In the After

what’s important.
    Together we jog in the direction of the lake. There is a house I pilfered a few months ago that has a largish attic. It is musty and crowded with boxes, but it will be a good place to spend the day. It’s not far, maybe half a mile.
    We make it there long before dawn. I find some old blankets in a closet and spread them out on the floor. It isn’t super comfy but it will still pass as a bed for Baby.
    Eat something now , I tell her. We can’t make any noise during the day. At all .
    Baby unwraps a candy bar. Even as quiet as she is, the wrapper crinkles. We are not protected here. We have no fence to keep Them out now.
    After Baby eats, she looks at the book she packed, turning each page with care. She falls asleep clutching it close to her body and I carefully take it from her hands and place it back in her bag.
    At dawn, I watch from the attic window as the streets fill with Them. I can’t stand the sight and sit next to Baby. I try to sleep, but can’t.
    I pull the picture of my parents out of my bag, taking the photo out of the heavy frame. I feel the smoothness in my hand. I touch the happy image, leaving white fingerprints all over their faces.
    Everything I had is now gone. I am feeling so sick and numb inside. I look at the picture until it blurs, tears falling down my face.
    Once again, my world has ended.

CHAPTER TWELVE
    We stay in the attic a couple of nights, but I soon realize that we need to keep moving if Baby and I are going to remain sane. We can’t stay in one place and pretend it’s our home. It’s too much like being trapped. We have to get used to a completely different life.
    There is no fence to protect us if Baby accidentally drops her book or if one of us coughs. I long for summer to end, for the days to be shorter. But then I remember that we won’t have any heat. Maybe we can find a room to burn a fire, keep the light inside somehow. I have some time to figure it all out. As of now, we have to wait until nightfall to even use the bathroom.
    Not that there are working bathrooms to use. When I explain to Baby that she will have to go to the bathroom and not flush the toilet, she looks at me like I am insane.
    There’s no water , I explain. And even if there was, the flush would be too loud . At our house we only used the bathroom in the basement. You couldn’t hear it from outside. I realize I have to stop thinking of our house; we can’t go back there.
    We also have to get used to not bathing regularly.
    You smell , Baby tells me after a week. We are holed up in a basement near the park, waiting for day to end.
    You’re not exactly lemon fresh yourself , I inform her.
    We need to wash our clothes too . She tugs at her shirt, stained with sweat and dust.
    I agree. I feel so gross. It’s taking me a while to work things out. We can go to the lake tonight and take a swim , I suggest at last. It is creepy to be out in the open like that, but I am pretty sure They don’t like large bodies of water. We’ve gone to the lake to retrieve drinking water, but I don’t want to run into any other survivors. Not yet anyway.
    I don’t know how to swim , Baby signs.
    You don’t have to swim. We’ll go to the beach. You can just stand in the water. It will be like a big tub .
    Can we bring soap? Baby asks.
    Sure. Why not?
    But we drink that water . She shakes her head. I smile. If she knew the sign for duh , she would have made it.
    We’ll bathe far from where we get water for drinking. It’s a big lake, Baby .
    Maybe —she looks at me slyly— you can teach me to swim .
    No. It would be too much noise , I explain. Baby frowns and twirls her hair. She’s started pulling out strands lately. I tell her to stop, but she still tugs at it when she thinks I’m not looking.
    Leave your hair alone. Do you want to be bald?
    She pouts. She looks at her book for a while, then signs, I’m hungry .
    It’s not dark yet. You can’t eat . Usually before daybreak I unwrap some food for us to eat, but I didn’t have a chance to last night. We barely found the basement in time. It is the closest we’ve ever cut it to being out at first light.
    Baby pulls at her hair again. I don’t know if it is from the stress or the boredom, but she needs something more than surviving the day. I need something more too. We are stuck.

    The lake is beautiful at night, even a dark, cloudy night like tonight. It’s strange to see the city skyline illuminated only by faint moonlight. Gone are