“All right,” he said, though clearly it was anything but. “Should we meet up tomorrow at our spot? Midnight?” he asked. A shiver ran down my spine. His use of “our spot” freaked me out.
“Sure, sounds good,” I agreed, just wanting to leave. I reached for the door and struggled with the handle. Jake stood over me, making the muscles in my neck and jaw tense. He reached past me and undid the lock.
“Thanks,” I mumbled, and hurried down the stairs, out the door, and into the night.
My hands shook slightly and I felt queasy. I had such high hopes for our meeting. I thought he’d be younger, less creepy. I wanted us to click and become friends. But up there, in his apartment, all I wanted was to escape. I guess it takes a certain kind of person to survive an alien invasion; I was just lucky my parents were a little wacky. I had no guarantees with strangers.
A noise behind me snapped me out of my thoughts and I stood still. I quickly stepped into the bushes and hid. I expected one of Them to shuffle by, as they often did at night, unaware of things that were not directly in front of Them. Instead there was nothing.
It took me a few moments to realize it wasn’t one of Them. It was Jake. He’d followed me. He wanted to know where I lived. He wanted to see my setup and decide if it was better than his. My heart thudded in my chest. And what if he did think mine was better? My house was secure. It had running water and electricity. What would he do when he saw all that? My mind was racing. He would try to take it.
I waited in the bushes for him to make a move. His progression was not loud, but I’d learned to listen for even the slightest sound. As he made his way closer, I froze, uncertain of what I should do: run or stay hidden. I didn’t have long to decide.
Too late, I chose to bolt. I was still in the bushes when a hand grabbed my arm tightly. Jake pulled me roughly from my hiding spot. He took my backpack and slung it over his shoulder, holding my arm in a death grip. He hugged me to his chest.
“If you scream,” he whispered, his hot breath in my ear, “the creatures will come and kill you.” He shoved his arm under my shirt and squeezed. The pain made me exhale loudly.
“If you like that, just wait.” He pulled my hair, yanking my head back with a jerk. Forcing his face to mine, he kissed me roughly. His teeth rammed into my lips, cutting painfully at the soft tissue. He pulled away slightly and I tasted blood, sharp and metallic against my tongue.
I reached my arm around and pulled the gun from its holster. I was grateful my clothes were baggy and Jake hadn’t noticed I was carrying it earlier. I shoved the barrel in his stomach and unhooked the safety with a click.
“Back off,” I said, careful to keep my voice low. I could hear the panic in my tone, and my hands were shaking. Jake took several steps back and stared.
“If you shoot that gun, every one of those things within four miles will be on you.” He started to come toward me again. I quickly reached in my pocket and screwed the attachment onto the end. I’d practiced at home for speed.
“Silencer,” I hissed, forcing a smug grin. I really just wanted to puke.
“You know, silencers aren’t all that quiet. . . .” he whispered, though he didn’t sound very convinced. He backed away, looking me up and down. He still held my backpack. “I’ll see you around, honey.” He winked at me before he turned and began to jog away.
Then I remembered the object in my pocket. Since that day with the creature in the store, I’d come up with a getaway plan. A way to distract Them if They had me cornered, something more complex than a can of corn. I pulled out the remote and stepped back into the bushes. I paused for only a second before hitting the button.
About half a block away, the siren sounded. I heard a few run by, not the mindless shuffle but the full gallop They developed when They thought humans were near. And then I heard Jake scream. There must have been a few closer. He would have been shocked at the noise. It would have taken him too long to realize it was coming from the bag. Even if he had tossed it in time, he could not have outrun Them. He wouldn’t have had enough time to hide.
The screams continued and I put my hands over my ears. He’d be dead in less than a minute. I just wanted the noise to stop. The alarm was still going, but I figured They would tear that apart soon enough as well. I didn’t want to do it, but I already had to worry about Them. I couldn’t live wondering if a psycho survivor was out to get me as well. I cried silently, hoping Jake was not the only other person alive on the planet. Did he lie about seeing other people? About the town of survivors?
The creatures shuffled around for a while, satisfied with their meal. Exhausted, I waited for what seemed like hours, cold and miserable until the area cleared and I could walk back to my house. The first thing I did when I got home was rig another bag from the car alarms I’d scavenged.
I didn’t know then that the awful exchange with Jake would be the last real conversation I would have for a very, very long time.
