The baby wouldn't stop crying.

Natalie stared up at the warped ceiling beams from her spot, eyes wide open, jaw clenched. Her hands were folded behind her head in that locked, angry way, like if she moved them, she might use them for something bad.

The wailing started again. That thin, high-pitched, needling sound. Newborn lungs. Weak but sharp. Like glass splinters shoved in her ears. She sat up with a groan, not caring if you were asleep beside her at this point.

Natalie: “For fuck’s sake.” she muttered, not bothering to keep her voice down.

Across the room, Shauna was already cradling the baby, rocking slowly in one of the salvaged chairs by the fire. Her face was a tight mask of tired devotion, like she knew how much everyone hated the sound but didn’t give a damn.

Natalie: “Try feeding it again.” Natalie snapped.

Shauna: “hes not hungry.” Shauna didn’t look up.

Natalie: “Oh, well then by all means, let him scream us all into psychosis.”

Van rolled over on her bunk, groaning into a pillow. Taissa muttered something Natalie didn’t catch.

No one else was saying anything. No one dared. The baby was alive. A miracle, Lottie had said, like the forest had chosen to bless them. Natalie wasn’t so sure. It felt less like a blessing and more like a punishment for still being alive themselves.