World After

34

THE WATER slaps onto the boat’s side while the deck rolls back and forth. We shuffle onto the ship, and before long, we’re gliding through the dark waters.

Alcatraz is legendary for being the most inescapable jail of all time. Just the sight of it in the dim light makes me want to run away. I think about diving into the water with Mom and Clara and taking our chances, but others beat me to it.

A couple runs for it. It’s Brian and Lisa, the couple who had been separated by the nets. My heart races with hope that they’ll make it. We’re not so far off that they can’t swim to the other side, freezing or not.

But the scorpions are fast.

So fast that three of them zap their stingers to tag the couple on their way out the doors.

They don’t chase them though. They just let the pair make their own choices. It takes time to become paralyzed, but I know the excruciating pain and stiffness starts immediately. By the time the couple reaches the edge of the boat, they’re dragging their feet.

It would be suicide to jump. They’ll be paralyzed long before they can reach shore.

But the other option is to stay frozen among the scorpions, completely at their mercy.

Tough choice. I really feel for them. I’m not sure which I’d choose.

They choose to stay on board. Brian leans against the rail as if thinking about jumping, but he can’t seem to commit. Lisa lays her head down on the deck beside him.

I understand. Anyone who is alive now is a survivor. They’ve done what it takes to make it this far, and they can’t help but keep going. Brian slides down the rail and lies beside Lisa, twitching and losing control of his muscles. The scorpions mostly ignore the couple, seemingly bored as they leap off the boat to fly while others land on deck and walk around.

A scorpion bends over and plucks Brian’s glasses off his face. It tries to put them on upside down. When they fall, the scorpion picks them back up and tries again. As if it wasn’t already weird-looking enough with a man’s body, dragonfly wings, and a scorpion tail. Now, it looks around with one cracked lens on its wire-rimmed glasses.

I feel oddly naked without my sword. I keep reaching for the soft fur of my stuffed bear and remember that it’s not there any more. I sit between Mom and Clara, three unarmed women surrounded by monsters.

Just a couple of months ago, tourists sat this boat with cameras and phones, taking photos, yelling at their kids, kissing in front of the city skyline. They probably roamed around in their newly bought sweatshirts, totally unprepared for the cold summer winds of San Francisco.

Now, there are hardly any children and none of them are running around. There are only a couple of older folks mixed in with the others, and only a quarter of the crowd is women. Everyone looks like they’ve gone too long without a shower or a good meal, and all our attention is focused on the scorpions.

They leave us alone for now. Most of them are not as beefy and broad-shouldered as I imagined monsters would be. Some of them are outright scrawny. They’re not made to muscle their prey. They’re designed to use their stingers as their main weapon of choice.

They all have tails that look like they’ve been on steroids. Fat and muscular, unnaturally bulging, and grotesque. If I look closely, I can see a clear drop of venom at the tip of each stinger, as if keeping the pipes in working order.

One of the scorpions wears a pair of pants. But the pants are on backwards and hanging with the zipper open to allow for the tail. There’s something about it that bothers me but I can’t quite put my finger on it.

As the scorpion pulls up its pants with its all-too-human-looking hand, something glints. My stomach clenches in sick dread as I realize what it is.

It’s a wedding band.

What is a wedding band doing on a monster’s hand?

It must be just some shiny thing that it got from one of its victims. Like an animal playing with a toy. Or maybe it discovered that rings were good for hitting, like brass knuckles.

Yeah, that must be it.

And it’s pure coincidence that it’s on the ring finger.

IN A FEW MINUTES, Alcatraz looms in the dim light. I lean back as if I could make the boat slow down. By the time we land, I’m trembling all over.

My imagination keeps wandering to what might happen to us here. I try to corral it back, but I’m not entirely successful at it.

The island seems to be a giant rock. The water is probably hypothermia-cold, not to mention filled with sharks or thrashing scorpions or toothy demons from hell.

So this is how it all ends.

The world destroyed, humans imprisoned, my family scattered.

The thought makes me angry. I hope the anger burns up all other feelings because it’s probably the only thing keeping me on my feet and moving right now.

A lot of the prisoners are cringing and sobbing, not wanting to come out of the boat. People and animals aren’t that different. We can all tell when we’re being led to slaughter.

The island dock is similar to the one on the mainland—spiky, dark, damp. The cold bay winds blow through my shirt, giving me goose bumps. I’m colder than the temperature calls for. I brace myself to face what’s coming.

But nothing can prepare me for what’s happening beyond the dock.