World After

21

IN THE DARKENING GROVE, Obi waves over one of his guys. “Please put Ms. Young with her mother and make sure they’re safe and secure for the night.”

“You’re arresting me?” I ask. “For what?”

“It’s for your protection,” says Obi.

“Protection from what?” I ask. “The U.S. Constitution?”

Obi sighs. “We can’t have you or your family loose and causing panic. I need to maintain control.”

Obi’s man points his silencer-enhanced pistol at my chest. “Walk to the street and don’t give me any trouble.”

“She’s trying to save people’s lives,” says a trembling voice. It’s Clara, clutching her oversized coat around her as if wishing she could disappear.

Nobody pays her any attention.

I throw Obi a look that says, Are you serious? But he’s busy waving over another guy.

He points to Mom’s victim project. “Why is that horrible pile of bodies still around? I told you to take them away.”

Obi’s man tells two other guys to take the bodies down. Apparently, he doesn’t want to do it himself.

The two guys shake their heads and back away. One of them crosses himself. They turn and run toward the school, as far from the bodies as they can get.

As my guard escorts me through the carnage, I hear Sanjay telling people to stow the unclaimed bodies into a van for autopsies.

I stagger away from them. I just can’t watch. Maybe these people really are dead. I certainly hope so.

I get tossed into the back seat of a police car parked on the road. Mom is already there.

The police cruiser has a metal mesh between the front and rear seats. There are bars on the back seat windows. Beneath the rear window, there are blankets and a couple of bottles of water. My foot knocks over a half bucket with a lid, complete with packets of sanitary wipes.

It takes me a minute to understand that they’re not taking us anywhere. This is our holding cell.

Great.

At least the guard didn’t take my sword. He didn’t even pat me down for weapons, so I assume he wasn’t a cop in the World Before. Still, he probably would have taken my sword if it didn’t look like a post-apocalyptic comfort bear.

I sip on a bottle of water, drinking barely enough to quench my thirst but not so much that I’ll need to pee anytime soon.

People frantically rush, trying to finish their jobs before full dark, whether their job is dragging bodies into the autopsy van or burying loved ones. They’ve been glancing at the sky every couple of minutes, but as darkness slithers over them, people begin looking behind them nervously as if worried something will sneak up on them.

I get it. There’s something horrifying about being left alone in the dark, especially with someone you think is dead.

I try not to think about what it must be like for the victims. Paralyzed but aware, left helpless in the dark with monsters and family.

When the last unclaimed body is tossed into the van, the workers slam it shut and drive off.

Those who didn’t go in the van trot across the street to the school. Then the families, whether or not they’re done shoveling dirt on their loved ones, drop their shovels and run after the workers, obviously not wanting to be left behind.

Mom starts to make animal noises of anxiety as she watches everyone leave. When you’re paranoid, the last place you want to be is trapped in a car where you can’t run and can’t hide.

“It’s okay,” I say. “They’ll be back. They’ll let us out when they cool off. And then we’ll go find Paige.”

She yanks on the door handle, then jumps over to my side to try the other one. She bangs on the window. She rattles the screen separating the front seat from the back. Her breathing becomes a pant.

She’s spiraling into serious freak-out mode.

The last thing we need is major hysteria in a space smaller than a sofa.

As the final stragglers run past my window, I yell at them. “Put me in another car!”

They don’t even glance my way as they scramble across the street into the darkness.

And I’m left stuck in a very tight space with Mom.