nose is still bruised from me hitting him two days ago.

  “You won’t do it.” My voice is taunting and deliberate—so much like Olivia’s that it makes my head spin. Whether I like it or not, my gamer exudes the cruel confidence that I need to deal with Declan. I curl my fingers into my palm and smile at him. I imagine it’s the same look she’d give him.

  “Why’s that?”

  “You said you need me.”

  “I do.”

  “And that means you won’t all of the sudden decide to tell the other gamers and my own that I’m sentient. What good am I if I’m found out?” I ask.

  I’ll be deleted.

  I still don’t exactly know what all that entails, but I remember Jeremy and April’s conversation and it sends a chill through my body.

  “No good—you and I both know that. But think of it this way, if I’m with you, we can do what we need to do even faster. Don’t you want to find out why you’re here in the first place?”

  I know that he’s manipulating me, but I can’t seem to make myself walk away. Declan probably figured out the moment he stopped me at the fence that I’d do just about anything to secure my freedom.

  He’s far more dangerous than I’ve given him credit for.

  I turn my back to him and yank my bag from the floor. Stalking to the emergency exit, I call over my shoulder, “Are you coming or not?”

  “Absolutely.”

  I swear I can hear the smirk in his voice.

  * * *

  The bar is smellier than I remember. But maybe that has something to do with the unbearable heat. I find two bottles of water in one of the cabinets behind the counter and hand both to Declan. “Sorry, if I take any more than this, they might notice.” I jab my finger to the bent restroom sign dangling from the ceiling in the far corner of the bar. “The bathrooms are right over there.”

  Declan’s intense gaze follows my finger, and when he turns to me again, the corners of his mouth pull up in amusement. “Aren’t you an accommodating hostess.”

  I could argue with him. There’s nothing I want more than to snap at him. But Olivia is probably coming back soon. I feel too drained from the past several days to try and get into her head, so I have no idea if that return will be thirty minutes or eight hours from now. All I know is that I need to get Declan into a hiding place and put myself where she left me, snuggled next to Ethan in the bed upstairs, before she logs in.

  “We need to hide you before my gamer decides it’s time we hunt for flesh-eaters and protein bars. Any ideas?” I turn in a slow circle, shaking my head at the lack of hidey-holes. “I can help you into a storage closet if you want.”

  He cocks an eyebrow. Sipping his water, he walks slowly around me, taking in the bar. He runs one of his fingers across a dusty vinyl stool, and then squats down to study the broken jukebox in one corner.

  “I prefer we figure out what we’re going to do quickly,” I say.

  He sighs and rises to his feet. “Sorry, I just find history...interesting. There’s nothing like this in the U.P. Not anymore.” He continues to stare at the machine for a moment, leaving me to wonder what’s so historical about a broken jukebox.

  “Why not?” I finally blurt out.

  “Because this game represents an era from over half a century ago. The year 2036 was when the city we’re standing in was actually vacated.” He presses his palm over the jukebox’s coin slot. “We christened this new world The Aftermath. There are the cannibals—flesh-eaters. And then there are—”

  “And then there are people like myself. Survivors. We possess honor and loyalty. We scavenge for food, not flesh. We’re willing to die or kill for the safety of our friends. And we choose our clans with care because they must be prepared to do the same for us—one must be so careful these days,” I whisper in sync with Declan. When I close my eyes, I can almost hear a woman’s voice saying those words with us in one of those dramatic, woe-is-me voices.

  “Impressive and slightly creepy. You know the promotional log line for The Aftermath.” Declan lifts his shoulders. “If you ask me, LanCorp could have done much better. The setting is perfect, though. Authentic. Spooky.”

  “So this was once an actual place?”

  “Before this state was condemned in 2036 after the war, yes. But like I said, that was sixty-three years ago. It’s 2099, Virtue.” He scoops his other bottle of water from the top of the bar and gestures to the door leading to the basement. “Come on—let’s set up my luxury accommodations.”

  We go down the narrow staircase. As he picks the lock, I ask him about the game’s point system. To my surprise, he explains without an argument. “You’ve got to get a certain number of points and finish all twelve main missions to win. Main missions are the same for every gamer and character and have to be done in order. After the first mission, though, only team leaders can accept the big quests.”

