In the After

of being able to interact with another human being made me desperate.
    On the third night, there was someone waiting, crouching in the bushes. I was used to watching for Them, so I spotted him at once.
    “I can see you,” I told him in the loudest whisper I dared. “Hello? Please come out.”
    He stood and looked me over. I couldn’t see him well in the dark, but he was tall and his shaggy hair framed a face I couldn’t quite make out. Backing away, he waved for me to follow. I almost couldn’t believe that there was another human alive. I wanted to yell or hoot, but I swallowed my enthusiasm and tried to calm myself. Even so, I was shaking slightly as I trailed behind him to an apartment building a few blocks away. He unlocked the entrance door and motioned me inside.
    We went up several flights. Some of the stairs creaked, making me uncomfortable. It wasn’t long ago that I would never have dreamed of following a man to his apartment.
    At the top floor, the man unlocked the door and went inside. I looked up and down the hall, hesitating for just a moment before going in after him. He shut and locked the door with a click . Then he flipped on a switch and I was startled by the sudden brightness. I looked to the windows but they were blacked out, keeping Them from spotting the glow. A gentle hum sounded from another room.
    “You can talk. They won’t hear us,” he told me.
    I looked at him clearly in the light. He wasn’t young, but he wasn’t old either, probably about my father’s age. Fortyish. I wrinkled my nose. In his enclosed condo, I could smell him for the first time. It was likely he hadn’t showered since Before. His shaggy, blond hair almost covered his eyes and an unkempt beard framed his face. I guessed he hadn’t shaved since Before either.
    “Who are you?” I asked. “I mean, what’s your name?”
    “Jake.” He held out his hand and I shook it. His hand was firm, his skin rough. It was strange to touch another person.
    “I’m Amy,” I said, my voice unsure. He still hadn’t released my hand, so I pulled it away awkwardly.
    “Sorry.” He grinned. “I’m just surprised to see another live human around. It’s a shock.”
    “How . . . You set that trap by yourself?” I asked.
    “Construction worker by day.” He grinned again. “Drummer by night. Well, I was a drummer. There’s no band anymore.”
    “There’s not anything anymore,” I said quietly.
    “Whoa, negative Nancy.” He ran his fingers through his greasy hair. “We’re still here.”
    I bit my lip, ashamed. I didn’t want to alienate my first human contact. “So, you were in a band? That’s fan.”
    “Fan?” he asked.
    “Fantastic . . . It’s what my friends and I used to say,” I explained. Sabrina and I started it as a joke, to make fun of the people at our school who insisted on talking in text-speak. Sabrina and I had whole conversations where we pretended to be bubbleheads and only used the first syllables of words. The rest of our friends got annoyed with us real fast, but subbing fan for fantastic stuck.
    “Fan.” Jake tilted his head and stared at me. “I like that.”
    “What kind of music did you play?” I asked, mostly because I didn’t know what else to say to him. I read in Cosmo once that you can put people at ease by asking them questions on topics that interest them. The problem was Jake seemed completely comfortable, I was the one who needed to chill. I had wanted to see someone for so long, but now it all felt so strange and unreal.
    “Death metal,” he told me with a grin. “We used to make a ton of noise in here.” He motioned toward the walls. “That’s why we can talk; I had the place soundproofed. The neighbors were always bitching about the noise.”
    I looked around, uncertain of what to say. Jake’s condo was nice. He had fancy furniture and paintings on the walls. One in particular caught my eye.
    I gawked. “Is that . . .?”
    “A Picasso,” Jake shrugged. “I know what you’re thinking, but it would have just sat abandoned in the Art Institute. Besides, we have to enjoy the finer things in life, otherwise what’s the point of surviving?”
    “I suppose.” I was uneasy about it but wasn’t sure why it bothered me. Why not take priceless art? . . . It was hardly stealing. There was no one else around to enjoy it.
    “What about you, Amy?” he asked. “How did you survive? You look like you’re about twelve.”
    “I’m fourteen,” I