In the After

silent and like to hang out in trees. Birds do well, too. Dogs and larger animals, not so much.
    And this one? Baby asks.
    Too old , I tell her. I’m not up to explaining the entire plot of The Merchant of Venice . Greed, revenge, and racism are topics for another day.
    Baby tugs on my sleeve, points to a new book. I scan the cover. This one is about a monster , I say without thinking, pausing at Baby’s horrified expression. Monster was the word I’d assigned to Them.
    Not a monster , I correct myself. I meant a thing . . . . How could I explain Frankenstein to someone who has seen real monsters?
    It’s a story from Before . I take the book from her and place it high up on the shelf. Now, this is a good one . I hand her a picture book that I loved when I was growing up, one I asked to be read to me every night for a year. The Little Mermaid . I let her look at the pictures and tell me how the story goes. Her version is a lot happier than the Hans Christian Andersen one and much less gory. My father was pleased how much I appreciated the tale; he said it taught children consequences and that not all endings are happy.
    Baby, though, ends with They all lived happily ever after , just like I taught her.
    I hope , she tells me, that we can live happily ever after .
    I hug her, trying not to cry. You and me both , I think, kissing the top of her head.

    I like this one , Baby signs into my hand. She holds up a candy bar, its wrapper dusty and crinkled.
    Is it sealed? I ask. At this point everything in the grocery store is expired, but things last a lot longer than companies let on. It’s all those preservatives. I taught Baby to check for rancid chips and candy and to only gather cans that have no dents and aren’t all bulgy. We have stomach medicine at home, but I don’t want to trust treating botulism with three-year-old pink bismuth.
    Yes, it’s sealed . Baby smiles up at me. Also, I found this . She holds up a box of macaroni and cheese. She manages to move the box without all the noodles crashing together like a maraca.
    Fan , I tell her. Good job . I taught Baby “fan” as very good. I made up the sign: hand just below your face, gesture like you’re fanning yourself on a hot summer day. I like keeping the word my friends and I always used. It’s like having a bit of Sabrina with me at times. It hurts, but in a strange way it makes me stronger.
    Baby beams. She loves being helpful. As she grew older, I let her come with me more often. We’d soon pilfered everything in the corner store near my house and had to walk farther and farther for supplies. She can carry a surprising amount for a child, and I never have to worry about her making noise. She is excellent at staying quiet. She also has exceptional hearing, sometimes alerting me to Them before I’m even aware They are near.
    What’s this? she asks me, holding up a plastic cell phone filled with candy.
    Candy , I tell her.
    No, the outside . Baby wants to know about everything. It’s annoying sometimes, but I’m secretly glad she isn’t traumatized by our lifestyle. I would have thought a little kid like that would shut down completely when faced with Them.
    It’s something from Before , I explain. People used it to talk .
    Like books?
    I shake my head. No, with their mouths .
    Baby smirks slightly and raises her eyebrows. She thinks I’m joking. It’s been so long since she’s heard anyone speak, she doesn’t remember what it’s like.
    I try to explain. Before They came, everyone didn’t use their hands to talk. They used their mouths . Well, except for deaf people, but I don’t want to confuse her.
    Baby’s face scrunches in disbelief and confusion. Then it turns suddenly to stone. Noise , she signs.
    Baby and I immediately grab our bags and back quietly away into the aisle. We hear footsteps. We look at each other. Footsteps mean shoes. The creatures don’t wear shoes.
    I’ll look , Baby signs into my hand. I nod once. She soundlessly drops her bag and doubles around to the side of the store. I don’t like sending her off, but she is excellent at spying.
    I listen to the footsteps. They’re coming from the front of the store near the registers. They are not slow and they are not cautious. Anyone who went around making a racket like that shouldn’t have survived this long.
    Baby touches my elbow. She’s returned silently. A woman. Alone .
    I think for a moment. Grab your bag .
    Are we going to meet her? Baby asks, wide