I show the girl to the basement. It used to be my dad’s work space, but Baby and I made it our reading room. I scavenged a ton of pillows to give it an Arabian Nights feel.
The girl sits on my beanbag chair, unsmiling but not appearing overly distressed. I cross my arms and stare her down.
She scratches her nose and looks back at me, expecting me to speak. Her dark hair is flat against her head, dirty and oily. She is thin, but not painfully skinny, like most of the survivors I encounter.
“Look, I didn’t know those guys. . . . Well, actually, I knew one of them. He’s my brother, I . . . do you even understand me?”
I nod.
She starts again. “My name is Amber.” She pauses, waiting for me to respond. When I don’t, she narrows her eyes. “I don’t know what all this silent treatment is about, but I don’t like it.”
I sigh. My silence has kept me alive. I’m not about to break years of habit for a stranger. I lick my lips, my mouth painfully dry . . . besides, I’m not even sure if I can talk anymore, it’s been so long. I go to my dad’s desk and scrounge around for a notepad and pen. I write, We have to be quiet, the creatures are attracted to noise. They know that voices mean people. There is safety in silence. It would be foolish to drop our guard now, to begin speaking aloud. It could be deadly.
I hand it to Amber and as she reads, understanding dawns on her face.
“It all makes sense now,” she whispers. Her voice carries through the room, making me nervous.
Where have you been? I write. Whisper as quietly as you can.
“My brother, Paul, and I were shut up in a bomb shelter until a few days ago. My parents . . .” She falters. “My parents died right away, my little sister too. Paul and I had lots of food down there without them. My parents were end-of-the-world nuts, you know.”
I nod. I had a great aunt who was like that. She always thought everyone ought to be prepared in case something crazy happened. Like an alien invasion, I suppose. Too bad Aunt Ellie died before she was vindicated.
“We ran out of food,” Amber was saying, “a few days ago. There was only supposed to be enough for a year, but with the rest of my family not making it . . .” She trails off and stares over my shoulder before snapping back. “We probably should have left way before then. We had water but the sewage system stopped working a long time ago. We couldn’t shower and had to . . . use a bucket for a toilet. Paul went first, to see what was going on. He came back last night with those psychos. They said something about creatures, but I didn’t understand. They sent me into the store to look for food. I didn’t know. . . .” She pauses, a look of realization emerges on her face. “Oh, I think I was the bait.”
Bingo.
“Oh God, I can’t believe Paul left me there.” Amber begins to cry softly.
I feel for her. I can’t imagine emerging from a safe, secure place completely unprepared for what the world has become. Amber is so helpless, so loud. There is no way she can survive on her own.
Baby joins us with a tray and three plates piled high with breakfast. She places it on the table in front of Amber. Baby has gone all out. Baked beans, eggs from the pigeons that roost below our solar panels, and Twinkies: the breakfast of champions.
Eat, she signs. Amber nods. Even an idiot can decipher that one. She begins to shovel beans into her mouth, the brown juice running down her chin. She wipes her face on her sleeve.
Can she stay here? Baby asks as if Amber is a puppy. Baby’s eyes are wide and hopeful.
I think for a moment while Amber eats. She unwraps the Twinkie and shoves the whole thing in her mouth.
“These do last forever,” she says. Her mouth is so filled with yellow cake that she spits some out onto the floor. “Sorry,” she apologizes loudly. I hear the electric fence spark. It is day now, and They will be out in full force.
I make the “shush” sign again, pointer finger pressed to my mouth.
Amber nods, exaggerating the motion. She’s finished her meal and licks the plate clean. I give her my share. I’m not very hungry, still unsettled by the bizarre massacre and the arrival of Amber. Baby, on the other hand seems to have forgotten about the commotion. She eats her food slowly, more occupied with staring at Amber curiously.
When they are done eating, Baby stands to clear the plates. Amber grabs her wrist. I move forward to stop her.
“Thank you,” she whispers. I realize she doesn’t mean Baby any harm and I relax.
Baby looks at her blankly. She hasn’t heard English since she was a toddler. By now she’s probably forgotten all she ever knew.
Amber turns to me. “How do you say ‘thank you’?”
I show her. I put my hand to my chin and gesture out and down in a small arc.
Amber turns back to Baby and makes the same motion. Baby’s eyes shine and she smiles.
You’re welcome, she signs, her face glowing as she retreats upstairs.
I give Amber a pillow and a blanket. Sleep, I tell her, using another easy sign. She lies down on the couch and closes her eyes. She must have been exhausted because she falls asleep almost immediately, her breathing slow and deep.
