After

By Marla Bowie LePley

When an unknown force causes everyone over the age of 17 to die, psychotic teenager, Roc, takes over a secluded town. Roc develops a cruel fixation for Jenny, the girlfriend of his dead brother. But all she can think of is the family and boyfriend she lost. She would rather be dead than go on living without them, even though she may be the town’s only hope. Ger, suffering from the loss of both his mother and younger brother to a car accident that he thinks was his fault, doesn't know how to cope with this sudden, grand scale disaster. He encounters other orphaned kids, and discovers that he has something to offer, if only he learns to trust himself. Laney, a pawn in her parents’ battle-zone divorce, is on the verge of suicide when the disaster strikes. Lost and alone, she discovers a love unlike anything she would have ever imagined for herself. Is she unique in thinking she is better off now than she was before “the Day of Death”? As Roc's evil grows, the three lives of Ger, Laney and Jenny collide and they must find a way to end his reign of terror

• Language: English
• Publisher: Marla Bowie LePley
• Release date: Oct 1, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301773503

Marla Bowie LePley

Please go to marlabowie.com to find out more about my books. My third book, I Am Evan was released in May of 2018.

Book preview

AFTER

By

Marla Bowie LePley

Copyright 2012 Marla Bowie LePley

Smashwords Edition

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Cover photo ANGUISHED SOUL by Kelsey.lovefusionphoto

http://www.flickr.com/photos/35228369@N02/

CHAPTER ONE (Ger)

Sweat pricked at the back of my neck as I hugged the side of the house, trying to melt into the shadows, and hoping the neighbors couldn’t see me. What the hell was I doing here? Why couldn’t I fight that gnawing feeling, that gut reaction that I had to check up on him? It hit me with such force that I couldn’t think about anything else for days. It wouldn’t go away no matter how much I tried to shove it out of my mind. Like some force had grabbed a hold of me and wouldn’t let go. Like maybe it was trying to warn me of something.

I should have been hanging with the guys, or hooking up with that hot chick I met last week. Lisa or Tina or whatever her name was. Instead, I was creeping outside the place I'd grown up in, the place I hadn’t had the guts to come back to since I ran away a year ago. I felt like a god-damn burglar. Or worse, a peeping tom. Could the cops bust you for sneaking around your own house? How did I end up crammed against the side of this place, skulking along like some kind of weirdo, trying to look in the back window? I swore I’d never come back, but here I was, battling this sudden, insane obsession to see what had become of him. See if he’d cleaned up and quit drinking. See if he was still alive.

One thing I knew for sure. I couldn’t leave until I saw my dad.

Flakes of dirty, cracked paint stuck to my hand and fell onto my jacket as I worked my way on the side of the house, toward the kitchen window. A musty smell filled my nose. I remembered when the paint was fresh and felt smooth, like a brand new sheet of paper. Now, it looked beaten down and neglected. I paused and sighed, a heavy weight on my chest. I knew that exact day when he quit caring. The day that changed everything.

I flash backed to a sunny day, just before my world fell apart. A woman pushed a little boy on a tree swing while I played catch with my father. The faces of the woman and the boy were blurred, but I knew who they were. My mom. And Gordon, my brother. Gordy squealed and kicked his legs out every time mom gave the swing a shove. Watch me, Ger! Watch me touch the top of the tree! he yelled down. His mouth curved ear to ear and his excitement radiated down to me, brighter than the sunshine above him. It was the only way I wanted to remember him.

My father’s face was the only one I could see clearly, smiling, strong, encouraging me to toss the ball, telling me to give it all I had. You can do it, he said laughing. A carefree sound that seemed odd coming from him. It scared me because I couldn’t be sure if that part was really a memory, or just wishful thinking. What did it matter anyway? It would never be like that again. Gordy was gone forever. Mom was gone forever. And the man in my daydream was gone forever. Only a broken shell of him remained.

