Wastelands: Stories of the Apocalipse

The first cop knelt next to the creature, shoved his hat up off his forehead, then said low enough that Trevin guessed that only the other cop could hear him, "Hey, doesn’t this look like the Andersons’ kid? They said they’d smothered him."

"He wasn’t half that big, but I think you’re right." The other cop threw a coat over the creature’s face, then stood for a long time looking down at it. "Don’t say anything to them, all right? Maggie Anderson is my wife’s cousin."

"Nothing here to see, people," announced the first cop in a much louder voice. "This is a dead ’un. Y’all can head back home."

But the crowd’s attention wasn’t on them anymore. The flashlights turned on Caprice.

"It’s a baby girl!" someone said, and they moved closer.

Caprice shined her flashlight from one face to the other. Then, desperation on her face, she ran clumsily to Trevin, burying her face in his chest.

"What are we going to do?" she whispered.

"Quiet. Play along." Trevin stroked the back of her head, then stood. A sharp twinge in his leg told him he’d pulled something. The world was all bright lights, and he couldn’t cover his eyes. He squinted against them.

"Is that your girl, mister?" someone said.

Trevin gripped her closer. Her little hands fisted in his coat.

"I haven’t seen a child in ten years," said another voice. The flashlights moved in closer.

The old farmer woman stepped into the circle, her face suddenly illuminated. "Can I hold your little girl, son? Can I just hold her?" She extended her arms, her hands quivering.

"I’ll give you fifty bucks if you let me hold her," said a voice behind the lights.

Trevin turned slowly, lights all around, until he faced the old woman again. A picture formed in his mind, dim at first but growing clearer by the second. One semi-trailer truck, the trailer set up like a child’s room—no, like a nursery! Winnie-the-Pooh wallpaper. A crib. One of those musical rotating things, what cha’ call ums—a mobile! A little rocking chair. Kid’s music. And they’d go from town to town. The banner would say THE LAST O-FORM GIRL CHILD, and he would charge them, yes he would, and they would line up. The money would fall off the table!

Trevin pushed Caprice away from him, her hands clinging to his coat. "It’s okay, darling. The nice woman just wants to hold you for a bit. I’ll be right here."

Caprice looked at him, despair clear in her face. Could she already see the truck with the nursery? Could she picture the banner and the unending procession of little towns?

The old woman took Caprice in her arms like a precious vase. "That’s all right, little girl. That’s all right." She faced Trevin, tears on her cheeks. "She’s just like the granddaughter I always wanted! Does she talk yet? I haven’t heard a baby’s voice in forever. Does she talk?"

"Go ahead, Caprice dear. Say something to the nice lady."

Caprice locked eyes with him. Even by flashlight, he could see the polar blue. He could hear her sardonic voice night after night as they drove across country. "It’s not financially feasible to continue," she’d say in her two-year-old voice. "We should admit the inevitable."

She looked at him, lip trembling. She brought her fist up to her face. No one moved. Trevin couldn’t even hear them breathing.

Caprice put her thumb in her mouth. "Daddy," she said around it. "Scared, Daddy!"

Trevin flinched, then forced a smile. "That’s a good girl."

"Daddy, scared."

Up the hill, the tigerzelle hooted, and, just beyond the fence, barely visible by flashlight, the Mississippi gurgled and wept.

Still Life with Apocalypse by Richard Kadrey