Milton came inside the fence with us and shooed the other people away from the little building near the gate. That building was different from the others. It had windows and a sign over the door that read "OFFICE." With the other people at a safe distance, Will came inside the fenced area as well. He broke the glass on the door and went into the office. He came out with keys and, staying behind Milton, he unlocked all the other doors. Then he and Milton left and locked the gate again.

    It's funny, but now that the doors were unlocked, I felt embarrassed to open them, especially in front of the two men who could talk. It was like I was doing a trick or passing some kind of test they had set up. But I didn't see how to make them go away and give me some privacy, so I slid one door up.

    Inside the dark compartment were bicycles and furniture and boxes piled to the ceiling. Some of the other people with me went into the compartment and started pulling stuff out, and I wanted to stop them, because they didn't seem to appreciate or respect the things; they just tossed them all around. But I knew they had as much right to these things as I did. The stuff didn't belong to any of us, we were just taking it, and if that's how they enjoyed the objects, then I had to let them. If I wanted to rearrange the things or use something myself, I could just wait till they lost interest and wandered off, which all of them did after a few minutes of going through the things in the compartment.

    Inside the compartment was a sofa, and I sat on it and examined some of the things that had fallen out of boxes. There were all sorts of little things. Some I could identify, some looked vaguely familiar, and some were a mystery. But I liked all of them and was glad to have them. It wouldn't be so bad here, if I had some objects to look at, some things to learn about and study. My heart leaped as I thought there might be books in some of the boxes; I had been able to read the signs outside, so I thought I could probably read more complicated things, and even if it was hard, getting more practice and learning to read better would give me something to do.

    It still made me a little sad to be locked in here, but as I sat there looking at an album full of pictures and running my hand over an old quilt, I had to admit that even if the gate were open, I wouldn't know where to go. I had no idea what was out there. There could be things that were dangerous-wild animals or violent people or even fire. I shivered when I remembered that Will and Milton had built a fire at night when we were walking here. It had scared me almost as much as being near Milton. I looked at all the boxes, and I thought that for a while, maybe a long while, this would be a really nice and safe place to stay and learn about the world. Maybe later I could go out and see other things, once I'd learned what was safe and how to get around better, and if they'd let me.

    I looked sideways at Milton and Will, trying not to let them notice that I was looking at them, letting them think I was focused on the things in the compartment. They, on the other hand, made no attempt to conceal how fascinated they were by watching my every move.

    "Why's he different from the others?" Will asked Milton quietly. "It's like he remembers things from when he was normal,"

    I didn't know what he meant by that. I know more now, but I still don't understand everything that happened or why some people are different from others. I don't remember enough of it to understand. I still think I am normal, even today. So are these people in here with me. We're different from the people who can talk, but we're all different from each other, and they're different from one another, too. I didn't like the way they watched me, and talked like I was so different, or even that there was something wrong with us. I remembered that we'd killed and eaten some people, so maybe we deserved to be punished, but there was something else in how they talked that made it wrong. I'd forgotten the word, but I read it in a book later-"condescension." It made me feel a little angry and insulted, but I had to admit that whether or not one could talk seemed to make a big difference in how one got along with others. Maybe it was an accurate measure of our worth, and whether we were good or bad people. Besides, Milton and Will had opened the doors for me. Maybe they weren't so bad. I didn't want to be angry at them.

    "I've been studying them more than you have, Will," Milton answered him. "I've had more time, since I started rounding them up. I'm out here with them for days and days." He shook his head. "It seems to affect each one differently. Some of them are worse than the wildest animals. They're violent, completely alone even when they're in a crowd, lashing out at others and even hurting themselves. And others-they look at me and at each other like they love and trust everyone. I know it'd be different if they saw a normal person and their hunger took over, but with each other, at least some of them are peaceful and content."

    Now Milton was confusing me even more, because he said we were nice around him, but not around "normal" people-but then what was he?

    "For all we know, some of them are gentler and more humane now than when they were alive."

    I still didn't understand-was I a nicer person now than before I woke up? But what was I before then? If I were alive then, what was I now? I'm still not sure.

