When we get to the gate, I unlock it as fast as I can, making sure Baby gets inside first. I shove Amber after her, pulling the gate shut.
Inside the house I scold Amber. I sign at her furiously, call her names she doesn’t understand. We don’t have words for “stupid” or “idiotic,” I’d never needed language like that with Baby. Instead I say she’s useless. Bad Amber, I claw the words at her.
I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, she tells me over and over. She clutches the designer purse to her chest.
It’s not her fault, Baby pleads. She doesn’t understand.
I look at Amber. How can she not comprehend the danger we face every day? How can she jeopardize our safety for a stupid bag? I glare at her and she begins to sob.
She’s from Before, Baby says.
I sigh. I place my hand on Amber’s shoulder. It’s okay. I force a smile. Go to sleep. We’ll try again tomorrow.
Amber sniffles and nods. She gives me a weak, half smile and creeps downstairs to her bed. I feel a stab of regret.
Baby is right. Amber is stuck with her head in the Before. She doesn’t understand that expensive clothes and shoes are not as important as staying alive. She spent all those years in a bomb shelter, dreaming of a life that is no longer possible. If she doesn’t let go of her fantasies, she’ll kill us all.
Are you angry? Baby asks.
No. I was just scared that you were hurt, I explain.
What happened?
I shake my head. Baby won’t understand. To her, things are only as good as far as they are functional, so one bag is the same as another, as long as it isn’t ripped or doesn’t have holes. She wouldn’t get that Amber wanted something because it was a famous brand.
Amber found something that people used to think was very fan.
Something we can use? she asks, probably wondering if it is as good as a dishwasher or candy bar.
No, something that reminds her of Before. She was very excited and forgot to be quiet.
Baby nods her head, pretending like she understood. She wants to believe the best of Amber, and I don’t want to shatter that illusion. I can’t just tell her, We almost died today because Amber is a shallow idiot.
What about the light? she asks. I saw it through the crack in the cabinet.
I tell her about the ship and how they captured the creature with a net. I describe the figure inside, how it wore some kind of black suit.
Why would They capture Themselves?
I don’t know. Now that I’ve had some time to think about it, it really doesn’t make sense to me either. Maybe the creatures were sent to get rid of us so the other ones could come and take over.
You don’t think that, do you?
I honestly don’t know what to think. If They are supposed to get rid of the human race They did a pretty bang-up job in the first few weeks. Why would the cavalry wait years to show up? Maybe it just took them that long to get here. Send in the troops, wait for total destruction, then call in the clean-up crew.
If the other kind comes and takes away all of Them, that will be fan. Baby smiles, imagining a world without monsters.
I nod. But even if They are eliminated, what will replace Them? I don’t want to worry Baby, though, so I suggest we eat some of the new food she gathered. She didn’t drop her bag during the commotion, and I am proud of her. At least her priorities are straight.
After we eat, I tell her the story of Rapunzel, who I decide will run away and go to college instead of being rescued by a prince. Baby falls asleep with her head full of fantasy and I hope she dreams of a better place.
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.