After: Whiteout (AFTER post-apocalyptic series, Book 4) (22 page)

Jorge
emerged from the stall, careful not to bump into any of them. He walked slowly,
avoiding looking into their eyes lest he break down in a fit of madness. He
pulled open the bathroom door and went into the hall while the three Zapheads
carried on their inane conversation.

More
groups of Zapheads blocked the hallway from either direction.

How
did they know where I was?

He
wouldn’t be able to fight his way through.

But
he was going to try.

He
lowered his head and shoulders like he had seen the American football players
do and then charged as if he were trying to bust through the helmeted human
wall. Crossing the white line triggered celebrations from the crowd. In true
football, what was called “soccer” here, the goal was to avoid contact and put
the ball in the net. The American way was to injure as many people as possible
on your way to a score. Now Jorge understood what it meant to be an American—crush
anything that stood in your way.

He
plowed into the first wave of Zapheads, knocking several of them to the floor.
He flung out his elbows, driving into soft flesh. Then he swung his fist into
the face of a dark-skinned man and waded into their midst, glancing at the door
a hundred feet down the corridor. A hand grappled at his shoulder but he
shrugged it off. He was almost free of the crowd but hesitated when he
encountered a boy of maybe twelve, who looked up at Jorge with an innocent
face, the yellow coruscation in his eyes the only thing marking him as
different.

He’s
not much older than Marina and he doesn’t know what he is. But I won’t let him
keep me from her.

He
bumped into the boy and slipped from the grasp of several Zapheads surrounding
him. Although the mutants yanked at his clothes and raked at his face, none hit
or kicked him, as if they were deliberately restraining themselves from
violence.

Despite
the cool, stale air, Jorge was slick with anxious sweat. He flailed out with
his fists, striking skull and cartilage, blood erupting from the nose of a
glittery-eyed woman who didn’t even blink at the blow. The Zapheads at the far
end of the hall closed in, but they moved with no sense of urgency. As if they
knew they had already won.

Jorge
groaned in frustration against the mutant tide around him, and a chorus of
voices mimicked him. The din echoed off the metal lockers and cinder block
walls. The Zapheads almost seemed to be laughing at him, but their faces were
emotionless.

With
a giant shove and a twist of his elbows, he broke free and bolted to the door
at the end of the hall. The Zapheads came after him but were in no hurry. As if
they had forever.

They
could have killed me, but they didn’t.

He
jerked the door open and entered darkness, cool air circulating to suggest a
large, open space. His relief was only momentary, though, because around him
little bits of light twinkled like stars against the backdrop of an endless
universe.

A
galaxy of Zapheads.

CHAPTER
TWENTY

Rosa
couldn’t believe it.

When
the door opened and the silhouette of a man filled the entrance from the
hallway, she thought:
He’s almost the same size as Jorge.

But
of all the people the Zapheads had brought to the gymnasium since Rosa and
Marina had arrived, none of them had entered alone. They were all herded or
carried by Zapheads, collected from miles around until there were maybe thirty
survivors on site. With each new arrival, Rosa looked hopefully for Jorge’s
face, hiding her eagerness and subsequent despair from Marina.

But
it was Marina who recognized him first. “Daddy!” she squealed with joy,
triggering the same cry from the Zapheads in the gym.

The
girl ran across the varnished floor, her shoes squeaking, and the Zapheads even
vocalized the squeaking sounds. Rosa, who had been teaching Spanish to a
toddler of maybe a year old, tried to stand, but her adult Zaphead companion
rested a hand on her shoulder. “Stay here now.”

“
É
les mi marido
.”

The
woman didn’t seem to care that this was her husband or even understand what
that meant. The toddler named Rudolph, though, said “
Neuvo Gente
.” His
name for “New People,” a phrase the older Zapheads had yet to learn. In the
days since she had been confined here, she had almost grown comfortable,
adapting to the horrible circumstances but believing things were better for
Marina than when the Zapheads were trying to kill them.

Now,
though, with the sight of Jorge dropping to his knees as Marina leapt into his
arms, she was appalled that she’d surrendered to her new role. “I must go to
him,” she said to the toddler, realizing she was asking permission from this
fragile creature that she could so easily choke into lifelessness.

“Do
you love him?” Rudolph asked.

“I
love him more than anything except my daughter.”

The
tiny voice sounded delighted. “You can’t love two different people. Not as you
described love to me.”

But
Rosa wasn’t listening. She broke from the clutch of the Zaphead guardian and
headed across the gym. Some of the survivors called to her, curious and confused.
The humans rarely talked to one another, a self-imposed suppression due to
their fear of an unknown punishment, but Jorge’s entrance had caused a
disturbance that broke up the routine of teaching and caring for the young
mutants.

The
tears broke just as she reached him, and Jorge gave them a crushing embrace.
“You’re alive,” he whispered in a hoarse voice.

“We
knew you’d find us, Daddy,” Marina said. “Mommy kept saying so.”

“Nothing
will separate us again,” Jorge said, glancing behind him at the Zapheads
gathered in the doorway. “Nothing. No matter what they do.”

Rosa
buried her face against his shoulder, happy to lose
herself in his sweat and smell and strength. “Jorge,” was all she could manage
to say.

After
a moment, Jorge pulled away and peered at them both. “Have they hurt you?”

“We’re
both fine,” Rosa said. There was no chance to say more, because already the
Zapheads crowded around them. Some survivors were brave enough to leave their
posts, but they kept their distance, watching.

“What
is this place?” Jorge asked, at last getting a look at the scale of the
operation.

“A
nursery. A school. A…” She wanted to say “prison” but one of the infants might
hear her.

“We
teach the New People,” Marina said. “They take care of us and we take care of
them.”

