Demitria Lunetta - In the After

I wait for the downpour and consider the ship. Clearly it’s theirs, but I can’t imagine one of Them flying it. Maybe there are different kinds of Them? It’s possible that the ones I’ve seen are the mindless drones, sent to rid the planet of us pesky humans. Maybe there are smarter ones, ones that can build things like that ship. Ones who have plans. Perhaps the ones I’ve seen are only the first wave, sent ahead to destroy us.

The rain starts, but only a drizzle. The newly lit morning sky is starting to darken and I let my mind wander to my other experiences with Them, one in particular that made me truly understand that there was no going back to Before.

It was before Baby, but not long before. Now, three years ago seems like a lifetime. Only a month into the After, I’d started searching houses, looking for signs of life. Most were simply empty, although some had a few bloody pieces of clothing in a bedroom or broken belongings scattered in a hallway. This is where They had gotten the occupants , I often thought.

It was well after dark, so though I was cautious, I was also confident. I used the sidewalk, instead of keeping to the shadows. I chose houses at random, tried the doors. Most were unlocked. A few were missing altogether, torn apart by Them. People left all kinds of useful things behind, food being the most important. I also liked looking through their books. As much as people loved e-books, there were always paper books around. You can tell a lot about people by the kind of books they owned.

I’d taken to pilfering to alleviate my boredom and keep sadness at bay. You could see just how far a family had gotten, how prepared they were. There were a lot of half-eaten lunches, a few packed suitcases. There were never any bodies, which I was glad for, but there were plenty of questionable stains, and a few odors that I’d rather not have walked nose-first into. At first I was afraid I’d run into Them, but you would never find Them in an empty house. They preferred to be in the open during the day, hunting, and at night . . . well, I didn’t know where they went at night. There just weren’t very many around when it was dark . . . unless you made a lot of noise.

I never pilfered houses directly around where I lived: somehow that would have been wrong. I’d known those people. They weren’t the faceless masses. They were neighbors, my parent’s friends, and with associations would have come memories, which I didn’t want. In those early days, before I’d hardened, my only chance for survival relied on maintaining tight control over my emotional life. Breakdown would have meant death, but sometimes a memory would open the gate a crack.

I found a promising house a few blocks from home, with no broken windows but an open door. I had hope that maybe the family that lived there made it out of the city before They showed up. Whoever stayed there had clearly tried to hurry, probably left at the first sign of trouble. I stepped inside, quickly helping myself to their canned goods. I searched the bedrooms for winter clothes, unsure if I would be able to use the heat in the winter. I’d been stockpiling blankets and coats.

One bedroom was painted all lavender and I assumed it belonged to a teenage girl. I went to the closet, hoping the clothes would be my size. On the floor next to the closet was a yearbook from my high school. I sat on the floor and thumbed through it. It was from the previous year, so my picture was in the freshman section. I paused over Sabrina’s photo, feeling my throat catch at the sight of her smile. I remembered being so jealous that her picture came out better than mine. One of my tears hit the page and I quickly flipped to the front section, which had scrawled notes to have a great summer and good luck in college .

Trembling, I quietly closed the yearbook and set it back on the floor. Whoever owned it would not be in college now, and they certainly did not have a great summer. I wiped the tears from my face and composed myself, my stomach aching from the unexpected glimpse of what was.

I left there with my bag of cans and walked toward my house, exhausted and ready to call it quits for the night. That’s when I saw a house with a light on in the basement. A light? Someone’s home . I stopped, stunned. Someone else had a generator or solar panels. Someone else was alive.

I crept toward the window cautiously, painfully aware that light attracted Them. I looked all around me; something was very odd. For some reason, I glanced up. Over the basement window, about eight feet up, hung a refrigerator suspended from a cable. It was a trap. I smiled. A trap for Them.

I backed away slowly, not wanting to trip over whatever mechanism would spring the trap. I searched my pack for a pen and ripped out a blank page from one of the books I’d taken.

My hands shook as I scribbled, I’m alive too. I’ll be back here at midnight tomorrow . I looked at the paper and added, Please .

Elated, I placed the note under a rock just in reach of the light from the window. Whoever rigged the trap would see it when they came to check if they were successful. I figured I could return for a couple of nights.

When I came back the next night the trap was sprung, but the note was still there. Whoever set the trap had not yet returned. I placed my note closer to the fallen refrigerator, glad that the creature underneath was almost entirely covered. Its feet stuck out awkwardly and I thought of the Wicked Witch’s sister from The Wizard of Oz . We’re sure as hell not in Kansas anymore, Toto.

I had to suppress a laugh, but then the creature’s leg twitched and I realized that its slaughter was recent. I backed away, cautious that others could be close by. I walked home, slightly disappointed but also hopeful, knowing I could return the next night.

For two days I waited, with no one in sight. I wondered if they kept track of time or owned a watch. I still wore my dad’s old-school digital. More for the memory of him than anything else. I wanted to wear my mom’s Cartier, but the ticking was too loud in the absolute quiet. Each night I began to doubt my plan. I wondered briefly what the person or people were like; what if they were avoiding me on purpose? What if they were unfriendly? The thought of being able to interact with another human being made me desperate.

On the third night, there was someone waiting, crouching in the bushes. I was used to watching for Them, so I spotted him at once.

“I can see you,” I told him in the loudest whisper I dared. “Hello? Please come out.”

He stood and looked me over. I couldn’t see him well in the dark, but he was tall and his shaggy hair framed a face I couldn’t quite make out. Backing away, he waved for me to follow. I almost couldn’t believe that there was another human alive. I wanted to yell or hoot, but I swallowed my enthusiasm and tried to calm myself. Even so, I was shaking slightly as I trailed behind him to an apartment building a few blocks away. He unlocked the entrance door and motioned me inside.

We went up several flights. Some of the stairs creaked, making me uncomfortable. It wasn’t long ago that I would never have dreamed of following a man to his apartment.

At the top floor, the man unlocked the door and went inside. I looked up and down the hall, hesitating for just a moment before going in after him. He shut and locked the door with a click . Then he flipped on a switch and I was startled by the sudden brightness. I looked to the windows but they were blacked out, keeping Them from spotting the glow. A gentle hum sounded from another room.

“You can talk. They won’t hear us,” he told me.