The gun was at my side in its holster. I could reach it and shoot before the thing reached me, but that would draw every one of Them within earshot.
It moved closer, searching wildly. The smell of rotten meat filled my nostrils, almost making me gag. It looked right at me but could not see me with its milky-yellow eyes. I held my breath, afraid to even blink. The creature moved frantically, its black-blue tongue licking its fangs. Its closeness made my skin crawl.
It was becoming more difficult to hold my breath. I could push the creature and try to run, but They were so fast it would catch me before I could reach the door. Its teeth were unbelievably pointy, too big for its mouth. Hot, putrid breath blew onto my face.
It edged closer and I took a small step back, sickened. I clenched my teeth, willing myself not to give in to my terror and run. My foot hit a can, hard. It rolled down the aisle, away from me. The creature rushed toward the noise, almost brushing against me as it went by. I made myself as small as possible, knowing if we touched, if the creature discovered me, it would be the end.
Luckily it knocked over more cans on its way, creating a clatter, confusing itself. I used the diversion to run toward the exit. My socks made no noise on the hard floor.
I silently jerked open the door and power-walked home, looking over my shoulder every few seconds. My heart in my throat, I was convinced the thudding in my chest would be loud enough to bring Them all running.
I finally reached my house and fumbled with my key. I panicked when I couldn’t get the gate open immediately, but taking a deep breath I managed to find the keyhole. I unlocked the gate and slammed it behind me, no longer caring how much noise I made. I was barely able to turn the interior bolt before the creatures smashed into it.
I ran for the door and once inside, a sick curiosity made me look out the window. There were three of Them at the gate, milling around, unsure in the darkness. They hadn’t known I was there until they’d heard the slamming iron. They were so fast. I would have easily been caught if it were day.
I rummaged through my pack, gorging myself on candy bars and canned ravioli. My father would have had a fit. I’d always been annoyed when we shopped at the natural food store, just wanting to eat “normal food.” It wouldn’t be long until I pined for an endless selection of fresh vegetables.
Much later, I realized that I should have dropped my pack the minute one of Them appeared. But I desperately needed the food in my bag. My shoes were gone, left at the store, but I decided soon after that shoes were dangerous. They made too much noise. I started wearing just socks, but my feet would grow calloused and rough before long, making footwear unnecessary altogether.
Looking back on that first trip, knowing what I do now, it was a miracle I survived at all.
CHAPTER SIX
I was incredibly lonely that first month, before I found Baby. I stopped keeping track of the days. Whether it was Monday or Wednesday seemed meaningless in the After.
There were whole days when all I did was read. Sometimes at night I’d listen to my TuneZ player turned down low, headphones in my ears. I listened to my dad’s playlist, full of bluegrass and oldies. I told myself that it was a good way to honor his memory, even though I could barely think of him without breaking down.
I went about my routine, venturing farther and farther away from home. There was a large supermarket only five blocks away. As far as I knew, there weren’t any other survivors, so I had my pick of overprocessed food, filled with the toxic preservatives that my father always ranted against. Now they were keeping me alive.
It was so creepy, to walk through the empty aisles, to “shop.” I avoided the produce section, quickly turning to compost. Even so, the supermarket smelled awful, but I began to get used to the stink. I’d never realized how sanitized my life had been, how clean and contained. I thought about how dirty the After would be, how the world would change without constant maintenance.
I visited the supermarket often, wanting my cabinets to be full of nonperishable food. It became routine. One night, though, I had the greatest shock since the After began. I discovered Baby in the produce section, her chubby fingers shoveling rotten, month-old grapes into her mouth, hands and face stained with purple juice. She could not have been more than three or four. Her dirty, blond hair was matted into pigtails, pink hair ties still in place. She had been injured; her skirt was stained the rusty brown of old blood.
I took a step toward her and immediately her large, brown eyes were on me. She didn’t cry out or even flinch. As quiet as I was, she’d heard me approach. After studying me for a few seconds, she padded silently in my direction, her arms outstretched. How was this tiny being still alive?
I almost left her there. I was already hardened from what I’d witnessed. Instead I picked the girl up and carried her home. I decided that if she cried on the way, I would leave her. If she squirmed, I would just drop her. If she so much as whimpered, I would have tossed her aside for Them to find. How much I had changed in just a few short weeks of living in the After.
But the girl had not made a noise. I’ve witnessed Baby cry many times since that day. Her lips tremble like any other child, her nose wrinkles, and tears run down her cheeks, all in silence. I watch her sometimes while she sleeps, guilty at what I almost did all those years ago. I don’t want to think about what my life would be if I had given in to my heartless thoughts. I don’t know what I would do without Baby, left alone with only my memories of Before.
When Baby came, it was like starting over in the After. I was no longer alone. I still wonder how she survived for so long, since she was so young. It helped that she was quiet and had good instincts. She knew not to make a sound. She didn’t whine when I cleaned her wound, pouring hydrogen peroxide to kill the germs. A chunk of flesh was missing from the fatty part of her thigh, but it seemed to have healed over enough to prevent infection. After I’d cleaned and wrapped her leg, I checked her for other wounds, but the only other abnormality was a strange diamond-shaped scar at the nape of her neck, just near her hairline.
Even though she looked in good shape, I still walked to the pharmacy and scavenged antibiotics to give her as a precaution. I figured she could take the same pills I was given for my skin infection the year before. I also scavenged some new clothes for her, and when I returned, she was waiting silently at the door.
I gave her the antibiotics, guessing at the dosage. I also gave her a bath and washed and combed her hair. After that, Baby became my shadow, following me silently around the house. Sometimes she’d stop and stare at a window or wall and I assumed she was damaged from the After, unable to focus. Once she stopped mid-step, suddenly turning and running to hide behind the couch, and a few seconds later I heard the fence spark. I realized that she knew They were outside and was frightened. She could hear them, often when I couldn’t.
I tried to comfort her, but I knew I needed some way to communicate with her. Vocalization was out of the question, voices always drew Them, and I did not want Them constantly testing the fence. It seemed easier just not to talk, and Baby was smart enough to understand this. Or maybe what she had witnessed had shocked her into silence permanently.
I dug out my dad’s book on sign language and began to teach her and myself. Through the years we’ve modified our language to fit our purpose. We sign into each other’s hands when we’re near. Now, we can have an entire silent conversation moving only our fingers, but when we started I used only a few simple words.
Calling her Baby seemed to fit; for all I knew she was the last toddler on earth. She took to the signs remarkably well, mimicking my every action. She became my constant companion. She wanted to be everywhere I was and do everything I did. If it had been Before, I would have been annoyed, but I was starved for human interaction. Baby didn’t just become my family, she became my entire world.
CHAPTER SEVEN