I walk upstairs to talk with Baby. I know she likes the idea of Amber, and I do as well. She is another person to scavenge with us, someone else to watch our backs. We can teach her our language and how to survive in the After. She needs us.
Unfortunately I know that liking the idea of something and dealing with the reality of it are two very different things. What if Amber is more of a burden than a help? What if she never gets the hang of being quiet? What if she can’t deal, turns schizoid, and kills us in our sleep? I stop and take a breath. Amber doesn’t really seem like the murdering type.
Baby is in the kitchen, loading the dishwasher. It is one of those energy-efficient ones my dad insisted on, which works out great because it runs super quiet. I think of Amber and realize how easy I have it. It is the end of the world and we have a dishwasher, not to mention all the other appliances I take for granted. Sometimes if it hasn’t rained in a while we have to go without washing clothes or taking showers, but never for very long.
Even though I don’t make a noise, Baby senses me behind her and turns.
What do you think? I ask her.
She’s so . . . Baby thinks for a moment. She shakes her head. She’s so loud! She throws her arms up to illustrate her point.
I know. We have to show her how to be silent.
Baby grins and I notice one of her baby teeth is missing, the front one that was loose. She must have lost it during the commotion. No tooth fairy for her, though. She wouldn’t understand.
Can she stay? Baby asks.
We don’t have a choice. But we do have a choice. We can send Amber packing. Good-bye and good luck. Don’t let the electric gate hit you on the way out. She can stay, I decide.
Fan. Baby holds her hand up to her face and waves, overjoyed.
I smile at her enthusiasm, but I can’t help but think, Fan-fricken-tastic. Please, don’t make me wrong about Amber.
CHAPTER TEN
I’m unsure about Amber at first, mainly because everything about her annoys me. She is the kind of girl I would have never been friends with Before. My friends and I competed in class. We went to poetry readings and volunteered for political candidates we were too young to vote for. We ran track and thought it was the only acceptable sport. So much of who I used to be was about being good in school and having friends who were also good in school. We were, to put it simply, arrogant little know-it-alls. But I miss that.
Amber, on the other hand, is the girl who hung out with the football players. She is the one who squeaked by with a D average and was thrilled to get the occasional C. She didn’t think about college, and probably never faced the eventuality that high school would one day end. I would have made fun of her behind her back, while I secretly envied her popular, carefree life.
But we aren’t in high school, and having to deal with a self-centered dimwit can have deadly consequences. I have to make her understand.
The first thing I show Amber is the electric fence and warn her not to touch it. I am a bit dramatic with that, pointing at the fence and then clutching my hands to my neck, my tongue hanging out. I am pretty sure she gets the idea. Then I show her the small area around the lock where it is safe to touch.
In actuality, the fence won’t kill her, or anyone. The shock isn’t pleasant, and if you hang on for long enough it will take you out of commission and leave you unconscious. I tested it out once when I was twelve and my arm was numb for a couple of hours. My dad totally freaked out on my mom then, told her he didn’t want us living in a “gold-plated prison.” I thought for a little while they were going to get divorced over it, but they made up eventually, like they always did.
The fence’s real purpose was to stop people from trying to break in. It was hooked up to an alarm system that alerted the police if someone touched it. There is no one to come running now when They try to get through, but the shock seems to stop Them, move Them on their way. Unless, of course, we are standing right in front of the creatures’ beady yellow eyes; then nothing can break their focus. I don’t want to test just how much damage the fence can take, so I still need Amber to be quiet.
We set her up in the basement with the couch as her bed. I let her wear my clothes at first, but I eventually allow her to raid my mother’s closet. Amber is beside herself. My mom had good taste and bought expensive things, but I’d always thought of it as “middle-aged fashion.” Amber loves it all, especially the Dolce & Gabbana skirts and the DKNY jeans. That is another thing that shows we would not have been friends Before. I would not have been caught dead wearing designer anything. My dad always assumed it was because I shared his eco-sensibilities, that I would rather spend the money to plant a tree or save a whale. Truthfully not all my friends were as wealthy as we were and I didn’t want them to know how much money we had. I didn’t want them to think I was a snob, especially Sabrina.
It’s weird to see Amber wear my mother’s shirts or scarves, but I find it strangely comforting too. I’ve avoided going through my parents’ closet for years; mostly I stay away from their room altogether. It’s all too painful, but giving Amber free range of my mother’s things breaks that spell.