In the After

house, but none of the outside lines were working.” She stared through me, haunted by her memories.
    “It was clear by then that the Floraes had taken over.” The people in New Hope called the creatures “Floraes,” short for Florae-sapiens, what the remaining scientific community had named them. “There weren’t many people left out there, in the cities and rural areas. Maybe one in a million survived. We’d been in contact with the military research division at this university and decided this was the best place to relocate. That was nearly six weeks after the first Florae sighting. I . . . I ordered a search team to look for you before we left.”
    She paused and gazed at me. “When they said the electric fence was intact, but you weren’t there, I was sure that you went with your father to the farmer’s market that first day. If you were outside, you wouldn’t have had a chance.” She began to tear up at the memory and I couldn’t help but cry too. How did they miss me? What was I doing while they searched the house, gathering cans . . . pilfering books? If I’d only been home that night I could have avoided years of fear. I could have been here, with my mother. But then, where would Baby be?
    My mother continued through her tears. “Researchers in the private sector with facilities on the college campus were working on a stealth helicopter for the army. You would have been picked up in one.” I nodded, instantly understanding that this had to be the ship. “It was incredible. They were developing a silent technology just when we needed it. Hover-copters. We could go out to other secure facilities and bring survivors here. We could remake society.
    “After a while we sent out patrols, to check on the Floraes, to see how many were left, what they were doing, how they were surviving. But the patrols weren’t just finding Floraes; they were finding people, living out there in silence, just like you. We started a program to integrate them into our systems and it’s worked amazingly well . . . although, you were the first to ever pull a gun on my assistant.” My mother shook her head at me, incredulous.
    “He was going to take Baby away! I didn’t know what was going on yet,” I explained.
    “Usually we send post-aps to an orientation to clarify things and ease people in, but you were classified as hostile, so you were going straight to your psychological evaluation. You should have been handcuffed and you definitely should not have had a gun.” She was no longer amused.
    “That woman, Kay, took one of our guns away as soon as she captured—I mean rescued—us. I was fighting with her. I think she assumed we only had one.”
    “It doesn’t matter what she assumed, she knows that she should search everyone, even children,” my mother said firmly. Her tone again pulled me back to my memories of her, how she was always the stern one. She sent me to my room when I was bad as a child and it was always my dad who let me out after she went to work.
    “You know, it scared the hell out of us, that hover-copter thing and the secret agents in their black suits. We thought they were the aliens, a new kind sent after the first.
    My mother blinked at me. “You thought the Guardians were aliens?”
    “They don’t exactly look human. What are those black suits they wear?”
    “It’s a protective fabric. . . . They scared you?” she asked, concerned.
    “Yeah, I mean, if you’re looking for survivors you might want to write something on the side of the copter like ‘we’re here to rescue you, don’t try to shoot us’ or even just a symbol that everyone knows, like a peace sign or smiley face or something,” I said.
    My mother put her hand on my head and stroked my short hair. “We’ll certainly take that under consideration,” she said. “You know, I thought about you every day, Amy. I had the security team bring me a photo album from the house. Would you like to look through it?”
    “I would, but I’m exhausted.” And the memories were still too much.
    “You and Baby can sleep in Adam’s room,” my mother told me.
    “Who’s Adam?”
    My mother took a deep breath and sighed uneasily. “He’s my child, Amy . . . your brother.”
    “Oh.” It was too weird. “How old is he?”
    “Two.” She held my hand. “He’s two years old.”
    I stared at the floor, suddenly furious. “You didn’t waste any time,” I mumbled.
    My mother sighed. She took my head in her