A red pickup truck across the street is loaded with men. My jaw drops. There are ten of them at least, each with a rifle. It’s the largest group of people I have seen since Before. One of the men stands on top of the truck. He holds up a bullhorn and clicks it on with a beep.
“COME ON, YOU SLIMY GREEN BASTARDS!”
It has only been a few seconds since the siren sounded, but already They are running toward the truck. The men form a circle, facing outward, their weapons raised and aimed at the creatures’ heads. If They are merely wounded they continue to crawl forward, even when they are missing arms and legs.
Baby shakes next to me, her head buried in my arm, her eyes closed tight. I’m glad she isn’t watching. She doesn’t need to witness a massacre.
As more and more of Them arrive, the men are forced back against the truck. Please don’t die, I think. I don’t want it to end this way. They shouldn’t throw their lives away just to take a few of Them out. It isn’t worth it.
It’s not long before the situation begins to look hopeless for the men. The creatures are about to overwhelm the truck. There are too many to continue fighting, but the men keep shooting. They take out several more of Them, but others take their place.
Finally the men retreat. As quickly as they arrived, they jump into the flatbed of the red truck, still shooting. The man with the bullhorn hurries to the driver’s seat and steps on the gas. The truck is surrounded, but they plow through the mass of creatures taking at least ten of Them out. I smile. They are not on a suicide mission. They are guerrilla warriors.
The truck drives away, tires screeching. The creatures follow, running after it as fast as they can, which is sickeningly fast. The silence that follows is frightening after so much noise.
Is it over? Baby signs.
Yes, but we have to wait here until it’s clear.
Baby raises her head to look out. Talking with your mouth is scary, she says, referring to the man with the bullhorn.
It is. But it wasn’t Before. Our brief encounter with chaos makes me homesick for that other time. I try not to think about Before.
Amy. Baby touches my elbow urgently.
A pair of legs appears before our hiding space. I look up. It’s the woman from the grocery store, who I’d forgotten about during the commotion.
“Don’t leave me,” she shrieks. I’m furious and panicked—she is going to bring Them right to us.
I pull her down into the bushes and put my hand over her mouth. I hope she doesn’t struggle, but as soon as she is within the cover of our hiding place, her body goes limp. I leave my hand where it is as a reminder to be quiet.
We’re lucky. After the commotion, They don’t react very quickly to the woman’s outburst. They are too busy gnawing on the remains of the creatures that were killed. It is dark, so as long as we stay quiet, they won’t find us.
They feed for a long time, eating every bit of their dead, their sharp teeth chewing through skin, muscle, and bone. Their feeding noises sicken me, slurps with the occasional crunch. Two fight over an arm, wrestle on the ground. I hope they hurt each other but one eventually relents.
I glance at the woman. She’s more of a girl really, maybe a few years older than I am. Her face is slack, her eyes dull. I take my hand off her mouth and rest it on Baby’s trembling shoulder. I need to distract her, to distract myself.
What was that story, from the other day? I ask. The one about the mermaid.
Baby puts her hand in mine. The fish princess lived in the lake, where no monsters could reach her. Baby’s eyes are closed, her lips parted slightly.
For the moment she is at the bottom of the sea with the mermaid, not hiding in a bush watching aliens pig out on other aliens. She expands on her earlier story, explaining in detail the lives of the little mermaid’s sisters. “Sister” was the sign I’d taught Baby for what we are to each other.
I feel her fingers move against my hand, relaying her story in a language only we understand. The movement is comforting, but I remain tense and anxious as we wait for Them to leave. I have no idea what to do with the girl lying beside us.
It is almost dawn before the creatures clear out. Baby has fallen asleep, so I shake her awake. I stand and stretch, my muscles sore from sitting in the same position for too long.
What about her? Baby points to the girl, awake but unmoving. I shrug.
Leave her. My main concern is getting Baby back to the house before first light.
We can’t. Baby’s eyes plead. She’s . . . I can see Baby search for the right word . . . She’s sick.
I want to tell Baby no, that the girl can’t come with us, but I look into her eyes and I can’t. I think of the time I found her in that grocery store, when I almost left her. The guilt is too much.
I reach back into the bushes and grab the girl by the wrist.
“What . . .” she starts to speak. I put my finger over my lips and breathe out slightly. If this girl isn’t going to be quiet, I am going to leave her, no matter what Baby wants.
Luckily the girl gets the idea and follows us, her shoes thumping on the pavement. I stop her and point at her feet. She looks at me blankly. I hold out my own foot, bare and calloused.
She quickly slips off her shoes. She holds them in her arms, waiting. I motion for her to follow and we make our way back home.
“Swanky,” the girl says once we are inside. I look at her, unwilling to speak. Her dark eyes and hair contrast sharply with the whiteness of her skin. She is painfully pale, but then, so am I.
We should give her food. Baby suggests. I nod and Baby runs to make us breakfast.
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.