Free Dead Highways: Origins by Richard Brown Page A

us. And they’d probably want my help.
    I was wrong. But only about the crazy part.
    The sixth and final floor was the maternity ward. I couldn’t get past the waiting room without a magnetic keycard, so I swiped one from one of the nurses just lying around.
    I was instantly glad I had said I’d take the top two floors, new mothers and their newborn babies was not a sight either of the girls needed to see. Not like this. It was awful.
    There was no other way to describe it.
    Just awful.
    Then I came upon the nursery, and things got even worse.
    I looked through the glass window just like countless people had before me, viewing the newborns in their makeshift bassinets. Thankfully, the nursery wasn’t even close to full capacity. Many of the pregnant mothers never got that far, falling ill with the infection before they could finish giving birth. For the three babies that were in the nursery, this was where they were supposed to wait until mommy was ready to take them home. Only, they’d never go home. Their short life was over before it had a chance to begin.
    Except for one.
    It was a baby girl wrapped tight in a pink blanket, squirming in her pen, eyes open, but not crying. I wondered how long she’d been in there—how long she had cried before figuring out no one was coming to help her.
    No one but me.
    The trip back down the stairs was less of a toll on my legs, even though I was carrying an extra seven or eight pounds. I hadn’t even finished searching the sixth floor for Naima’s parents. They weren’t up there, not on the maternity ward. I was sure of it. Plus, I had bigger—or smaller —things to worry about at the moment. This quiet, beautiful baby girl probably wouldn’t make it much longer if she didn’t get something in her belly. She looked weak and tired, and was powerless to do anything about it.
    Peaches was already in the waiting room when I got back.
    “Oh no, you’re kidding,” she said softly, seeing me with a baby cradled in my arms. “Is she . . . ?”
    “No, she’s alive, but she needs formula.”
    “Can I hold her?”
    “Sure,” I said, handing her off. “She’s not mine.”
    Peaches rocked the baby against her chest, her large breasts making for a soft cushion.
    “I’m guessing you didn’t find anyone. Where is Naima? She should have been the first to get back?”
    “I don’t know, Jimmy.”
    I checked my watch. “Still got a few minutes.”
    “You didn’t find any formula?”
    “I didn’t look,” I said.
    “You didn’t? Why not?”
    “Cause I’m an idiot.”
    Peaches smiled. “There’s got to be some.”
    “Probably is. I panicked.” I looked at my watch again. “Let’s wait five more minutes for Naima, and if she doesn’t show, we’ll head back up there.”
    Five minutes came and went, and there was still no sign of Naima.
    “Where could she be?” I asked.
    “Anywhere, really.”
    “You think she could have found her parents?”
    “Could have. But would she just leave without us?”
    “If she really found her dad, and he was okay, she’d do whatever he told her to, I’m sure. You met him. You got a small taste of what he’s like.”
    Peaches nodded, never looking up from the baby in her arms.
    “Now amplify that times a thousand.”
    “So she ditched us then?”
    I shrugged. “Probably. Let’s just go find some formula. Maybe we can swing by her place on the way back to the bookstore.”
    The second time going up the stairs actually seemed easier than the first. It must have been the wave of adrenaline pulsing through my body. Once on the sixth floor, Peaches found the formula so fast I thought she had GPS guiding her. She also grabbed some diapers. We agreed to leave the hospital before feeding the baby girl. We both needed a strong dose of fresh air and a little less creepiness.
    Back at the Buick, Peaches prepared the formula and began feeding the baby. No longer consigned to the back seat, she now sat beside me. I took out Sally’s