In the After by Demitria Lunetta

contrast sharply with the whiteness of her skin. She is painfully pale, but then, so am I.
    We should give her food . Baby suggests. I nod and Baby runs to make us breakfast.
    I show the girl to the basement. It used to be my dad’s work space, but Baby and I made it our reading room. I scavenged a ton of pillows to give it an Arabian Nights feel.
    The girl sits on my beanbag chair, unsmiling but not appearing overly distressed. I cross my arms and stare her down.
    She scratches her nose and looks back at me, expecting me to speak. Her dark hair is flat against her head, dirty and oily. She is thin, but not painfully skinny, like most of the survivors I encounter.
    â€œLook, I didn’t know those guys. . . . Well, actually, I knew one of them. He’s my brother, I . . . do you even understand me?”
    I nod.
    She starts again. “My name is Amber.” She pauses, waiting for me to respond. When I don’t, she narrows her eyes. “I don’t know what all this silent treatment is about, but I don’t like it.”
    I sigh. My silence has kept me alive. I’m not about to break years of habit for a stranger. I lick my lips, my mouth painfully dry . . . besides, I’m not even sure if I can talk anymore, it’s been so long. I go to my dad’s desk and scrounge around for a notepad and pen. I write, We have to be quiet, the creatures are attracted to noise. They know that voices mean people. There is safety in silence . It would be foolish to drop our guard now, to begin speaking aloud. It could be deadly.
    I hand it to Amber and as she reads, understanding dawns on her face.
    â€œIt all makes sense now,” she whispers. Her voice carries through the room, making me nervous.
    Where have you been? I write. Whisper as quietly as you can .
    â€œMy brother, Paul, and I were shut up in a bomb shelter until a few days ago. My parents . . .” She falters. “My parents died right away, my little sister too. Paul and I had lots of food down there without them. My parents were end-of-the-world nuts, you know.”
    I nod. I had a great aunt who was like that. She always thought everyone ought to be prepared in case something crazy happened. Like an alien invasion, I suppose. Too bad Aunt Ellie died before she was vindicated.
    â€œWe ran out of food,” Amber was saying, “a few days ago. There was only supposed to be enough for a year, but with the rest of my family not making it . . .” She trails off and stares over my shoulder before snapping back. “We probably should have left way before then. We had water but the sewage system stopped working a long time ago. We couldn’t shower and had to . . . use a bucket for a toilet. Paul went first, to see what was going on. He came back last night with those psychos. They said something about creatures, but I didn’t understand. They sent me into the store to look for food. I didn’t know. . . .” She pauses, a look of realization emerges on her face. “Oh, I think I was the bait.”
    Bingo .
    â€œOh God, I can’t believe Paul left me there.” Amber begins to cry softly.
    I feel for her. I can’t imagine emerging from a safe, secure place completely unprepared for what the world has become. Amber is so helpless, so loud. There is no way she can survive on her own.
    Baby joins us with a tray and three plates piled high with breakfast. She places it on the table in front of Amber. Baby has gone all out. Baked beans, eggs from the pigeons that roost below our solar panels, and Twinkies: the breakfast of champions.
    Eat , she signs. Amber nods. Even an idiot can decipher that one. She begins to shovel beans into her mouth, the brown juice running down her chin. She wipes her face on her sleeve.
    Can she stay here? Baby asks as if Amber is a puppy. Baby’s eyes are wide and hopeful.
    I think for a moment while Amber eats. She unwraps the