    "And some of them seem to remember a great deal. They recognize each other, and they hold on to things, and I think they're happy, in a way. That's why I wanted to keep these ones apart. I think they'll be happier here. And the violent ones can do what it is they like to do somewhere else-biting and scratching and tearing at things. And the living can be safe. Things are the way they should be, I think."

    Will shook his head. "If you say so, Milton. Just seems weird to me."

    "It's not that different than what we've been doing with our own dead. We don't put them down or just herd them in with others-we put them somewhere safe."

    "I know, Milton, but we knew those people. You said it was just too mean and impersonal to treat them like the others. But even that's a lot of trouble and danger to go to, even if you knew the person. For these ones we don't even know, it doesn't seem like it's worth it."

    Milton smiled and shook his head. "I think sometimes you sound more like Jack than Jonah. Don't you see that it's no real trouble for me to take care of these people more carefully, spend more time with them? And if it makes them happier, then of course it's worth it."

    I wanted to nod, and I really wanted to say something out loud, but I also didn't want them to know I was listening.

    "I don't know how happy dead people can be, Milton."

    Milton smiled again. He had the most peculiar smile, and he seemed to smile a lot. "That's funny, Will, because I often wonder the same thing about living people. I haven't noticed much difference. I believe Jonah will remember better than I do that there's an old saying somewhere that we can't be sure someone's happy until he's dead." He waved the younger man away. "Come, let's leave him alone. It seems rude to stand and stare at him. If you choose not to call him happy, that's fine. He's at least safe from us, and we're safe from him, and that is certainly a good thing."

    They walked away and left me with all the new things I had found. I spent all that day going through boxes, and I didn't even finish with everything in that first storage unit. I could see that there must be dozens more in all the buildings, so I knew I'd be busy for weeks or even months. I cleared a space near the door, so I could sit on the sofa there, and I put a couple chairs in front of the sofa, though none of the others seemed to want to sit down, or really look closely at anything I'd found. They would just wander in, pick something up, drop it, and wander back out. After a while, I hid all the breakable things, or there'd be nothing left but broken little bits all over. I wasn't sure what we'd ever need glasses or dishes for, but I got tired of seeing everything just shatter on the concrete into useless little pieces.

    I found some clothes and I could finally get out of the bloody, torn ones that I'd been wearing for so long. As I took off the bloody jacket, a wallet fell out of the pocket. I picked it up and looked at the contents. It held money, and I thought I understood what money was for, but I couldn't fit it into how things worked in the real world. I knew you were supposed to give money to other people to get things from them, but I didn't see how or why that was possible. Like the stuff in the storage unit, things just sat around and people could pick them up-why would you have to give someone something in order to get what you wanted? I understood trading: I'd already enticed some of the other people to give up a fragile object by offering them something else in exchange for it, so I could get it away from them before they broke it. But I really couldn't understand why someone would give up something in exchange for these little pieces of paper. The pieces of money were sort of pretty, but there were lots of prettier pictures you could trade.

    In the wallet, I also found a couple of little plastic cards with numbers on them. I remembered that these were like money, only their operation was even stranger and more mysterious, because when you gave one of these cards to people, they wouldn't keep it, like they would money. Instead, they would give you what you wanted, plus give the little card back to you. Both the money and the little plastic cards made me feel uneasy in some way, and I stuffed them back in the wallet and then stuck the wallet between the cushions of the sofa.

    Besides these, there were two other plastic cards with a picture of a man on them. I had found a mirror among all the stuff and I looked until I found it again, which took me a minute, as I had hidden it with the other breakable things. The picture was of me, though I had to touch my face, it looked so dry and grey compared to the picture. But it was definitely me. Both these and the other cards also all had the same name on them-"Wade Truman." It was my funniest experience yet, as I concluded it must be my name, but of all the things I'd seen and heard so far, this one held less familiarity than many others.

    I tried to make the sounds of the name, in case hearing it would help me remember, but of course it didn't come out right, so that was no help. I just had no connection between the name and myself. I thought the first name reminded me of water and I thought that was good, as I always felt so dry and thirsty all the time and it'd be nice to have a name that sounded like something as good and pure as water. And I knew there had been a president named Truman, but that was a long time ago, and I wasn't even sure what a president did and I was pretty sure there weren't any anymore, at least not around here.