A loud creak pulled me from my thoughts. I clung to the house, the stub of an unlit cigarette sticking from the corner of my dry lips. The beat of my heart thumped all the way down to my fingers. Who was there? I stood paralyzed, breathless, waiting for him to burst from around the corner in a fit of anger that I was on the property. A breeze rushed across my back, through my hair, and I heard the creak again. Was he in the backyard? Did he know I was here? The sun was casting long shadows, the time when people were settling in for the night. He was probably eating dinner, in front of some corny TV show, completely oblivious to anything going on outside the walls of the house. I breathed. He couldn’t possibly know.

I craned my neck to see around the corner. No one, not a soul. It was only the giant oak in the back yard, bending and swaying in the wind. Gordy’s swing now hung by a piece of frayed rope, lopsided and abandoned. I closed my eyes and swallowed the lump in my throat and reminded myself that guys don’t cry. When the feeling passed, I opened them again and gulped at the air. I still had to finish what I came here for. Deep down, I knew it was the only way to get rid of this sudden and irritating obsession.

I couldn’t get the pounding in my chest to slow down. I tried to pretend that being there was normal. I’d lived here, grew up here. What was the big deal? I just needed to check it out. To stop the wondering. To get rid of all the nagging thoughts. Maybe he was better now. Maybe he had finally come to grips with Mom’s and Gordy’s death. Maybe he was even wondering how I was doing.

I looked through the window, just enough to expose a little bit of my head and eyes. I could see into the kitchen, clear across to the living room. My body froze, my cold blood the only thing moving in me. There he was, sitting at the dining room table.

Dad, I whispered before I could stop myself. So much packed into that one little word. So many things left unfinished. Forks in the road of what could have been. Life gone in the wrong direction.

I clenched the windowsill with sweaty hands. His thin frame drooped over the table, his shoulders hunched like old warped wood. His eyes, bloodshot, watery, and distant, stared at something only he could see. He didn’t wear a scowl or a smile, or even a frown. His face was blank, a big expression of nothingness. It was hard to believe that the man in my memory, the one I once tossed a ball with, was the same one sitting on the other side of the window. I guess it had been wishful thinking after all.

From where I stood, I could see the sink filled with dishes, the counters piled with mail and newspapers. His right hand clutched a small glass of clear liquid. I shook my head in disgust. Guaranteed that isn't water he’s drinking. He was the same pathetic excuse for a human that I walked away from a year ago. I balled my hands into fists and shoved them into my pockets to keep them from shaking. I wanted to punch something. Why had I bothered? My chest felt tight, cutting my breaths short and ragged. The anger rose in me like a broken fire hydrant. He hadn’t cared enough to try to find me. He didn’t care about anything. What if I had died instead of Gordy? Would it have made a difference? Would he have kept it together for my brother? It may as well have been me because I was dead to him anyway. No use god-damn crying about it, I thought. Guys don’t cry, I reminded myself. But the wind swept over me again and I felt my cheeks get wet. I had to get the hell out of there.

* * *

Where do you think you’re going, Gerald?

The voice startled the crap out of me but I knew who it was without even looking up. The cruiser pulled alongside of me, a uniform leaning out the passenger side window. Officer Martin – sticking his big fat veiny nose in my business. Officer Fina was at the wheel. My two best buddies in all the world. I blew a few smoke rings then exhaled. I noticed they’d turned off the headlights, like they’d been trying to sneak up on me. As usual, their timing was great. I’m sure they were going want to know what I was doing outside my usual digs. I wasn’t about to waste my breath explaining it to them. You see Officer Martin, I had this gut feeling that something was wrong with my dad. It’s been eating me from the inside out for weeks now. Didn’t turn out to be right, though. Not a thing has changed. Same old shit, different day. You know what I mean?

It was none of their damn business. It didn’t matter what I said anyway, they wouldn’t believe me. Those creeps always found some reason to harass me. Jerks. I glanced around. The street lights showed a dim, deserted road, a clear shot to make my escape. Besides, I was almost downtown. In my world, the dark of night was your best friend. It’d be easy to ditch them.

I chucked my cigarette and took off running.

