Villain (Gone 8)

“I’m here!” Cruz stepped out from behind Armo’s bulk, carrying the baby in her arms.

“Thank God you’re all right,” Shade said.

Cruz nodded. In a low voice she said, “You don’t believe in God, Shade.” She shook her head. “And this is not the day to start.”

“They enjoyed it,” Malik said. No one but Francis had any confusion about who they were.

Shade narrowed her eyes. “I know. I felt it, too.”

Armo shook his head. “I didn’t think things like this really happened.”

“It happened,” Shade said. “It happened and we couldn’t really stop it, could we? I mean, we saved some lives, and we stopped the Charmer, but look at the cost. Look at what we didn’t do!”

She spotted a lone figure walking, a sturdy-looking young black woman stumbling from weariness, her head down. She stumbled, fell to her knees, and seemed unable to stand.

Armo, now merely human and clothed in nothing but scraps, ran to her and lifted her in his arms. He carried her back and sat her on the curb, where she hung her head in her hands and cried quietly.

“It’s okay,” he said. “It’s okay.” But as he spoke he shook his head, his body denying his words.

Dazed, soot-covered people who had escaped the flaming wreckage of the Triunfo seemed drawn to them, kept a respectful distance, but clustered around them.

Shade heard sirens nearing. After everything, after a day and a night of unrelenting horror, there were still men and women rushing to help.

As if the sirens were a signal, the six Rockborn walked away, as behind them the hotel burned and crashed.

I saved you, at least, little pink person. I saved you.

Cruz stumbled behind Shade and Dekka, no one speaking. No one but Armo, who said, “I’ll carry him for a while.”

He took the swaddled bundle from Cruz, but the baby started crying, and after a moment of futile cooing, Armo handed him back to Cruz.

I saved you. Just you.

Cruz imagined herself with a baby of her own. Adopted, of course, but what did that matter? Wasn’t the point to have someone to love, who you hoped at least would love you back? Wasn’t that everything that really mattered?

Cruz felt the tears start again. Maybe they had never stopped. Maybe they never would. She had seen things that no human being should ever see. Things she would never forget, though if she could push a button and just delete . . .

The day’s shock and violence was a fresh wound laid over many earlier ones. And this was life now, wasn’t it? Violence and pain and fear. That was it now. The old world was dead, wasn’t it? Nothing would ever be good or right again.

But still Cruz formed pictures in her mind. There was a beach. It was maybe mid-morning, so the sun was shining bright but wasn’t yet really hot. The water was calm, the waves just lapping rhythmically, not crashing.

And Armo—or some reasonable facsimile—w

as walking hand in hand with their baby.

Jesus, Cruz, mawkish much?

She knew she was retreating into fantasy. Well, why shouldn’t she? When she thought about someday writing stories and even books, hadn’t part of that always been escapism? Hadn’t she always wanted to create worlds where people could just love each other? Hadn’t she always known that her only happiness would be in some fantasy world?

The baby burped. It had fallen asleep.

“We better go find someone to take care of you,” Cruz whispered.

“Nice baby,” Armo said. He was walking beside her. “And I didn’t even know you were pregnant.”

It was a feeble joke, but Cruz gave him a tear-streaked smile. She sighed. “Well, pregnant is one thing I will never be, I’m afraid.”

“Oh, right,” Armo said, nodding sagely. “But you could always adopt one. I hear there are plenty. You can just . . .” At this point he lost the thread and ended up by saying, “. . . I mean, babies can’t be that hard to find, right?”