In the After by Demitria Lunetta Page A

Twinkie and shoves the whole thing in her mouth.
    â€œThese do last forever,” she says. Her mouth is so filled with yellow cake that she spits some out onto the floor. “Sorry,” she apologizes loudly. I hear the electric fence spark. It is day now, and They will be out in full force.
    I make the “shush” sign again, pointer finger pressed to my mouth.
    Amber nods, exaggerating the motion. She’s finished her meal and licks the plate clean. I give her my share. I’m not very hungry, still unsettled by the bizarre massacre and the arrival of Amber. Baby, on the other hand seems to have forgotten about the commotion. She eats her food slowly, more occupied with staring at Amber curiously.
    When they are done eating, Baby stands to clear the plates. Amber grabs her wrist. I move forward to stop her.
    â€œThank you,” she whispers. I realize she doesn’t mean Baby any harm and I relax.
    Baby looks at her blankly. She hasn’t heard English since she was a toddler. By now she’s probably forgotten all she ever knew.
    Amber turns to me. “How do you say ‘thank you’?”
    I show her. I put my hand to my chin and gesture out and down in a small arc.
    Amber turns back to Baby and makes the same motion. Baby’s eyes shine and she smiles.
    You’re welcome , she signs, her face glowing as she retreats upstairs.
    I give Amber a pillow and a blanket. Sleep , I tell her, using another easy sign. She lies down on the couch and closes her eyes. She must have been exhausted because she falls asleep almost immediately, her breathing slow and deep.
    I walk upstairs to talk with Baby. I know she likes the idea of Amber, and I do as well. She is another person to scavenge with us, someone else to watch our backs. We can teach her our language and how to survive in the After. She needs us.
    Unfortunately I know that liking the idea of something and dealing with the reality of it are two very different things. What if Amber is more of a burden than a help? What if she never gets the hang of being quiet? What if she can’t deal, turns schizoid, and kills us in our sleep? I stop and take a breath. Amber doesn’t really seem like the murdering type.
    Baby is in the kitchen, loading the dishwasher. It is one of those energy-efficient ones my dad insisted on, which works out great because it runs super quiet. I think of Amber and realize how easy I have it. It is the end of the world and we have a dishwasher, not to mention all the other appliances I take for granted. Sometimes if it hasn’t rained in a while we have to go without washing clothes or taking showers, but never for very long.
    Even though I don’t make a noise, Baby senses me behind her and turns.
    What do you think? I ask her.
    She’s so . . . Baby thinks for a moment. She shakes her head. She’s so loud! She throws her arms up to illustrate her point.
    I know. We have to show her how to be silent .
    Baby grins and I notice one of her baby teeth is missing, the front one that was loose. She must have lost it during the commotion. No tooth fairy for her, though. She wouldn’t understand.
    Can she stay? Baby asks.
    We don’t have a choice . But we do have a choice. We can send Amber packing. Good-bye and good luck. Don’t let the electric gate hit you on the way out. She can stay , I decide.
    Fan . Baby holds her hand up to her face and waves, overjoyed.
    I smile at her enthusiasm, but I can’t help but think, Fan-fricken-tastic. Please, don’t make me wrong about Amber .

CHAPTER TEN
    I’m unsure about Amber at first, mainly because everything about her annoys me. She is the kind of girl I would have never been friends with Before. My friends and I competed in class. We went to poetry readings and volunteered for political candidates we were too young to vote for. We ran track and thought it was the only acceptable sport. So much of who I used to be was about being