“And
all these real people?” Jorge asked, glancing around at the humans and their
sleeping areas in one corner of the large room, where blankets and food
cluttered the floor.

“The
Zah—the New People keep us here,” Rosa said.

Cathy
came over, carrying Joey, and said, “Welcome to Newton.”

Rosa
could see the confusion on her husband’s face. “Joey
led us here. That’s why we left Franklin’s place.”

“We
thought you were dead then,” Marina said, her mood darkening. “We were scared.”

Scared
of Joey
, Rosa wanted to add but
didn’t trust the infant’s reaction. She and Marina had grown used to the
cunning, unnatural intelligence of the mutant babies, but it would be a shock
to Jorge.

Joey
saved her some explaining. “I am glad we didn’t have to kill you,” the infant
said. “
Bienvenidos a nuestra casa
.”

Jorge’s
mouth parted and his eyes widened, but Rosa shook her head as a warning.

“
Bienvenido
,”
said one of the adult Zapheads, and then others repeated it.

“They
speak Spanish now?” Jorge asked, pressing Marina against him and wrapping a
protective arm around Rosa.

“
Hablamos
español
,” Joey said. “And English. And any other languages we hear.”

“But
you’re just a few months old!”

“The
newer, the better.”

“Come
meet the others, Jorge,” Cathy said. “Settle in, so Rosa and Marina can go back
to their work.”

The
Zapheads that had blocked Jorge’s exit now retreated, letting the door swing
closed and sealing off the gym. Rosa took Jorge’s hand and led him to the
bleachers where a couple of dozen humans sat whispering to one another. She
introduced him to some of her new friends—
fellow inmates
—and Marina
showed her father the two blankets, bundle of clothes, and pile of food that
marked their quarters.

“The
New People brought this for us,” she said. “From the houses in town. There’s
food in the cafeteria, too, and we catch rain water from the roof in pots and
pans.”

“What
else have they brought here besides people?” Jorge said.

“They
let us help the babies,” Rosa said, knowing she was rationalizing their
impossible situation. “They haven’t threatened us. But they won’t let us
leave.”

“We’ll
leave when we’re ready.”

“No,
we can’t do that. It’s too dangerous.”

Jorge
looked around at the bizarre nursery and mutant community center. “And staying
isn’t
?”

“I like
it here,” Marina said. “You get used to them after a while. I even like little
baby Rachelle that I’m teaching Spanish. And there’s a New People girl that
knows my name now. She doesn’t have a name, though.”

Jorge’s
fists clenched. “We’re not ‘New People.’ We’re human beings. Americans. How can
anyone live in this filthy prison?”

“We’re
functioning here,” Rosa said. “We have a place to use the restroom—”

“It’s
out in the woods,” Marina said. “You have to squat like we did at Mr. Wheeler’s
place, but there’s a lot of toilet paper from the school. And there are other
children here to play with.”

Rosa
was worried about her daughter. Marina had adapted
easily to this strange place, almost as if it was a summer camp. She had made a
few friends in the little free time the Zapheads allowed them, and the humans
ate meals together and talked in low voices about their situation. Some had
been separated from loved ones, or were the last living members of their
family, and many wallowed in a persistent state of numbness. A couple of the
men talked of rebellion, but the odds were a hundred to one against them. Even
Rosa herself had come to accept this school as her new home. One she didn’t
particularly like, but a place she was determined to make the best of.

Before
Jorge could respond, a commotion erupted and the double doors flew open on the
far side of the gym. A cluster of mutants pushed their way in, and a chubby
woman shouted and grunted as she struggled against the encircling mob.

“Get
your freaky hands off me, you monsters,” the woman screeched.

“You
monsters,” the Zapheads repeated, and the phrase spread across the expanse of
the gym, the highly intelligent infants saying it first, and then their adult
guardians.

Once
inside, the crowd parted and the woman tumbled to the wooden floor, kicking at
her assailants. “Get away from me!”

“Wanda,”
Jorge said.

“Do
you know her?” Rosa asked.

“She
helped me. Brought me to town. I thought they had killed her.”

Wanda
wobbled to her feet and the Zapheads backed away, several of them shouting at
her, “Here now stay.”

Cathy
walked over to her, carrying Joey, and Jorge followed. Rosa wrung her hands for
a few seconds, wishing her family would not become involved, but Marina skipped after her father, cheerfully humming “Ring Around the Rosie.” By the time Rosa caught up, Jorge was helping Wanda to her feet.

“I
figured you for a goner,” Wanda said to him.

“I
heard the gunshots,” he replied. “I thought they would kill you.”

“Oh,
I took a few down before they got me.” The woman rubbed a bloody gash on her
forehead. “They bleed as red as we do.”

“You
have a severe injury,” Joey said. “May we heal you?”

Wanda
stared at the infant in a mixture of horror and surprise. She glanced at Jorge,
then Cathy, then Rosa. “Is he really…?”

Jorge
gave a grim nod. Rosa said, “They can all talk, but the babies seem to grasp
the meaning better.”

“Great
God a’mighty, if it gets any crazier, my brains are going to leak right out of
my ears.”

“We
can repair that, too,” Joey said, lifting his tiny hands toward her.

“Don’t
you put your dirty paws on me, you little freak.” Wanda backed away from the
infant and Jorge guided her back to the human quarters by the bleachers. The
Zapheads went about their business of collecting the dead and teaching their
infants and the furor died down to a muted rumble.

Rosa
found a damp cloth to clean Wanda’s wound as the
woman and Jorge described how they ended up at the school. Rosa shared their
story as well. Jorge’s and Wanda’s disbelief faded a little bit, because the
reality was all around them: the Zapheads were forming a community. It was an
awkward social order with uncertain rules, and the babies and children were the
guiding influences, but it was working in its bizarre fashion.