  As he tells me this, I feel my hand move to the right side of my face. Running my palm over the top of my ear, I tremble as I touch the flesh that was mutilated three years back. Hearing that I was hurt in a mission that hundreds of other characters must go through makes me furious. How many of those people were injured, killed? All for the sake of a game? “What about the side quests?” I hear myself ask in a tight, high-pitched voice.

  “Way less points. And each moment in the game determines side quests. If the clan down the street is captured, then the system offers you and every other clan a mission to save them. Or LanCorp makes a modification to a main mission and you get a chance to find a character that’ll give you a tip on it. Side quests are optional, but each gamer is required to do at least one a week. You get the most points for the ones where you help Survivors—‘playing a saint’ is what they call it in The Aftermath’s gaming community. Robbing and taking out flesh-eaters gets you points, too, but usually not very many because most of those quests are unmarked.”

  Before I have a chance to ask my next question, he adds, “They’re not listed on the mission menu, but if a gamer stumbles on one, he gets points. Like I said, they’re not worth very much. The only good thing about them is they’re like side quests—gamers don’t have to complete them with their clan if they don’t want to.”

  I shift and the back of my wrist skims his arm. I pretend I don’t notice the way his muscles tighten. “So what do you have to do to lose points?” I ask softly.

  “Isn’t it obvious? Break the rules, just like with any other game. You screw over Survivors or your clan or yourself and, best-case scenario, you lose points.” He leans in closer to the padlock and growls something under his breath. I consider pushing him aside so that I can unlock the door for him. Being in such a tight space with this boy makes me nervous.

  I link my thumbs through my belt loops and press my back against the coarse brick wall. “How so?”

  “I mean, the goal of the game is to off the bad guys and learn how to work together as a team, to learn how to be responsible and control your impulses. The game’s philosophy is that if you’re robbing or hurting Survivors, you’re not learning any of those things. Whenever you raid the good guys or refuse to accept a mission to save a member of your team who’s been captured, you lose points. And if you kill a Survivor—well, you start over from the beginning of the game, no matter where you are. You lose all your points and have to find a brand-new clan. Same thing goes if you get yourself killed. You say goodbye to your points and start over—with a new character.”

  Now Olivia’s frequent Survivor raids make sense. She wants to lose points so that she can continue to play The Aftermath with Landon. I wonder if Jeremy’s and April’s gamers realize what Olivia and Landon are up to.

  Finally, the lock opens and Declan turns the doorknob. I’m reluctant to go in first, but he nudges me inside and comes in after me, shutting the door. There�
�s only one window in here, and I immediately start breathing heavily, even though I’m probably inhaling mildew. This reminds me of the bloody room I woke up in three years ago. It feels as though it’s shrinking by the second, suffocating me.

  I draw as much oxygen as possible into my lungs, but it’s still not enough.

  “Don’t worry. I won’t keep you long,” he says. He sits his bag at the back of the small room and pulls a few things from it. Bundling them in his arms, he sweeps past me and kneels down by the door. I take a step closer as he sits the two small dome-shaped objects on either side of the entrance.

  “I’m making a second save point in this building,” he explains as he pulls out his tablet. He rapidly punches a succession of buttons until a bright green light emanates from the two things on the floor and washes over the room for a few seconds.

  My heart skips a couple of beats. Part of me is curious and the other part expects the whole building to blow to pieces if I so much as sigh.

  When the light dies down, Declan faces me. “It’s a crude version of the technology used in the save points that protect characters when gamers log off. Except I’ve reconfigured this one to be active at all times. If anybody even touches that door, they’ll be shocked, which will give me enough time to get out of here while they try to figure out what’s going on.”

  That explains what happened when I first tried to open the door on the second floor after all the gamers left—someone must have changed the save settings. I run my fingertips over my wrist, recalling how the electricity spun painfully through my body as I pushed myself out the doorway. I don’t tell him how impressed I am that he’s managed to make his own safe room.

  “What happens if they decide to come in anyway?”

  “The current is twice as strong as a normal save point. Besides, only an idiot would keep picking himself up off the floor just so he can be shocked all over again.”