I heard the vehicle screech to a stop and two slams of a car door. Footsteps slapped the pavement far behind me and Fina shouted for me to stop. I smiled. Those lard-ass, donut chomping, coffee guzzlers would never catch up with me. I’d have them clutching their guts and gasping for breath in no time. To them, it was serious business. To me, it was just a game. I pumped my legs harder, zipping across the empty front lawn of the Civil Street Library, hurtling over the stone hedge and swinging around the back. There was something thrilling about outrunning the cops, a sense of accomplishment at putting them in their place. It was more than being a rebel. I always hated that term they stuck me with. It was showing them of a balance of power. They couldn’t always do anything they wanted.

A small deserted park stood between me and my brick-and-mortar turf. The scuffle of their shoes and some heavy grunts told me they were still tackling the wall. Outwardly, I was panting, but inside I was laughing at the vision of them rolling off the wall, splatting onto the lawn below. I ran through the park toward the old section of town, fittingly dubbed Olde Towne.

In Olde Towne I had my pick of buildings to hide in. Most of them were over a hundred years old. Crumbling and vacant, the kind of buildings most people like to avoid. The coolest thing was the hidden rooms and underground tunnels. Built because the old timers had booze to hide, stuff to smuggle and slaves to shanghai. Everyone knew the rooms were for drinking and gambling, which was against the law at one time. Sometimes my buds and me still used them for that purpose. And for some pretty savage parties.

The brick tunnels ran from the buildings down to the river, where boats would be waiting to load up on goods, then sail to other countries to sell it all. And when I say goods, I mean people. Even kids. They called it ‘people trafficking’. Steal ‘em and ship ‘em off to be used as slaves. It had been at least seventy years since that practice had stopped. Most of the tunnels were bricked off and sealed forever. After living down there a year, I could find my way around like I'd been born in them.

There was no way those cops would ever find me. Just had to put a little more distance between us. I ran several blocks, with those two jerk-offs still shouting ‘Stop!’ Like I was going to listen. I turned right and bolted down a small alley. I knew there’d be a manhole at the end of it that I could disappear down. I just had to reach it before they reached me.

My breath was bursting from my lungs as I came up on the metal sewer lid. Usually it took a couple of us dudes to yank the lid up far enough to have a third guy slide it over. We’d have to use rebar or some other kind of tool that would fit through the holes just to pry it up. All I had were my fingers. They were dirty, tobacco stained and callused. Man hands. They’d do just fine.

I heard Martin shout not too far behind me, Gerald, we just want to talk to you! Stop for a second! Damn, they were a lot closer than I thought. I scrambled to get a grip. They barreled down the alley toward me as I fumbled with the manhole cover. I shoved my fingers in the holes and used the weight of my entire body to wrench the lid off to the side. I swore as the metal dug into my skin and pinched the tips of my fingers. It moved just enough for me to squeeze through. I was seconds from escape when I felt the back of my jacket tighten around my neck. Suddenly I was being hefted out of the hole. Uh oh. Game over. Officer Martin tackled me, even though I was already on my back. Officer Fina delivered a swift kick to my ribs.

Ugh, I grunted. I rolled into a ball on the pavement, clutching my liver and trying not to puke.

Next time you better think twice about running when we tell you to stop, mister, shouted Fina.

I’m not even doing anything, I gasped. What the hell? This is police brutality!

This ain’t even close, you little twerp, growled Martin. He shoved me over on my belly and pushed my face into the pavement. I should have been used to it by now. How many times had Martin tackled me to the ground and rubbed my nose in the dirt? I think it gave him some kind of perverted pleasure.

He slapped cuffs on my wrists and tightened them until they pinched. Fina rolled me over and pulled me up by my collar. Those jack-asses were going to end up ripping a hole in my jacket if they kept yanking on it.

Why’d you run, dirt bag?

That insult’s a little old isn’t it? Who do you think you are? Dirty Harry? I sneered. Officer Martin faked a punch to my nose and I flinched. He looked at Fina and they laughed. I gritted my teeth. Why couldn’t they just drop dead and leave me the hell alone? Who did they think they were anyway? Didn’t they have something better to do than harass kids?

So, Gerry, what exactly were you doing that you felt like you had to run from us? asked Fina. I cringed because ‘Gerry’ was my dad’s name. I’d always gone by Ger, a nickname my mom gave me. I didn’t like any one calling me by my dad’s name. I was not him.

