A dark thought flit across her mind, a thought necessitated by Katie's need to survive, by her need for her own baby inside her to live. It was an invention borne of dire straits. One might die, so another might live. The thought began to coalesce in her mind. She knew it was wrong, just as she knew that the things she had done in the past were wrong as well. Her mind was clearer these days, not so clouded with the judgment and self-loathing she had worn as a mantle since she had killed her husband and son.
She blamed herself still, but she had also forgiven herself. Grace… she called it grace, and she allowed herself a spoonful of it every day. The dark thoughts had gone, replaced by sorrow and grief, but she was still there. She was human again… but this thought made her question that. One might die, so the rest might live.
She felt the smooth wood of the spear. It had begun its life as a shovel handle or some other such thing. The spear was large, heavy, cumbersome indoors. If it came down to it, and the dead broke in, the rifles would be the best way to go. But for now, she could take care of their problem, give them a fighting chance. She looked at the baby in Dez's arms. She could make it quick.
****
Dez saw Katie glance at the wailing child every now and then. She didn't much care for the look, but she knew what was behind it. The child's incessant whining was getting on Dez's nerves. Was there a worse sound in the world than a baby crying? It was a sound that compelled you to do something. If she had some food, some milk, anything, she would give it to the baby. She would do anything to get it to stop crying, but the only things she could do were not things that she was willing to do.
She looked over at Tammy on the bed. Her face was ashen, and Dez wondered if she was losing her fight. Antibiotics, an I.V. drip, Joan said these were the things that would have helped her fight to live. But they didn't have any of those things, and Dez was sure that Tammy was going to die.
Dez's own spear lay propped up in the corner next to her, within easy reach should she need it.
She looked down at the baby in her arms, and she felt the pain of its existence. This was not how a baby should come into the world, alone, without a mother or father, with no one present that actually cared for it. Maybe it would be better off if… no, she couldn't go there. The baby had refused to latch on to Tammy's unconscious form. Despite Dez holding the little bugger up to Tammy's unconscious breast for hours, nothing had happened. The baby just sat there, wailing, its face turning red. It was so frustrating. At one point, Dez had thought about sucking on Tammy's breast herself, and spitting the milk into the infant's mouth, mama-bird style… but there was just so much about that idea that was bizarre. If the baby started to fade, she would do it. It would be a short-term solution anyway if Tammy didn't make it.
She looked up from the baby's squalling face, and she saw Katie looking at the baby again. She saw something in Katie's eyes, or maybe she just recognized the look from her own brief glances into the mirror in the ranger station's non-functioning bathroom. That was the look she had had on her face ever since she had decided to kill Chad. That was the look of someone that saw a hopeless situation and only knew one thing to do about it. Dez chewed the inside of her lip and came to a decision. She would not do anything if it came down to it. But she certainly wouldn't be the one to do the deed.
****
Joan was a failure. She knew it with one-hundred-percent certainty. The baby she had brought into the world was most likely going to die because she hadn't been able to save the mother. She hadn't been able to help Clara when the time had come. Hell, the one person she had managed to save was Katie, and something was still wrong with her. She looked weak all the time, pale with dark circles around her eyes. If she had encountered Katie in the wild, she was sure that she would think Katie was one of the dead.
She expected Tammy to die any second now, to rise from her bed with a taste for human flesh. That would be the final straw. She would never operate on another person again, not without another doctor by her side, another person that knew what they were doing. For herself, she wasn't sure that she had ever known what she was doing. It had been so easy in the hospital, with nurses and assistants to make sure everything was sterilized, all the materials were prepped and present. But out here, it's like her training was completely worthless. Sure, she could operate. She could do the incisions, the excisions, the stitching, but without the equipment she needed to ensure post-care, all she was really doing was sentencing people to death. Never again, she vowed.
"How long you think this can last?" Mort asked.
"As long as that baby keeps crying," she responded.
"I don't think the walls are going to last that long," Mort said.
Joan knew he was right, but she couldn't say it. She couldn't say it because to say it would be to make it real, and if it were real, they would
