Last Wrong Turn (5 page)

Enda

“You can take my bed,” I tell the baby, settling him down on the sheets. “I'll wash it later, so it'll be nicer for you. Will that make you stop crying?”

I wait, but still he screams and bawls.

“What's wrong?” I ask, trying to stay calm. In the back of my mind, I'm starting to wonder whether maybe I'm doing something wrong. “Can't you tell me? Can't you talk yet?”

I reach down and place a hand on the side of his face, but if anything this actually makes him cry harder, and his cheeks are looking very red and flushed. Figuring I should try something else, I lift him up and hold him closer, giving him a hug, but he doesn't seem to feel any better. It's almost as if the sight of my face is making him upset, and I guess I can kinda understand that, even if he's just gonna have to get used to me.

“I'm your new Mama now,” I whisper. “I'm your -”

Freezing, I suddenly realize that I
am
his Mama. The idea sends a shiver through my chest, but I quickly tell myself that I'll be much,
much
better than my own Mama. She died a long time ago, before the time when I can remember things, and truth be told I haven't heard many good things about her from Pa. Still, the past is the past, and I can't do anything about that now. This baby, on the other hand, needs me to keep him safe and happy, and I'm going to do just that.

“If you were a pig,” I tell him, “I'd just leave you out there in the yard, but I'm thinking new humans need something more. Are you hungry? What kind of things do you like to eat?”

I set him down again and scramble across the bed. I still have some bread from this morning, so I grab it and hold it close to the baby's face. When he doesn't bite, I nibble the hard crusts off and offer it again, this time gently pressing the bread against his screaming mouth.

“It's good bread,” I explain, frustrated by his refusal to eat. “I made it just two days ago, so it's still pretty soft. There's not even any mold on it.”

I try stuffing the bread into his mouth, but he quickly starts spitting it out. Grabbing a cup from a nearby table, I try pouring water into his mouth, but he splutters and screams even louder, turning his face away.

“What do you
want
?” I ask again, trying not to sound flustered even though I'm starting to run out of ideas. I know I could try asking Pa for help, but somehow I don't think he'd be much use. He hates me now, and anyway, he did a terrible job of raising Brother and not a particularly good job with me. I want this baby to grow up strong and right, and happy. I want him to have a better life than me.

I just need to get him to stop crying first.

“Should I name you?” I ask, leaning closer and smiling.

Looking back at me, the baby screams even louder.

“I'm gonna call you...”

I pause, trying to think of a name. I don't know many names, although I remember a few from the books on Pa's shelves, and I figure I'll pick one of those.

“Alistair,” I say finally. “You're gonna be Alistair. How does that sound?”

I wait, hoping he might calm down a little, but he's crying so hard, he seems likes he's struggling to breathe. Maybe he doesn't like his name, although I doubt he really understands that it
is
his name, not yet. The truth is, he just seems to be entirely focused on bawling and crying, almost as if nothing else matters.

“Come on, Alistair,” I say softly, lifting him up and cradling him in my arms, figuring he might feel comforted. “It's alright now, you're not alone. I'm here.”

With that, I lean closer and give him a kiss on the cheek. It's the first time I've ever kissed anything that's not one of the pigs.

“You're gonna get used to it here,” I tell him. “
I
did. Pa says I was a baby when I came here, just like you. I was hurt, too, and Pa saved my life. He sewed my face back together, so I was in a much worse state when I got to the farm. He says I cried and cried like you wouldn't believe, but eventually I got used to life here. I know it must seem cold and gray right now, but -”

I flinch as his cries get louder.

“I know it doesn't seem all that great at the moment,” I continue, with a growing sense of desperation, “but you
will
start to appreciate the place. And if you're mad about what happened to the woman whose belly you were in, well... I'm sorry. I don't usually do things like that, but I was in a hurry and I had to get rid of her. I'm not a monster, though. Really, I'm not. You're gonna be my little brother, or... Maybe I can be Mama for you instead, so you'll be my little boy.” I wait for him to stop crying, but he's bawling worse than ever. “Do you want milk?” I ask finally. “I think Pa mentioned once that babies like milk. We've got milk, I'll get you some.”

Setting him back on the bed, I hurry out of the room.

“Enda!” Pa yells from his room. “What in all hell is going on in this house?”

Ignoring him, I race down the stairs and through to the kitchen. My mind is spinning as I try to think of all the things I might try with the baby, but for now I figure the priority is to get him properly fed. Once I reach the pantry, I grab a jug of milk and take a sniff. It's a few days old now and maybe not the best it could be, but I figure the baby won't know any better.

Feeling a sudden gust of wind, I look through to the pantry and see that the back door is hanging open. I guess I must have forgotten to shut it properly, so I head over and lock it, and then I make my way back to the kitchen and -

Stopping suddenly, I realize I can hear footsteps in the room above.

I stay completely still, telling myself that there's no way Pa could creep about like that. With his legs being so bad, he struggles to walk at all. Still, someone is definitely moving very slowly and very carefully along the landing, and a moment later I hear the floorboards creaking in my bedroom.

Hurrying to the window, I look out and see that the pigs are in their usual position, slumped in the mud. They should still be finishing the woman's corpse, but instead they're acting like...

“No,” I whisper, trying not to panic as I realize that she must have somehow escaped from the pen. “Please, no...”

Grabbing a knife from the counter, I race through to the hallway and then up the stairs. Before I manage to get even halfway, however, I hear raised voices in one of the rooms, and I realize Pa's shouting at someone.