It’s not a crime to walk down the street, I stammered, feeling my face flush a little, thinking about what I’d really been doing. It seemed lame now.

How come I don’t believe a word you’re saying?

Look at him, said Martin. His cheeks are burning, the little liar.

We’re taking you back to the squad car. If you just admit what you were doing, we might let you off with a warning, said Fina suddenly using his nice cop voice. I wasn’t falling for it.

You got nothing on me. Like I said, walking down the street isn’t a crime.

Oh really? Because it is after ten. Fifteen year olds have curfews these days. And I know you know that, he said pointing his finger right into my face. He grabbed me by the sleeve and roughly tugged me along.

You’re gonna tear my jacket, I complained.

You wanna make something of it? said Fina, giving me a shove to make his point. Anything I made of it probably would have landed me kissing the pavement again so I clamped my mouth shut. We walked down Columbia Street, back toward the cruiser.

If only I’d run faster. If only I hadn’t decided to go to my dad’s house. None of this would have happened. What was I thinking? What the hell made me want to go see him? No good old man burned me again and he didn't even have to do anything.

Suddenly I heard two thunks behind me, like someone dropping heavy luggage. I realized my jacket went slack. It could have been one of them tripping. It could have been them changing their minds, letting me go. But in the second that followed that sound, I knew something wasn’t right. I terrible feeling came over me. I force myself to turned around. Martin and Fina were splayed out on the sidewalk, dead, wet eyes shining in the light of a street lamp.

CHAPTER TWO (Jenny)

Dark clouds lined the sky and a clammy mist drifted down, coating everything with a fuzzy dampness as gray as mold. All the kids gathered at the high school. It seemed the natural place for us to go during a disaster. It was, after all, the largest building in Grainger. The problem, though, was that there were no adults to let us know what was going on. Something bad had happened and we didn’t know what. We crowded together now, our ages ranging from toddlers to teens. The soft crying of babies and small children felt unnatural here. It echoed off the walls of the gym like the ghostly moans of dead spirits. I shivered and wrapped my arms around myself. Shane, my boyfriend, waited for the noise to die down. I stared at all the frightened, tear-streaked faces. God, it was awful. I spotted Alexis and Amy, my two best girl friends. I waved them over, but they didn’t see me. The air, heavy with fear, hung thick and suffocating. I grasped my locket, concentrating on the small, warm piece of metal. It was all I could do to keep the panic from taking me over.

If anyone could find out what was happening, it would be Shane. I had complete faith in him. He was junior class president, on the soccer team and the smartest person I knew. It also didn’t hurt that he was blindingly cute. He had perfect gray eyes rimmed with blue and dirty blonde hair that made you want to run your fingers through it. I was lucky to be his girlfriend, even though he always said he was the lucky one. The locket was a present from him. A gold heart with the word Forever engraved on the front of it. His promise to me, he said. The warm metal reassured me. Solid, like Shane and I.

He turned to me and pulled me close in a hug. Don’t worry Jenny, everything will be okay, he whispered in my ear, then he turned back to address the kids in the gym. I know you’re all looking for answers. No one seems to know what happened. He took a deep breath and rubbed the space between his eyebrows. What we do know is that it seems to have affected adults and older kids. A few hands shot up.

Jill, you have something to say? He pointed to one of the girls straining her arm in the air.

My sister is dead. She choked the words out. A rush of noise suddenly filled the room as several other kids exclaimed that their older brothers or sisters had died as well. For no apparent reason. Alive one second, dead the next. It was horrible. I choked down a sob. My parents were among the deceased.

We’ll all have a chance to be heard, Shane said over the voices, and they quickly hushed into silence. Jill, how old was your sister?

Seventeen. The girl wept openly. Poor Jill. I felt terrible for her because she and her sister, Audrey, were close, like best friends. Now with her parents and her sister gone, she had no family at all.

Another girl spoke up. My brother was eighteen.

