Feeding Time

I woke suddenly.  Blinking, bleary-eyed and fuzzy-headed.  It took me a moment to focus.

The baby was crying again, Hungry again! I glanced at the clock but there had been another power cut whilst I was asleep.  Four zeros blinked at me uncertainly.  I scrabbled on the bedside cabinet for my mobile phone, but knocked the TV remote instead.  It fell on to the floor and the set blazed into life. 

More news reports.  There never seems to be anything else on these days.  Damn Zombie Apocalypse.  More reports that the government has it under control.  That it was merely a few isolated incidents.  If that was the case, then why were they still broadcasting live updates every hour. 

I blinked at Suzie, my wife.  Who was laying next to me as she starred restlessly in her sleep.  She was exhausted,  Pale and drawn.  But with a tinge of pink in her cheeks, she might have well been a zombie herself.

The baby was everything to her.  After an exhausting 26 hour labour, I'd watch her face fall after the doctors declared the baby stillborn.  Watched the light of denial, fervent and insane, creep into her eyes.  I never wanted to see that expression on her face again.  I would do anything not to have to see it again. My heart broke. 

But then the baby had kicked and cried out.  Against all the doctors protests and precautions, we took the baby there and then.  Brought the baby here, brought it home.

The baby cried out again, bringing me back to the present with a crash.  I rolled out of my warm, comfortable bed and went to see to it.  I opened the mini fridge that we ran just for the baby bottles, but it was empty.  I sighed.  It was going to be one of those nights. Ugh! 

I picked up the baby out of it's cot.  It wriggled and cried out, but quieter now.  It knew the routine as well as I did by now.  Out in the corridor, I opened the cellar door one handed and fumbled for the light switch.  I carried it downstairs and placed it in the playpen while I prepared to make up the bottles.  In the harsh artificial light, the baby's skin took on a greyish tinge.

I pulled the spare bottles out of the sterilizer, lined them up and turned on the food processor.  Baby gurgled in delight, drooling. 

Then I opened the padded locked door. The young woman looked terrified.  She was gagged and bound her hands and feet bound together. Her eyes were huge with fear. Tears rushing down her face. I hefted the axe, and whispered softly to her.  “Sorry, but baby's hungry”.