In the After by Demitria Lunetta Page A

hard time. I try not to think about it too often because it’s too much. How was I supposed to know I’d never see them again?
    I start to read my American History book from sophomore year. I always liked history; it was like ancient gossip. I sometimes go back over old homework, try to remember what I was learning. Everything except math, that is. I could never get the hang of precalculus. The only good thing about the After is that I never have to worry about math homework.
    I doze off. I dream I’m at the zoo with my parents. I’m about Baby’s age, six or seven, except I’m not myself. I am Baby. I have a balloon and a little plastic cup with a lion on it. I love the zoo.
    Suddenly my parents are gone. Everyone is gone. I run around looking for people, but I can’t find anyone. I begin to cry.
    “Be quiet,” someone tells me, but I can’t see them so I keep on sobbing. “Shut the hell up!” comes the same voice, except this time I recognize it. It is my voice. I haven’t heard it in a very long time.
    I see why I’m supposed to be quiet. The lion is no longer on my little plastic cup. It is standing in front of me. It roars, showing off its sharp teeth. I am frozen with fear. Suddenly the ground begins to shake. I try to regain my footing, but I fall to my hands and knees. The quake continues. The earth splits apart. I open my mouth to scream but nothing comes out.
    I open my eyes. I’m in my bed and I’m me again. Only the vibration continues.
    I turn over. Baby is shaking me. I push her hands away, but then I see the look on her face. Her eyes are wide, her jaw clenched. Something has frightened her and it takes a lot to scare Baby.
    I sit up. What is it? What’s happened?
    I hear someone at the gate . Baby jumps on me. Maybe it’s Amber .
    I push her to the side, onto the bed.
    I go down the stairs and peek out the window. There is a man in army fatigues studying the gate. He picks up a stick and throws it at the fence. It sparks where it hits and then falls to the ground. He looks at the window and I duck down, hoping he hasn’t seen me. When I look again, he is gone. I have an empty feeling in the pit of my stomach.
    I run back up to my room. It’s not Amber; it’s a man , I tell her. I need you to get a bag together. You’ll need some food, a change of clothes, and your pocketknife . I know she will listen to me. Even if she’s been surly lately, she knows that this is serious.
    Baby nods, still frightened. Can I bring my books? She already understands that we might have to go.
    No , I tell her. She looks at the floor, frowning, but doesn’t bother to beg. The sight is enough to make me feel guilty. One book , I relent. She needs to have something familiar.
    Where are we going? Are we leaving now?
    No. I just want us to be ready. Just in case . I try to smile reassuringly, but Baby isn’t buying it. Go, now. Put your bag by the back door when you’re done . Baby runs off to her room.
    I start to pack my backpack. Some clothes, a water bottle. I take a can opener from the kitchen too. I grab the gun and holster from my nightstand and put it on. We have to be prepared for every possibility.

    We keep the bags ready, but after four days the man doesn’t return. Baby talks about it constantly and I’ve run out of ways to distract her.
    Is he going to hurt us? she asks, signing one-handedly. In her other hand she clutches a fork. She’s eating peaches from a can. The juice dribbles down her chin and stains her shirt.
    I won’t let that happen . I hand her a napkin. Stop making a mess . “You don’t have a maid,” is what my mom always used to tell me, even though we did have a housekeeper. When I pointed out the obvious to her, she would say, “Do you pay her wages?”
    Amy, if that man comes back, are you going to hurt him? Baby asks, eyeing the gun that I have not taken off since we spotted the outsider, except to shower.
    If I have to , I tell her. She stops eating, her fork paused