Quickly moving supplies off the boat and onto the second level of the submerged barn, Anthony glanced around his surroundings, trying not to notice the stench of mildew seeping through the wooden boards. Its barn’s support beams were black with moisture, soaked from the impact’s apparent erosion of rivers from delta to floodplains. The former owner knew crops would never grow here again as tools had been brought up to the second level of the barn as well; however, this was shortsighted as rain had soaked through the decrepit rooftop and rusted a pitchfork, a shovel, and some gardening tools nonetheless. There was also a single window, fogged up from Anthony’s constant movement in the past few moments. Wiping the glass, the river stretched for miles; it seemed stale, frozen in time.
What a dumb way to let a baby starve, the shovel chortled suddenly.
Though alarmed, Anthony knew better than to talk back. Silent, he knew to expect another jab from the voices. Finally, it came.
Hey, you sack of shit, did you hear me? I just said, WAY TO GO, LETTING THE BABY STARVE LIKE THAT.
It’ll go away eventually, Anthony thought to himself. One-one thousand, two-one thousand, three…
Aggravated, the shovel finally snarled, Leah wouldn’t have let the baby starve. But I guess you’re no Leah. You’re just a clumsy, mentally-retarded, Fuck-Up. Aren’t you?
Anthony swung around to tell the shovel to fuck off, but when he did, it just stood there, erect and cold.
Infuriated but reminded of the baby and Leah, Anthony gave in and checked in on the tiny infant. Its enormous eyes stared up at him, and similar to the expressions of a cow, Anthony couldn’t tell whether it was fear in its eyes or wonderment.
He broke into the bread and dipped small pieces into the water to soften it; afterward, he passed the bread to the baby’s mouth. This went on into the night time when young Moses finally burped with satisfaction and went to sleep. Anthony had the distinct feeling Moses was a baby girl and regretted not naming her something else. Drifting into sleep, Anthony wondered who her parents had been, how long it had been until he found the thing, and whether she would even live through the night.
Bemused that the voices had stopped while caring for the child, Anthony dreamed the child would grow up and save him from the monsters that haunted him. Maybe this child would even be the key to redeeming his failed life so far, choking him like a heavy rubber boot over his throat. Choking!
Suddenly, gasping for air, Anthony awoke to the knee of an adult on his throat; another held the pitchfork to Anthony’s face. It was night time still, but fireflies had left their reeds and illuminated the faces of two corrupt looking men.
The leader whispered in a suppressed and coarse voice, “Listen very closely, you sack of shit. First, I’m going to kill this baby. Then, I’m going to kill you. That is, if you don’t tell me exactly what I want to know in the next three seconds.”
The wet pitchfork hovered above Anthony’s eyes, and the droplets of water on its teeth looked like blood under the fireflies’ reddened glow.
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