The Aftermath by Jen Alexander

seeing anyone in The Aftermath wearing clothes that didn’t look like tattered rags, but this boy is the first person who comes to mind, in his black boots, cargo pants and black T-shirt that he fills out rather nicely.
    I’ve also never met a Survivor, or a flesh-eater for that matter, with meat on his bones.
    “Too scared to speak?” he taunts.
    “Funny.” I flash him my teeth in what I can only hope is a smile of confidence. “I’d almost think you were the one frightened of me.”
    But there are beads of sweat trickling from the tip of my nose and between my parted lips. I’m trembling so hard that I’m afraid I might vomit. Then he’ll know I’m the one who’s terrified. I’m the one who can barely stand up straight.
    He regains his composure, narrowing his eyes. The corners of his lips pull up. For a moment, he lowers his long eyelashes against his slightly sunburned cheeks and looks down at the grass, like I’ve embarrassed him. I flinch when he lifts his head and weapon at the same time. “Please, you’re as short and thin as a twelve-year-old. Now...why are you playing around at this?” He shakes his gun at the gate, drawing my attention to it.
    His weapon is small and sleek and black. No surprise there. But the barrel is flat, and four metal probes extend from it. My gaze flicks from his hand to the fence. When I shift from the heat, he shakes his head, moving near me with both hands on his piece.
    He is mere steps from where I stand. So close I can almost feel the probes sinking into the side of my neck.
    “Careful now. You know what this is?” He jiggles the gun around, stares at it almost lovingly. When I don’t acknowledge his question, he says, “Electroshock. Tech Arms Special Edition. Only a thousand were made in twenty eighty-three.”
    “Twenty eighty-three?”
    He stares at me as if he’s expecting me to continue, but when a long moment of silence passes between us, he lifts an eyebrow. “The year.”
    Coldness washes over me. The year 2083? It’s 2039. My ID card says I was born in 2023, so it has to be 2039, right?
    “And?” I ask. My voice is icy and hard. Good. Let him think he doesn’t bother me, that I’m not frightened out of my sunburned skin.
    “And I can control whether I hit you with fifty milliamps or five amps. It has a motion detector. You run, it finds you. But—” he waggles his thick eyebrows “—you run away from me and I’ll probably just crank the full five amps into your skinny ass.”
    I glare at him. “Obviously I’m not running, but if you want to do it, go right ahead.”
    He grins. Squats down with his head cocked to one side as if I am a joke. I droop back against the fence and slide my body down the hot metal until I sit on the grass. It’s rough and scratchy against the backs of my legs but much better than standing. I draw my knees up to my chest and stare at him. Part of me wants to test my luck and just run. I think that must be the sadistic portion of my subconscious still linked to Olivia.
    “So you’re going to electrocute and eat me? Or do you have some other plan? Because I’ve already had the hell shocked out of me. There’s not much else that will surprise me.”
    His mouth quirks up—there’s that sardonic expression again. “I’m not into you like that.” Gray eyes skim my body, from the worn soles of my shoes to the bruises on my knees and finally to my green eyes. He’s studying me with that confused expression again, and it makes the tiny hairs on my arms and legs stand on end.
    I hug myself tighter. “Then why not let me go?” My voice is low, shaky.
    “I will.” He shifts the electroshock gun between his hands. “As soon as you tell me what you’re doing here,” he says.
    “Strange request from someone whose name I don’t even know.”
    “Declan. Satisfied—”
    “Claudia.”
    “You’re sneakier than I gave you credit for.” He sneers. “Do we really have time for this? Just...confirm who you are