In the After

“Hello again, Amy.” An older, doughy man sits in a plastic chair across from me, smiling. I rest on my bed, my feet thrust under the covers. I’m uncertain about most things, my thoughts are murky, but I know I like my room. Even groggy, I feel comfy here.

“Hello . . . Dr. . . .”

“Dr. Reynolds,” he tells me helpfully.

“Yes, of course.” I know this man, I’m sure of it, but I can’t quite place him. I’m finding it hard to concentrate.

He looks in his notebook and scratches his bald head. “How are you feeling today?” he asks pleasantly. He seems nice enough. Maybe he’s a friend? But that doesn’t seem quite right. I feel bad for not remembering him.

“Good,” I tell him. “I like it here.”

“That’s great.” He scribbles something in his notebook and looks up brightly, which makes me smile. “You’re not planning any more escape attempts, are you?” he asks in a joking tone.

“No . . . . ,” I assure him, not certain what he’s talking about. I want his approval, so I add, “New Hope is fan!”

Dr. Reynolds laughs lightly. “Well, I think so too, Amy. New Hope is everything I’ve always wanted.”

“It’s safe,” I offer. I hear my mother’s voice saying it again and again. “You’re safe now, Amy.” I scowl because I know, somehow, that she was wrong. I also remember another voice, a male this time. “I’ll keep her safe,” he promised. “I’ll protect her.”

Dr. Reynolds studies me and I lose my train of thought, my face softening into a smile. “New Hope is safe,” I tell him again.

“Oh, it’s so much more than that, Amy.” He closes his notebook and sits back. “New Hope holds all my ambitions for the human race. It’s our destiny.”

I nod sleepily. A glint of a memory forming in my mind. A boy who made me promises. I let the spark flare. I need to remember him.

* * *

Someone’s at the door, Baby told me moments before I heard a knock.

I hurried to the door and looked through the peephole. A teenage boy was standing on the other side.

“Yes?” I asked through the door.

“I . . . your mother sent me,” he said loudly. “I’m supposed to show you around. The director said . . .”

I jerked open the door.

“She said . . .” He lowered his voice. “She’d meet you for lunch.” He smiled crookedly, which softened his striking features and wild blond hair, making him look kind. When I noticed a pair of glasses shoved in the pocket of his white coat, I realized he was the “psychiatrist” from our arrival.

“Oh.” I put my hand to my mouth, suddenly remembering. I’d pulled a gun on him, frightened him half to death. “Look, about yesterday, I’m sorry.”

He shrugged. “It’s okay. The director explained your situation.” He said director like it was the president or something.

“Did she?” I wondered what my mother told him, what she was telling everyone about her long-lost daughter.

“We have a lot to cover, though, so we really should get going.”

“Right. Okay,” I motioned to Baby, who turned off the television and hurried to my side. She bounced slightly on her toes, eager to explore.

“Um . . .” He stood in the doorway awkwardly.

“Oh, sorry. I’m Amy and this is Baby.” I introduced us, though we already unofficially met yesterday and I was sure he knew our names.

“I’m Rice.” He held out his hand and I shook it.

“Rice?” I asked. I signed to Baby He says his name is Rice.

Rice? Why would he be named after food? she asked, scrunching her nose.

I started laughing. The tension in me was breaking—or finally overflowing—I wasn’t sure which.

“What did she say?” Rice asked.

“She wants to know why you’re named after a food,” I explained, still giggling.

Rice smiled politely. “My name is Richard. Richard Kiernan Junior. My dad used to call me Rice and I absolutely hated it, but . . . well, he died, so I decided . . . you know.”

I nodded, understanding completely. We stood for a moment, waiting. “So, should we go?” I asked eventually.

“Yeah, sure, um, it’s just . . .” He glanced down at my feet.

“Shoes,” I said, smiling. “Right. Wait here.” I felt a little embarrassed as I ran to my mother’s closet and scanned her few pairs of shoes. Like Rice was picking me up for a first date and I picked out the wrong outfit. Not that I knew what that felt like, since my parents never let me date in the Before. In the back of the closet I found some black rain boots, not too chunky.

I pulled them on; they were a bit big but not unbearable. It was so strange to wear shoes and I tripped as I left the room.

“Are you okay?” Rice asked, putting out a hand to steady me.

“Yeah,” I said sheepishly. I wiggled my toes in the boots. Even though they had plenty of room, I felt trapped. “I’m not really used to wearing shoes.” I took a deep breath and tried to calm down.

“What about for ‘Baby’?” he asked. He said it like it wasn’t really a name. I guess it really wasn’t. To be fair, neither was Rice.

I shook my head. “I don’t have any for her. The ones my mother left looked way too big.” Just like my ugly, red jumpsuit.

“The director had to guess your sizes. . . . We can stop by clothing appropriation and get her a pair.”

“Fan,” I said, making the fanning motion with my right hand so Baby could understand.

Baby smiled. This whole place is fan, she signed. I wished I felt the same.

“Fan?” Rice asked, confused.

“You know, like fantastic,” I explained. “It’s a thing that Baby and I say.”

“Oh.” Rice laughed and led us downstairs and outside into a courtyard. People meandered around, enjoying the sunshine. Baby clung to my arm. I gave her hand a reassuring squeeze, trying not to show her how overwhelmed I felt. I wasn’t comfortable being out in the open during the day. The day belonged to Them.

“This is the Quad,” Rice told us. “We’re going to head to the north building, where the nonperishable goods are stored. You can get clothes and shoes and any other stuff you need.” He led us to a large, white building that looked like the others.

Inside, it seemed like a campus bookstore, minus the books. The shelves were full of random items, from soap and toothbrushes to backpacks and clothes. A few dozen people wandered the aisles, shopping. An older teenage girl looked from one skirt to another, deciding, while a young, pregnant woman grabbed some cloth diapers and put them in her cart.

“Usually people are assigned a time to come and pick up the essentials,” Rice explained, “but since you’re new to New Hope, you two are allowed an unscheduled visit.”

“You have to make an appointment to shop?”

“Yeah, if people didn’t keep to their appointments, a hundred people might show up at once and clearly”— he motioned around the store—“it would be too crowded. Besides, it gives the store time to restock between appointments. We have a big warehouse of nonperishable items that we’ve gathered from the surrounding . . .” He paused, looked at me. “Are you okay?”

“How many people live here?” I asked shakily.

“Three thousand five hundred and thirty-three,” he answered matter-of-factly. My jaw dropped and I made a strangled coughing noise.

“They give a daily population update on the news,” Rice explained. “Population growth and human expansion are our primary concern, for obvious reasons.”