In the After

Aunt Ellie died before she was vindicated.
    “We ran out of food,” Amber was saying, “a few days ago. There was only supposed to be enough for a year, but with the rest of my family not making it . . .” She trails off and stares over my shoulder before snapping back. “We probably should have left way before then. We had water but the sewage system stopped working a long time ago. We couldn’t shower and had to . . . use a bucket for a toilet. Paul went first, to see what was going on. He came back last night with those psychos. They said something about creatures, but I didn’t understand. They sent me into the store to look for food. I didn’t know. . . .” She pauses, a look of realization emerges on her face. “Oh, I think I was the bait.”
    Bingo .
    “Oh God, I can’t believe Paul left me there.” Amber begins to cry softly.
    I feel for her. I can’t imagine emerging from a safe, secure place completely unprepared for what the world has become. Amber is so helpless, so loud. There is no way she can survive on her own.
    Baby joins us with a tray and three plates piled high with breakfast. She places it on the table in front of Amber. Baby has gone all out. Baked beans, eggs from the pigeons that roost below our solar panels, and Twinkies: the breakfast of champions.
    Eat , she signs. Amber nods. Even an idiot can decipher that one. She begins to shovel beans into her mouth, the brown juice running down her chin. She wipes her face on her sleeve.
    Can she stay here? Baby asks as if Amber is a puppy. Baby’s eyes are wide and hopeful.
    I think for a moment while Amber eats. She unwraps the Twinkie and shoves the whole thing in her mouth.
    “These do last forever,” she says. Her mouth is so filled with yellow cake that she spits some out onto the floor. “Sorry,” she apologizes loudly. I hear the electric fence spark. It is day now, and They will be out in full force.
    I make the “shush” sign again, pointer finger pressed to my mouth.
    Amber nods, exaggerating the motion. She’s finished her meal and licks the plate clean. I give her my share. I’m not very hungry, still unsettled by the bizarre massacre and the arrival of Amber. Baby, on the other hand seems to have forgotten about the commotion. She eats her food slowly, more occupied with staring at Amber curiously.
    When they are done eating, Baby stands to clear the plates. Amber grabs her wrist. I move forward to stop her.
    “Thank you,” she whispers. I realize she doesn’t mean Baby any harm and I relax.
    Baby looks at her blankly. She hasn’t heard English since she was a toddler. By now she’s probably forgotten all she ever knew.
    Amber turns to me. “How do you say ‘thank you’?”
    I show her. I put my hand to my chin and gesture out and down in a small arc.
    Amber turns back to Baby and makes the same motion. Baby’s eyes shine and she smiles.
    You’re welcome , she signs, her face glowing as she retreats upstairs.
    I give Amber a pillow and a blanket. Sleep , I tell her, using another easy sign. She lies down on the couch and closes her eyes. She must have been exhausted because she falls asleep almost immediately, her breathing slow and deep.
    I walk upstairs to talk with Baby. I know she likes the idea of Amber, and I do as well. She is another person to scavenge with us, someone else to watch our backs. We can teach her our language and how to survive in the After. She needs us.
    Unfortunately I know that liking the idea of something and dealing with the reality of it are two very different things. What if Amber is more of a burden than a help? What if she never gets the hang of being quiet? What if she can’t deal, turns schizoid, and kills us in our sleep? I stop and take a breath. Amber doesn’t really seem like the murdering type.
    Baby is in the kitchen, loading the dishwasher. It is one of those energy-efficient ones my dad insisted on, which works out great because it runs super quiet. I think of Amber and realize how easy I have it. It is the end of the world and we have a dishwasher, not to mention all the other appliances I take for granted. Sometimes if it hasn’t rained in a while we have to go without washing clothes or taking showers, but never for very long.
    Even though I don’t make a noise, Baby senses me behind her and turns.
    What do you think? I ask her.
    She’s so . . . Baby thinks for a moment. She shakes her head. She’s so loud! She throws her arms up to illustrate her