Anyone else? More hands went up around the room. After several minutes of questions, Shane determined that only a handful of kids over the age of sixteen were still alive. And no one over the age of seventeen. I wasn’t sure at that moment if being fifteen was a blessing for me, or a curse. I had no siblings, and if I’d been a little older, I would have met the same fate as my parents. Was it better to be alive? Or not?

What does it mean? a kid shouted.

Did anyone turn on the news? came a question from somewhere in the crowd.

Our TV wasn’t getting any reception this morning, said someone else.

Ours either, just a static screen.

Murmurs of agreement came from around the room. I could tell Shane was thinking, taking it all in and trying to digest it. Trying to turn it into something he could figure out, like an algebra equation. But this was way bigger then a math problem.

Chester leaned over and whispered to him, We should all go home and try our TVs and radios again, just in case. And then figure out what to do with the dead. We’re going to have to get rid of them. I winced at how callus that sounded. He was right, of course, but completely tactless. I mean, we couldn’t have a bunch of dead bodies lying around, but, oh my God, did he have to say it that way? Shane didn’t seem to notice. He just nodded at his brother.

I never liked Chester at all. He wasn’t a nice person. In fact, he was totally weird. They were the same age, fraternal twins, but people often thought Chester was younger because he was still only a sophomore, like me. Shane had once told me his brother was held back in school for a learning disability. He also said that Chester had had an accident when he was a child. Hit his head or fractured his skull, I couldn’t remember exactly what happened. Shane said Chester couldn’t help the way he was. No matter how much I disliked Chester, it was clear that Shane cared about his brother so I tried to understand. I really did.

But in one frightening, eye-opening minute, that all changed. I had accidentally stumbled across him skinning a live rabbit. Watching the animal’s flesh split open as he pressed the knife into it, hearing the horrible squeals, and most revolting of all, seeing the look of pleasure on Chester’s face. It made me sick. I was horrified. He was torturing it on purpose, taking his time, taking pleasure in what he was doing. I’d read somewhere that animals were often the first victims of serial killers. The thought sent a hundred volts of terror down my spine. Frightened that he might discover that I’d seen him, I backed away quietly. I forced the vomit back down as I made my way home. I knew then that something more was wrong with him than a little accident. He was a mental case. A monster. I was so terrified that I didn’t tell anyone. Especially not Shane. Every time Chester looked at me, I wondered, and worried, if he knew I’d seen him.

Yeah, you’re right, Chet. Good idea, Shane was saying. He turned to the sea of teary faces. Everyone go home. Check your televisions and radios. See if you’re getting reception on any channel. Cell phone and landlines, too. We’ll all meet back here in two hours to figure out what to do next.

What would we do next, I wondered, as kids filtered out of the gym? My thoughts spun in useless circles and I couldn’t shake the cobwebs from my mind. The minute I’d realized my parents were dead I went numb, like a glacier had slid right over me, turning me ice cold and crushing every bit of life out of me to the point where I could hardly even breathe. Shane had been at my side in an instant. He was my savior. With him around, I knew everything would be okay. After he’d discovered his parents, he immediately rushed over to my house.

After coming from my parents’ room, all I could think about was getting to Shane. I was confused, certain I was mistaken in what I had just seen. There had to be a logical explanation. I had started to walk the stairs, trying to get to the front door, wanting to go to him, but my legs wouldn’t work. They were wobbly. About halfway down they went right out from under me. Luckily, it was a short set of stairs. He found me in a heap at the bottom. I wanted to cry but for some reason, I couldn’t. The tears were blocked, stuck inside me. Had I known at that moment that everyone’s parents were dead, that all of the older teenagers were dead too, I would have lost my mind. The only thing that saved me was having Shane’s arms wrapped around me. Keeping me safe, protecting me from everything beyond them.

I’d stayed glued to his side from that moment on; afraid of what would happen if I let him out of my sight. And Chester was right there with us, always a few steps behind, muttering under his breath, creepy and disgusting. Shane didn’t seem to notice his brother’s angry whispering, or maybe he was just used to it. To me, it was intimidating, especially when sometimes, I would catch Chester staring at me. I looked away quickly and pretend I didn’t notice. I had to tolerate him