She saw the light in front of her again now. It flickered on and off, this way and that, like a candle trying to hold its own against a light breeze. She pressed forward with tears streaming down her cheeks and freezing there. Blood poured from the gunshot that had just grazed her hip and now gushed down over her thigh, at least serving to keep her warm.
She could hear him behind her. He was getting closer and closer with every foot they ran, each stride of his powerful legs propelling him at least twice as far as hers were.
The blankets moved and shifted under her breasts, and again she steadied them with her hand.
The light got clearer and clearer and she began to see colours and shapes. Two, then three sources of light and finally a fourth as she cleared a large overhanging branch. Biting down hard on her lower lip, she clutched her bundle against her chest and ploughed her way through one last thicket. She emerged into a clearing on the other side and stopped dead in her tracks, kicking up powder as she did so.
It erupted out of the ground in front of her as if from nowhere. The lights of civilization were apparent now, a mile or two behind it. Its twin steeples rose high into the mist that she hadn’t realized was there a moment ago. The flickering lights behind its massive stained glass windows made the images and characters on them dance vibrantly.
It was a convent.
Large wooden doors that looked too big to open were no more than four yards in front of her, their huge brass knockers begging for her to take them in her hand.
She hesitated, staring up this time at actual gargoyles grinning down at her from on high. They protected the central statue on the beautiful architectural masterpiece: the mother Mary. She cradled her child Jesus in her arms and stared down at him. She stared not as a woman who gave her son to better the world she lived in, but as a mother, looking upon her one love and greatest achievement.
She unzipped her parka slowly and carefully removed the bundle of dull green blankets held within. Taking off the top layer, she looked down upon her child, curled into a shivering ball to protect itself against the harsh cold. It was devoid of the cuts and scrapes that tattered her body, yet somehow there was blood on its still-pink skin. She realized after a moment that it was her own. The baby’s skin was beginning to turn a hue of light blue despite her efforts to keep it warm, and she was relieved when its chest rose and fell before her. Tearing her gaze away from her wonderful child, she turned back toward the convent.
The gargoyles seemed to have turned toward her while she was looking away and now leaned in to stare at the child with renewed interest. Their devilish smiles and curling tongues were lashing out with thirst.
She turned her head when she heard a rustling not far behind her, snapping her out of the momentary trance the sight of the building had placed her in. She bolted forward, grabbing one of the brass knockers and slamming it three times as hard as she could.
There was no response.
Her lower lip quivering and bleeding, she looked down at the child, too cold to even open its eyes. Salt tears streaming down her face, she kissed it once on the forehead then laid it on the stone step.
The gargoyles seemed to dance and bounce with clandestine glee as she turned and ran back the way she came.
The sound of her footfalls continued for a moment or two before a shot rang out onto the chilled air, followed only by silence.
Several long moments passed. The biting winter wind began to pick up again, making the few hairs on the baby’s head stand on end as it shivered and shook.
A light went on upstairs in the convent, then another, not far from the doors.
Crouched at the tree line, a dark-skinned man wearing another gray toque and parka uniform peeked through the clearing at what was taking place. He knelt down low and aimed his rifle, set the crosshairs to intersect at the child’s head, and placed his finger on the trigger.
The massive front door of the building creaked open, sending a beam of light down onto the infant. It winced, raising its chubby arms to block the new brightness as it washed over him, suddenly replaced by a shadow.
Sister Ruth Main looked down at the helpless child, still squinting from the brightness. Her old sagging features went from shocked to a kind smile as she pushed either side of her habit behind her shoulders and knelt down, picking up the baby and holding it close to her warm body. The infant opened its eyes and looked at her, the light from inside streaming around her head as she smiled at it, cooing softly. She looked like an angel.
The man in the brush shifted his gun sight, making sure it still intersected with the child’s head.
Ruth let her hand rest on the child’s head, pushing back its soft hair until it stood on end. The golden crucifix that dangled around her neck caught the child’s eye and it followed it intently, its small mouth opening in toothless awe.
He paused, slowly taking pressure away from the trigger before finally letting go of it altogether. The barrel dropped away as he watched Ruth cradle the child and look all
