In the After

and a few odors that I’d rather not have walked nose-first into. At first I was afraid I’d run into Them, but you would never find Them in an empty house. They preferred to be in the open during the day, hunting, and at night . . . well, I didn’t know where they went at night. There just weren’t very many around when it was dark . . . unless you made a lot of noise.
    I never pilfered houses directly around where I lived: somehow that would have been wrong. I’d known those people. They weren’t the faceless masses. They were neighbors, my parent’s friends, and with associations would have come memories, which I didn’t want. In those early days, before I’d hardened, my only chance for survival relied on maintaining tight control over my emotional life. Breakdown would have meant death, but sometimes a memory would open the gate a crack.
    I found a promising house a few blocks from home, with no broken windows but an open door. I had hope that maybe the family that lived there made it out of the city before They showed up. Whoever stayed there had clearly tried to hurry, probably left at the first sign of trouble. I stepped inside, quickly helping myself to their canned goods. I searched the bedrooms for winter clothes, unsure if I would be able to use the heat in the winter. I’d been stockpiling blankets and coats.
    One bedroom was painted all lavender and I assumed it belonged to a teenage girl. I went to the closet, hoping the clothes would be my size. On the floor next to the closet was a yearbook from my high school. I sat on the floor and thumbed through it. It was from the previous year, so my picture was in the freshman section. I paused over Sabrina’s photo, feeling my throat catch at the sight of her smile. I remembered being so jealous that her picture came out better than mine. One of my tears hit the page and I quickly flipped to the front section, which had scrawled notes to have a great summer and good luck in college .
    Trembling, I quietly closed the yearbook and set it back on the floor. Whoever owned it would not be in college now, and they certainly did not have a great summer. I wiped the tears from my face and composed myself, my stomach aching from the unexpected glimpse of what was.
    I left there with my bag of cans and walked toward my house, exhausted and ready to call it quits for the night. That’s when I saw a house with a light on in the basement. A light? Someone’s home . I stopped, stunned. Someone else had a generator or solar panels. Someone else was alive.
    I crept toward the window cautiously, painfully aware that light attracted Them. I looked all around me; something was very odd. For some reason, I glanced up. Over the basement window, about eight feet up, hung a refrigerator suspended from a cable. It was a trap. I smiled. A trap for Them.
    I backed away slowly, not wanting to trip over whatever mechanism would spring the trap. I searched my pack for a pen and ripped out a blank page from one of the books I’d taken.
    My hands shook as I scribbled, I’m alive too. I’ll be back here at midnight tomorrow . I looked at the paper and added, Please .
    Elated, I placed the note under a rock just in reach of the light from the window. Whoever rigged the trap would see it when they came to check if they were successful. I figured I could return for a couple of nights.
    When I came back the next night the trap was sprung, but the note was still there. Whoever set the trap had not yet returned. I placed my note closer to the fallen refrigerator, glad that the creature underneath was almost entirely covered. Its feet stuck out awkwardly and I thought of the Wicked Witch’s sister from The Wizard of Oz . We’re sure as hell not in Kansas anymore, Toto.
    I had to suppress a laugh, but then the creature’s leg twitched and I realized that its slaughter was recent. I backed away, cautious that others could be close by. I walked home, slightly disappointed but also hopeful, knowing I could return the next night.
    For two days I waited, with no one in sight. I wondered if they kept track of time or owned a watch. I still wore my dad’s old-school digital. More for the memory of him than anything else. I wanted to wear my mom’s Cartier, but the ticking was too loud in the absolute quiet. Each night I began to doubt my plan. I wondered briefly what the person or people were like; what if they were avoiding me on purpose? What if they were unfriendly? The thought