“Who are you?” he yells. “What are you doing in my -”

Before he can finish, he suddenly stumbles into view at the top of the stairs and then falls, tipping backward and crashing down toward me. I grab the bannister and hold on tight, and a fraction of a second later Pa slams into me with such force, I almost lose my footing. Tumbling past, he lets out a gasp as he hits the opposite wall, and I watch in horror as he crunches down against the floor in the hallway. Even before he's entirely fallen still, I can see that his neck is twisted the wrong way.

“Pa?” I whisper, shocked by the thought that he might finally be dead. “Pa, what -”

Hearing the baby crying over my shoulder, I look upstairs and see the naked woman stumbling into view. She has the child in her arms, and although there's blood and mud caked all over her body, it looks like she managed to escape the pigs without suffering any serious injuries. Just a few bite marks here and there.

“He's mine!” I shout, clattering up the stairs two-at-a-time with the knife in my right hand. “Leave him alone! You can go, but he's mine!”

Slamming into her, I send the woman crashing into the far wall. I grab the baby and pull him free, before turning and racing along the landing until I reach my room. Once I'm inside, I try to push the door shut, only for the woman to force it open and send me and the baby toppling back onto the bed. At the same time, I drop the knife and it falls to the floor.

“Where the fuck am I?” the woman gasps, wincing as she reaches down and picks up the knife.

Setting little Alistair aside, I start to get up, only for the woman to raise the knife toward my face.

“Don't you fucking touch my son,” she continues, her voice trembling with fear. “Where am I, and where the fuck is my husband?”

I swallow hard. Suddenly, my throat feel very dry. “I don't think -”

“Where's my fucking husband, you little bitch?”

Lunging at me, she swipes the knife toward my face, missing by less than an inch. Pulling back against the wall, I hold my breath as she limps closer. I've never, ever been attacked like this in my own room, and my head is spinning as I try to think of a way out.

“Where is he?” she screams.

“You shouldn't shout like that,” I tell her. “You'll upset the baby.”

“
I'll
upset the baby?” she asks, her eyes widening with shock. “Are you fucking kidding me, you little freak? How did I get here? The last thing I remember is...”

Her voice trails off, and she stares at me for a moment.

“There was a crash,” she stammers. “We hit something, or we swerved and...” She pauses. “Where's my husband?”

“I don't -”

“Where's Pete?” she yells, stepping closer and pressing the knife against the side of my neck. “I'm going to give you until the count of three to tell me where I can find my husband,” she continues, as the baby continues to scream, “and then if you haven't told me, I'm going to cut your goddamn throat.”

“Please -”

“What the fuck are you, anyway?” she asks. “What happened to your face?”

As I look down at her trembling hand, I can already feel the blade's cold metal digging into my neck. If she pushes any harder, she'll break the skin.

“Where's my husband?” she asks.

“Please, just -”

“Where is he?” she screams. “What did you -”

Slipping away, I grab her arm and pull her away from the bed, quickly slamming her into the wall. She cries out and drops the knife, which I quickly grab before stepping back and then kicking her hard in the side of the face. Figuring I need to get little Alistair to safety, I pick him up from the bed and then step over the woman as groans on the floor.

“Wait,” she gasps, trying but failing to grab my foot.

Stopping outside the room, I turn and look back at her. She's trying to get to her feet, but the pain in her side is clearly too great and she's lost a lot of blood. Her belly is gross, all sagging flesh and blood smears. As she starts crawling across the floor, still screaming at me to give her the baby, she looks like some kind of monster. Pa always called the pigs his 'pretty little monsters', but I reckon that can apply to people too.

“Stay back!” I say finally, holding up the knife and turning it so she can see the blade, while balancing the baby in my other arm.

She cries out, but she looks too weak to do much. I reckon I can easily cut her down if necessary.

“You pushed Pa down the stairs,” I continue. I pause for a moment, surprised that I'm not more upset. I think Pa's death has been coming for a while, and in all honesty I'm kinda glad if he's been put out of his misery. In truth, I'm glad he's been put out of
my
misery too. While he was still around, I still felt like I wasn't
completely
in charge of the farm. Now that's changed. “Don't worry about Pa,” I tell the woman, “I'll bury him out back. I should feed him to the pigs, but that doesn't seem right somehow, so I guess -”

“Give me my baby!” she shouts, crawling a little closer. “I swear to God, you little bitch -”

“Keep back!” I swipe the knife toward her, just inches from her face, and she recoils slightly. “Don't you come near me,” I continue, “or bad things are gonna happen.”

“Please don't hurt my baby,” she sobs.

“He's not
your
baby,” I tell her, “and anyway, I'd
never
hurt him. I'm gonna raise him good, and I'm gonna make sure he fits in around here just fine, just like me!”

“No, please...”

“He's gonna have a good life,” I continue. “Much better than anything you can give him. I've seen flashes of the world out there, and I can't say I think much of it. I've watched cars going by on the road, and I've seen people from time to time. They never come here to the farmhouse, but once or twice I've gone to the edge of it all and I've watched for a little while. Looks like a cold, mean place to me. I like it a lot better here.”

“Give me my baby,” she whispers. As she reaches toward me, however, it's clear that she's close to losing consciousness. She mumbles something under her breath, but I can't make out any of the words.

“I'm sorry I tried to feed you to the pigs,” I tell her. “That was wrong of me, I admit. I panicked, but to be fair, you were trying to hurt me, so it was self-defense.”

She gasps, and it's clear she's in a lot of pain. I'm impressed that she made it this far, but I guess a mother can really find hidden strength if she's trying to look after her baby. I feel the same thing in me.

“You've got two choices,” I continue, hoping I might be able to make her see sense. “The first is you can come at me and try to force things, in which case I'll fight back and we both know how that's gonna go. I'm stronger and tougher than you, especially now you're in such a bad way, so -”