I doubted that. I also doubted Berretti had any dirt on Nick. What I really thought was that Nick’s principles were what kept him from throwing Berretti out into the cold. Could I blame him for that? No. If it was me in his shoes, I wouldn’t want that on my conscience. Berretti might’ve not wanted to save me, he might’ve thrown me in a jail cell and had me beaten by his sorry excuse for henchmen, but I wouldn’t leave him to the monsters. I wasn’t that twisted. I also thought Nick kept him around because he thought Berretti might stumble upon a solution. Hope makes us do crazy, sometimes irrational things, I guess.
“That how you got that shiner, huh?” Lee asked, pointing to my face. “I remember seeing it when I gave y’all the tour. Everyone was talkin’ about it.”
I'd had a slight black eye, courtesy of Gas Mask or Visor’s fist, but it had faded, along with most of the frostbite.
“It wasn’t from Berretti—not directly, at least.”
“No, it was Tweedledee and Tweedledum.”
“Bingo.”
“Larry and Ray Smithersman. Couple of imbecile brothers who follow Berretti around like puppies. He says jump, they say how high. Unlucky that Berretti was in charge when y’all got here.”
“I haven’t seen them again since being here.”
“No, and you probably won’t. They’re rats. They only crawl out of their holes when they can grab some crumbs without anyone seeing. Rider, mostly.” He chuckled. “They’re scared of him. Berretti ain’t, but they are.”
I hadn’t realized it, but I was grinding my teeth.
“Judging by how you look right now, compadre,” Lee continued, “they should be scared of you too.”
I stopped, took a deep breath, and said nothing. But I was thinking, Yeah, they should be.
I got off about an hour before breakfast started in the cafeteria. I was more hungry than tired, so I figured a quick snack before I hit the hay would do me good. When I walked into the kitchenette, I was startled by a misshapen figure sitting at the table, backlit by a small, flickering television. On the screen was some old black-and-white sitcom I recognized but didn’t know the name of.
For a brief second, I pictured the Thumbprint People—their twisted, gray bodies, their ripped-open mouths—and I froze.
The figure turned. It wasn’t a monster. It was just Mia, with Monica in the sling.
“Ay yo,” she said. “How was work?”
Relaxing, I said, “Not bad. Boring, but not bad. Couldn’t sleep?”
“Oh, I could definitely sleep.” She nodded toward Monica. “This one couldn’t, though. I figured some background noise might do the trick, but I didn’t wanna wake Stone or Ell up.”
“Believe me, when they’re out, they’re out.”
“Figured as much when Monny was wailing, but you can never be too sure.”
The baby was asleep now; it seemed that was all she did. I studied her for a few moments with a smile on my face. Her skin was almost as pink as her blanket. The dark hair, a full head of it already, stuck out from beneath her cap. The fact that she was here, alive and healthy, amazed me.
She was born in the cramped cab of a snowmobile. The temperature had been so cold, your bones basically turned to glass as soon as the wind hit you. Not to mention one of the monsters had been just a few feet away from us only minutes before. If there was ever someone who had defied all odds to get here, it was Monica.
A day after Stone and Ell made it to the City, Ell put together a little newborn care package to give Mia. It wasn’t much, since there wasn’t exactly a gift shop in the hospital, but I thought it was a kind gesture nonetheless. Stone and I wouldn’t have thought to do it. Blame our gender, I guess. The care package consisted of diapers, a teddy bear, fake flowers, and a card we all signed. Most of these items were procured by Nina Hart, the wonderful nurse who’d been helping take care of Mia while she was laid up.
I signed the card “To Mia and Monica, two of the strongest people I know. If there was ever someone who’ll never let anything or anyone stand in their way, it’s you, Monica. Some call it stubbornness, or being hardheaded, blah-blah-blah, but those of us who are smart know it’s pure perseverance and tenacity. Love, your Uncle Grady.”
I was on the verge of getting sappy when writing this little note. I had to stop myself before I started crying. Monica’s birth flooded me with an amalgam of emotions. Sadness, worry, surprise, joy, happiness, and many more.
I was sad because Monica would never know the world as it once was. She’d most likely never get to live a normal life in the way we knew as normal. There would be no first day of kindergarten, no playing outdoors on that first warm afternoon of spring, or catching lightning bugs on a hot summer’s night. She would never see the beach or go swimming at a local pool. She would never learn how to ride a bike. She would never have a prom or a high school graduation or go to college. The future was so uncertain. Hell, we didn’t know if there even would be a future. Still, I was full of joy and happiness because Monica did have a chance. She made it. Against all odds, she made it. And sometimes all you needed was a chance.
Inevitably, this line of thought brought me back to Jonas, how he’d been robbed of his life. He, too, was a parent. He had twin girls; Stone and I were there at the hospital when they were born. Not in the delivery room, but right outside in the waiting area with no plans of leaving until we knew they were okay. Both of us
