Wings of the Walker - CoraLee June Page 0,97

my whole life. I knew that this sad story wasn't over, not by a long shot.

"I know, Maverick. Can we just pretend the baby's going to be okay for a little while?" I asked.

Huxley gripped the counter and stared at me with the eyes of someone that has seen too much.

"Let me know," he croaked out before leaving, his head hung low. Eventually, Huxley and I would have to discuss what happened, but not now.

I played with the baby's hair while she slept to the sound of the heart monitor’s beeping. She looked worn but so incredibly peaceful. I felt an inexplicable connection to this child. I, too, was orphaned by a disease that stole life without rhyme or reason. But unlike me, I was determined for this child to have a different story.

The hour passed painfully slow, but finally, Maverick's stoic form appeared in the room. The frown on his face made my stomach plummet.

"I have good news, and I have bad news," he began. I clutched my stomach in preparation.

"She is not immune, but it looks like X hasn’t attached itself to her platelets yet. If I give her the vaccine now, it could prevent her from getting sick,” he said while peering at her. “I still want to keep her for observation. Sometimes the vaccine can be tricky in younger children, and I want to double and triple check that she is not infected.”

"But she’ll be okay?” I asked, unwilling to feel too hopeful.

“I think she’ll be okay." He nodded while administering the vaccine in her IV.

I clung to the little victory and gently held the baby's hand.

"Let's call her Hope.”

Chapter Fourteen

Hope cried constantly. During our week at the Clinic together, I rocked her, fed her, changed her diaper, and walked the floors while bouncing her. She only slept when exhaustion claimed her, but even then, it was a short-lived relief from her cries.

It broke my heart. I knew that on a primal level, she craved her mother. She was grieving the loss of someone she barely got the opportunity to know. In turn, it put me in a solemn mood. I felt the pull of sadness while thinking how unfair it all was. Hope and I fed off each other’s melancholy and wallowed in our combined grief.

Kemper brought by his old baby crib—hand crafted by his grandfather. He tried to soothe her, but she still screamed. Maverick did numerous checks to ensure that everything was okay, and he found nothing wrong. The vaccine seamlessly did its job preventing X from killing her after being exposed to her mother. Her survival and story were extraordinary.

Cyler stopped by a couple times but was terrified to hold her. He watched with sad eyes from across the room as I tried to soothe her. Jacob was stuck at the train station but called regularly. Patrick brought me clothes to change into—clothes that were a bit too tight, I might add—but he didn’t stay long once Hope’s shrill cries started back up.

Huxley never did come back. When Maverick called him to say that Hope would be okay, Hux had simply said “Good” before hanging up his tablet.

My nights with Hope in the Clinic completely eradicated my reservations. It was on the third day, that I realized I had been in the Clinic without feeling haunted by all that happened there. The rooms no longer felt like the echo of the Walker woman that died there. Instead, it felt like Hope.

On my seventh day, Maverick determined that she was safe enough to get off observation and suggested that we move back to the manor. While I packed up my clothes and cleaned the room, Mia walked in, covering her ears to block out Hope’s poor wails. I waved but didn’t bother greeting her. She wouldn’t have heard me anyway.

Mia bent over the wooden cradle and picked up Hope, then held her out away from her body as if the baby was a monster and she needed to keep her as far away as possible.

“She sure is loud for such a little body,” she observed while tilting her head to the side. Hope stopped crying and furrowed her thin eyebrows at Mia as if trying to understand what was happening. They stared at each other for a moment, until Hope began crying again. I checked the clock and determined that it was time to attempt another feeding. After warming the bottle, I picked her up, and she greedily started sucking down the milk.