In the After

isn’t used to walking on pavement scattered with twigs and stones that could damage her feet. The socks will offer a little cushion without added noise.
    Is it safe? Baby asks as we open the door and head toward the gate.
    We’ll take a short trip, something easy for Amber .
    We only go a block. There is a big house on the corner that I’ve avoided exploring, since I knew the people who lived there. They had children, a little boy and a girl about Baby’s age. I hope their daughter’s clothes will fit Baby, otherwise we’ll have to take a much longer walk to the stores downtown. We have to plan ahead for that one, and Amber definitely can’t come. She isn’t ready for a silent, eight-mile hike.
    The door to the house is locked, so we walk around to the side yard. Their back door, sliding glass, is smashed to pieces. A shredded blue curtain moves with the breeze. I turn to Amber and Baby and point out the glass shards. Baby follows with Amber close behind.
    The living room smells of mildew. The open doorway has allowed the rain to damage the walls and floor, leaving black mold on the carpet that has crept halfway up the nearest wall. The paint has peeled in long strips. Even so, you can still tell that the former occupants were well-off. The living room is furnished nicely, intricate wood chairs and a plush cream couch, now on its side and spotted with dirt.
    Baby, you check the kitchen , I tell her. I’ll take Amber with me to look upstairs .
    Baby nods once, all business. I smile sadly. At that age I complained about cleaning my room and thought my parents were mean when they made me clear the table after dinner. I sometimes wonder what kind of child Baby would be if none of this had happened. Would she be that weird kid in the corner of the playground who never spoke to anyone, or would she be the daredevil on the jungle gym?
    Where Amber go? Amber asks. She is looking around uncertainly. Her eyes rest on a dark spot on the carpet. Even though the blotch is several years old, there is no mistaking the black-red stain. Someone has died there. Amber stares at the unpleasant splotch, her forehead wrinkled. I realize I should have warned her about what to expect.
    I wave my hand to get Amber’s attention. Her gaze lingers on the spot of blood for another moment, then she focuses on me, eyes glassy.
    It’s okay , I tell her. I grab her hand and lead her across the living room. We need to find the daughter’s room and grab some clothes for Baby while she searches for canned food. I don’t want to take longer than necessary.
    We find the staircase past the dining room. I test the stairs first, making sure the water damage doesn’t extend to the wood. I don’t want to fall through and hurt myself since there isn’t anything I can do if I break a bone.
    The stairs are solid, though a couple sag. Two squeak loudly. I make a mental note of which ones, so I can avoid them on the way back down. I motion for Amber to follow. Her face is pale, her lips pressed firmly together. She’s still shaken from the gore on the carpet and imagining what took place there.
    I take her hand again and lead her slowly up the staircase. The wall is lined with family photos. One is pushed sideways, a picture of the little girl taken at the lake. She wears a bright pink bathing suit, grins at the camera. I had a blue-and-white-striped suit when I was her age. “Cheese-it,” my dad used to tell me before he snapped a photo.
    I reach out to straighten the picture but suddenly change my mind. At the corner of the glass is a smudged red fingerprint. After being attacked downstairs, someone tried to escape up here, to hide. I try not to think about it. I’ve had to survive my own horrors; I don’t need to live the terrors of others. I squeeze Amber’s hand. There will be more bloodstains upstairs.
    At the top of the stairs, I scan the hall for signs of what happened there, but there is no broken furniture, no gory scene. I know better than to feel relieved. The hallway is full of doors, any of which could lead to the room in which They caught their prey.
    The door closest to the stairs is the only one open. The wood is littered with deep scratches and the door handle is missing. I glance through the doorway but can’t make out anything in the dark.
    Stay , I tell Amber.
    I walk the few feet, holding my breath, and step inside a large bathroom. A shower curtain lies across the floor, ripped to shreds. I sniff the air. It leaves a