Endurance - Jack Kilborn [93]
Maria began with the closest one, Zachary Taylor.
Immediately on entering, Maria was gut-punched by emotion.
Cribs. There are half a dozen baby cribs.
And some of the babies are cooing.
Maria’s mind flashed back to when she first realized she was serious about Felix. She hadn’t ever planned a future with a man before, and for the first time she had to share an intimate, personal, and ultimately shameful admission.
“I want to have kids with you. But I can’t. I have this medical condition. I’ll never be able to bear children.”
Felix’s response was one of the best things anyone ever said to her.
“Then after we get married, we’ll adopt, and some lucky kid will get to have the best mother in the world.”
Seeing all of these cradles made Maria’s heart catch in her throat. How many times, lying on the dirt floor of her cell, had she dreamed of one day holding a baby? Of playing peek-a-book? Of changing its little diapers and tickling its little chin?
Slowly, reverently, Maria approached the nearest crib, peeking over the side.
She immediately recoiled. The child had bug eyes and an obscenely large mouth, which was currently wrapped around a piece of raw chicken. It looked up at Maria and hissed, baring pointed teeth.
Unable to stop herself, she checked the next crib. The child had something on its face that looked like a beak, and it was gnawing on its own foot, drawing blood.
The next one was a set of Siamese twins, joined at the face and sharing the same center eye. They saw her and made a sound like a cat being stepped on/
The next one—
Perfect. This baby is absolutely perfect.
Fine, brown hair. Wide, expressive eyes. The cutest little nose. The child saw Maria and cooed, reaching out a chubby hand. She held out her finger, letting the baby grasp it, and for a moment Maria forget where she was, and who she was, and all the horrors of the past year, along with her current situation, vanished from her mind.
You’re so precious.
Then, from behind her, Maria heard the unmistakeable sound of a shotgun racking. Without even thinking, Maria snatched up the baby and spun around.
Eleanor had the gun pointed at her. Maria raised the scalpel.
“Drop it, or I’ll kill the baby,” she lied.
Eleanor smiled. “Go ahead. She ain’t one of mine. Came with a couple who stayed here a few weeks back. Her parents didn’t properly adjust to our accommodations, and they’re no longer with us. But that little girl is the right blood type. Plannin’ on bleedin’ her when she gets a wee bit older. Then let my boys have some fun. But I can live with the loss.”
Someone came in the room behind Eleanor. Harry, whose harelip was so severe it practically reached his eyebrows.
What do I do?
What can I do?
Nothing. I can’t do a damn thing.
“Either kill the child or set ‘er down,” Eleanor said. “Either way, you ain’t goin’ nowhere.”
Maria took a deep breath, then let it out slow. She went to put the girl back in its crib, but the infant clung to Maria’s shirt collar, refusing to be put down. When Maria disentangled her perfect little fingers and laid her on her back, the baby began to cry.
“Shh,” Maria said, tears welling up. “It’s okay, little one. It’s going to be okay.”
But Maria knew it wouldn’t be.
Then Eleanor stomped over and hit Maria in the stomach with the butt of the shotgun. Maria crumpled to the floor.
“I saw what you did to my transfuser machine,” Eleanor said. “It’ll take me a week to get another one delivered. You’re gonna pay for that, little lady. Pay dearly. I’m gonna punish you the old-fashioned way.”
But Maria wasn’t listening. She was looking up at the crib, realizing that was the last time in her life she’d ever get to hold a baby.