A clap of thunder brings me back to reality, away from the past. I scan again for any new ships, but the sky is empty except for dark gray clouds. The heavier rain will come soon. I’ll be able to climb down the tree and return home before long.
I try not to think about Jake and what happened that night. But I had learned a few very important things about survival. I also learned where They go at night.
While I hid in the bushes all those years ago, I watched Them shuffle back from their kill. One by one, They lay on the ground and slinked down a rain gutter. I would not have thought it possible, but they are small and bend in incredible ways. Even their bones seem flexible. That’s where They will be now, while the sky is darkening and the heavy downpour threatening to burst through the clouds. They will head underground to the sewers.
As soon as the drizzle turns into a torrent, I slide down the tree and jog home. Baby is happy to see me. She greets me with a towel and a change of clothes.
Did you see it? she signs, her quivering hands betraying her concern. The ship?
I nod.
Is it Them? she asks.
Yes.
Where did it come from?
I don’t know, I say, no longer sure that I want to find out.
CHAPTER NINE
We spot the ships weekly now, their presence becoming more common. So are our run-ins with other survivors. It used to be once a year, when the weather turned warm. Now I spot other people about once a month, usually when the moon is only a sliver in the sky, providing the most cover of darkness. They are coming to the cities from the country. They figure if anyone else is alive, this is where they’ll be. They don’t seem to understand that it is also where the creatures prefer to live and feed.
I develop a system for dealing with strangers. I never show myself to groups of people. A group is more likely to turn on me, try to steal my resources for themselves. I read a book once about mass hysteria, how people can do anything if others are doing it too. In the After, even three people can be considered a mob, and I’m not taking any chances.
I avoid lone men for obvious reasons. I sometimes make my presence known to women, depending on how scrawny they look, how much they seem to need assistance. I don’t speak to them, but I let them see me. I nod and motion toward a sewer drain, make a cutting sign across my throat. They get the picture. I also point in the direction of the lake and pretend to drink a glass of water. I always make Baby hide when there are people around. You never know who you can trust.
Poor Baby. I look at her sometimes and think about my own childhood. I used to go to the zoo and shop on weekends with my friends. Baby tags along with me to silently scavenge dead people’s homes. I had pizza and home-cooked meals. She has canned food and badly charred squirrel that we catch in rattraps. I had two loving, if a little wacky, parents. She only has me.
Most important, I had sunlight. Now we both live in a dark world. We go to the roof sometimes, during the day, but I find it eerie. The silent city, Them shuffling underneath us. At night we can at least make some noise. We discovered that They ignored the hum of the air conditioner or the heat pumping through winter, but they came running when the microwave beeped. I was confident the fence would hold, but I didn’t know for how long, so it was better not to test it. We learned to do everything as quietly as possible. We live like monks. Silent, pasty, scared monks.
What’s this one about? Baby asks, handing me a book. I glance at it: Pride and Prejudice.
It’s about two people who love each other but are too stupid to figure it out until the end of the story.
Baby looks disappointed. But, I add, the woman is very smart and the man is very handsome.
What’s that? She points at the cover: Mr. Darcy on a horse. I grab the sign language dictionary and look up the word horse to show her.
They’re from Before, I tell her. That’s what I usually say when I don’t know how to explain something, like airplanes and Christmas.
She nods and looks at the horse longingly. I smile. I guess every little girl wants a horse, even ones who don’t know what a horse is. I wonder if there are any horses left. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen a dog. There are cats around, ones feral enough to make it on their own. Cats have the right combination of animal characteristics to survive Them. They are silent and like to hang out in trees. Birds do well, too. Dogs and larger animals, not so much.
And this one? Baby asks.
Too old, I tell her. I’m not up to explaining the entire plot of The Merchant of Venice. Greed, revenge, and racism are topics for another day.
Baby tugs on my sleeve, points to a new book. I scan the cover. This one is about a monster, I say without thinking, pausing at Baby’s horrified expression. Monster was the word I’d assigned to Them.
Not a monster, I correct myself. I meant a thing. . . . How could I explain Frankenstein to someone who has seen real monsters?
It’s a story from Before. I take the book from her and place it high up on the shelf. Now, this is a good one. I hand her a picture book that I loved when I was growing up, one I asked to be read to me every night for a year. The Little Mermaid. I let her look at the pictures and tell me how the story goes. Her version is a lot happier than the Hans Christian Andersen one and much less gory. My father was pleased how much I appreciated the tale; he said it taught children consequences and that not all endings are happy.