Maybe 3.5 stars for the rushed ending.
This book surprised me by making me remember how squeamish I can be. I love horror, and I particularly love zombies, but it’s usually only movies that succeed at grossing me out (no Saw-style torture porn for me!); books, for whatever reason, and however viscerally the violence is described, often don’t have the same punch. Not so, Aftertime. The zombies in this post-apocalyptic, introspective thriller, about a woman who inexplicably survives a zombie attack and is now searching for her missing toddler, are repulsive and genuinely scary. That’s because they don’t just gnaw on people in vague ways, like in so many zombie novels – they carry their victims to their nest and keep them alive for days while they strip off flesh in ribbons and eat.
I honestly cannot think of anything more horrible than being alive for that.
Not only that, but the zombies, as they grow ill and turn, start out on themselves, stripping the flesh off their arms and other places they can reach. Some of the descriptions of what they’ve done to their own lips were enough to make me skim over certain passages. I haven’t had to skim through sections in a zombie novel in a while, so I applaud Littlefield for actually going there and making me uncomfortable. The zombies’ lingering memories of being human and their pack mentality is also an interesting angle to work with; descriptions of them trying to ride bicycles, or load things in wheelbarrows and push them around, or “affectionately” nipping each other’s flesh, makes them pathetic as well as disturbing.
I used the word “introspective” earlier, and I think despite the gore and zombie danger, this novel is mostly about Cass’s emotional inner journey. Before she can be the kind of mother she wants for her daughter, she has to come to term with her own weaknesses – her self-loathing that manifests itself in destructive promiscuity and alcoholism, resulting from childhood sexual abuse. Being fully aware of one’s flaws doesn’t mean one can always control or overcome them, so Cass’s narrative shows a realistic amount of backsliding, rationalizations, and occasional self-pity. She has to consciously choose every day to keep fighting her poor impulses instead of taking the easy way out, and that rings true (though it can tedious at times to rehash over and over and over). Her focus on her daughter and her pride in not giving up keep her sympathetic.
I’m not sure what to make of Smoke, the strong, mysterious good guy who decides, for reasons I can’t fathom, to help Cass out. Maybe he’s one of those guys who always does the right thing, no matter what, but there are hints that he wasn’t always that kind of guy. He belongs in a old-timey Western as the grizzled but young sheriff who takes the law into his own hands, his rifle at the ready, sitting on a ridge watching over the land, the setting sun at his back. (You know, like the hero in Joan Wilder’s romance novels in Romancing the Stone.) As such, he’s not super realistic for me yet. One of the things that annoyed me most about this novel is we never learn anything about him by the end; as the second most major character, I would have liked more development.
Their romance, at the moment, seems too convenient for me, like the whole point of it is to give Cass a vehicle for healing (and who knows what Smoke’s motivation is?), but so far Littlefield hasn’t made it too easy for them to connect, so I’m willing to give her the benefit of the doubt. I had a little trouble getting into the sex scenes because I was distracted by real-world concerns, namely that Cass is often mentioning how dirty and smelly and tore up she is and how she can’t quite clean herself properly because of her injuries, and then the injuries on her back were always described in such graphic detail that I wondered how she could possibly handle such energetic sex. Seriously, it sounds like flesh is hanging off her back throughout the whole story. I think that is just me being stupidly nitpicky, though, but it did pull me out of the story. Maybe I need to read more adult fiction – you just don’t get this kind of sex in YA and that’s 80% of what I read.
As for the world-building, it’s intentionally vague at first, with details doled out sparingly, so you have to pay attention to put the whole picture together. I was perplexed about the kaysev and the blueleaf for quite a long time, but it all comes together well. What I liked about Littlefield’s set-up, if I have got it sorted out right, is that the zombies are an accidental byproduct of an already long-deteriorating world, and not the actual sole cause of the apocalyptic breakdown of society. Things had already gone to shit, and then the zombies happened. Figuring out how widespread the zombies are – Are they just in California? Is the state actually quarantined? Which rumors are true? – will be one of those elements I hope to learn more about in the second book.
The ending, after Cass infiltrates the creepy cult Convent to retrieve her daughter, happens too fast and a little too conveniently, but it made for some great scary scenes (and one totally gross scene that I did have to skip the details). My major complaint with this book is it just kind of ends, and I wanted a little more closure to their time at the Convent. Still, it's a great set-up for the next in the series and I'm looking forward to reading it.