    One of the cards had "Department of Motor Vehicles" at the top, and the other read "Stony Ridge College" above my picture. I knew the general implications of these places, but not how they specifically related to me. I knew what a car was and that this card proved I knew how to drive one, but I didn't remember if I had a car, or what it was like, or how it felt to drive it. And I knew what a college was, but I didn't remember being in one or what I did there, but I suspected, since I knew so many strange facts and ideas, that maybe I was a professor. That seemed kind of nice, though I suspected that, like presidents, there probably weren't any of those around anymore.

    Unlike the other cards or the money, the ones with my picture didn't make me uneasy. In fact, I sort of liked them, so I put them in the pocket of the new pants after I put them on. I felt a little funny, getting undressed there in the open, but once Milton and Will had left, I didn't really feel like I was being watched, even though the other people who couldn't talk milled around near me. The other clothes I put on weren't new, of course, but they were old clothes that had been packed in big plastic bags, so they were dry and clean, and not all stiff from caked-on, dried blood, like the ones I discarded. These clothes smelled nice, too, like soap, and I had to admit that everything on me and on the other people around me smelled foul. Our clothes were dry, dusty, used up, like dead leaves-not even the wet, slimy kind you find in puddles or under other leaves, but the dry, brittle kind that are getting closer to being dust than they are to being leaves anymore. I was glad to have new clothes.

    They were kind of loose on me, but I thought they looked nice enough. There was a flannel shirt and some pants and they felt coarse, but also comforting, like a scratchy blanket. It took me forever to negotiate the buttons, both on the clothes I was removing, and even more so on those I was putting on, because with those, I didn't want to tear any buttons off as I fastened them. I got so frustrated when I'd gotten part way through and saw I had more buttons than holes left to match up with them, so I had to undo them, line them up right, and start over. But by the time the sun went down-which was pretty late, because it was getting to be almost summer-I had everything on, even some comfortable shoes.

    I would've said it was time for a walk, to show off my new outfit, but I still wasn't very good at walking. Also, there wasn't anyone around who would show the slightest interest in my appearance, so there seemed to be little point in such an exertion.

    I dragged one of the chairs outside the storage unit and sat down. It was an old lawn chair, the kind with green and white webbing across an aluminum frame. The frame was a little bent, and some of the nylon straps were torn, but it was still usable. After the day's discoveries, it seemed the perfect night to sit outside and dream of all the things I would find and learn in the days to come. I looked up into the purplish dusk as the sun's light faded and the stars came out. I wondered if I'd ever know what kind of a professor I was. Maybe I was a janitor at the college, or a security guard, or a cook in the cafeteria. Without anyone to see whatever was wrong with my smile, I went ahead and smiled at that thought, as it really did seem quite amusing.

    I folded my hands in my lap, and as I did so, I suddenly tensed and my body seemed more numb than normal. It was another of those things I hadn't noticed, another obvious thing that hadn't occurred to me, like leaving the city hadn't occurred to me for so long. I felt a ring on my left hand. I felt it with my fingertips and it was smooth, just a plain band, without any stone or setting. And unlike the college identification card, that could mean only one thing: there was a Mrs. Truman, and, quite probably, even little Trumans. Or at least there had been at one time, back in that time and place and identity before I woke up. And even more disconcerting and far less amusing than not knowing if I were a professor or a janitor, I realized I knew nothing of these people. Even if I could look for them, I wouldn't know them if they walked right up to me. Maybe it was just as well. Milton had said some of us were nicer now than we had been before. Maybe I hadn't been very nice, and the rest of the Truman family would remember that. Or maybe they were violent and angry now, like many of the other people I had met.

    I tilted my head back to look up at the stars again. They looked very small and cold, and in an odd way, mocking. I wondered who or what it was that could be punishing me by taking away the memory of myself, my life, and my family, and leaving me only with such random, disorganized, but most of all, meaningless knowledge.