In the After

There is a tall figure, clothed in black from head to toe. The figure holds a rope attached to the net that encases the creature. It pulls the still-struggling alien into the ship. The door shuts behind Them and the bright light goes out.

The sudden darkness is a shock. By the time my eyes adjust, the ship has disappeared without making a sound.

I get to my feet. We still have to go, and quickly. The light, no matter how brief, will attract more of Them like a beacon in the darkness. I run into the kitchen but Baby is not there.

Panicked, I search around the chairs and under the table. Where would she have hidden? I freeze in the middle of the room and crouch, my head in my hands. What if she didn’t have time to hide? My eyes scan the room frantically. There is no blood, no sign of a struggle. She must have escaped somehow.

A dish towel on the floor catches my attention. It is pushed out away from the sink. I rush to the cabinet and pull open the door. Baby looks up at me, relieved.

I grab her and haul her out of the cabinet, hugging her tight. My whole world would collapse if I lost her. I can’t lose her. I pick her up, even though she is much too big now to be carried.

Are you okay? I sign onto her arm.

Yes. I was scared, though. Baby smiles weakly, putting on a brave face. She can deal with a lot, but this was a close call. I hid as soon as Amber made that terrible noise.

I put Baby down, squeezing her one last time. We have to go, I tell her.

She nods knowingly.

I find Amber and we all walk slowly, careful to be silent. Even so, Amber walks way too loudly, her sock- covered feet padding on the sidewalk.

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.