The Descent

Holly Ann led. The  viciously  stroked  words  loomed  on  either  side  of  them.  Now  she saw the  scorch  marks  where  flames  had  lapped  at  the  brick.  The  foot  of  the  wall  was coated with charred glass from Molotov cocktails. Who would assault an orphanage? The  metal  door  was  cold.  Mr  Li  brushed  past  her  and  went  into  the  blackness.

'Wait,' she said to him. But his footsteps receded  down the hallway.

Reminding  herself  of  her  mission,  Holly  Ann  stepped  inside.  She  drew  in  a  deep breath,   smelling  for  evidence.   Babies.  She  looked   for   cartoon   figures   or   crayon squiggles  or  smudges  of  little  handprints  on  the  lower  walls.  Instead,  long  staccato patterns  of holes and chips violated the plaster. Termites,  she thought with disgust.

'Wade?' she  tried  again.  'Mr  Li?'  She  continued  down  the  hallway.  Moss  flowered  in cracks.  The  doors  were  all  gone.  Each  room  yawned  black.  If  there  were  windows, they  had  been  bricked  up.  The  place  was  sealed  tight.  Then  she  came  to  a  string  of Christmas lights.

It  was  the  strangest  sight.  Someone  had  strung  hundreds  of  Christmas  lights  –  red and  green  and  little  white  flashing  lights,  and  even  red  chili-pepper  lights  and  green frog  lights  and  turquoise  trout  lights  like  those  found  in  margarita  restaurants  back home. Maybe  the orphans liked it.

The  air changed. An odor infiltrated. The  ammonia of urine. The  smell  of  baby  poop. There  was  no  mistaking  it.  There  were  babies  in  here.  For  the  first  time  in  weeks, Holly Ann smiled. She almost hugged herself.

'Hello?' she called.

An  infant  voice  bubbled  in  the  darkness.  Holly  Ann's  head  jerked  up.  The  tiny  soul might as well have  called her by  name.

She  followed  the  sound  into  a  side  room  reeking  of  human  waste  and  garbage.  The twinkle  of  Christmas  lights  did  not  reach  this  far.  Holly  Ann  steeled  herself,  then  got down on her hands and  knees,  advancing  through  the  pile  by  touch.  The  garbage  was cold.  It  took  all  her  self-control  not  to  think  about  what  she  was  feeling.  Vegetable matter.   Rice.  Discarded  flesh.  Above   all,  she   tried   not   to   think   about   someone throwing away  a live infant.

The  floor  canted  down  toward  the  rear.  Maybe  there  had  been  an  earthquake.  She felt  a  slight  current  of  air  against  her  face.  It  seemed  to  be  coming  up  from  some deeper  place.  She  remembered  the  coal  mines  around  here.  It  was  possible  they'd built their city upon ancient tunnels that were  now collapsing under the weight.

She found the baby  by  its warmth.

As  if  it  had  always  been  her  own,  as  if  she  were  collecting  it  from  a  cradle,  she scooped  up  the  bundle.  The  little  creature  was  sour-smelling.  So  tiny.  Holly  Ann brushed her fingertips across the baby's  belly: the umbilical  cord  was  ragged  and  soft, as if freshly  bitten. It  was a girl, no more than a few  days  old.  Holly  Ann  held  the  little body to her shoulder and listened. Her heart  sank.  Instantly  she  knew.  The  baby  was ill. She was dying.

'Oh, darling,' she whispered.

Her heart  was failing. Her lungs were  filling. You could hear it. Not long now.

Holly Ann wrapped the infant in her sweater  and  knelt  in  the  pile  of  putrid  garbage, rocking  her  baby.  Maybe  this  was  how  it  was  meant  to  be,  a  motherhood  that  lasted only a few minutes.  Better  than  never  at  all,  she  thought.  She  stood  and  started  back toward the hallway and Christmas lights.

A small noise stopped her. The  sound  had  several  parts,  like  a  metal  scorpion  lifting its tail, poising to strike.  Slowly Holly Ann turned.

At first the rifle and military uniform  didn't  register.  She  was  a  very  tall  and  sturdy woman  who  had  not  smiled  for  many  years.  The  woman's  nose  had  been  broken sideways  long ago. Her hair must have  been cut with  a  knife.  She  looked  like  someone who had been fighting – and losing – her entire life.

The  woman hissed something at Holly Ann in a burst  of Chinese. She made  an  angry

gesture,  pointing  at  the  bundle  inside  Holly  Ann's  sweater.  There  was  no  mistaking her demand. She wanted the infant returned  to the sewage  pile in that horrible room. Holly  Ann  recoiled,  clutching  the  baby  tighter.  Slowly  she  raised  the   packet   of disposable diapers. 'It's okay,' she assured the tall woman.

Like  two  different  species,  the  women  studied  each  other.  Holly  Ann  wondered  if this might be the infant's mother, and decided it couldn't possibly be.

Suddenly  the  Chinese  woman  scowled,  and  batted  aside  the  diapers  with  her  rifle barrel.  She  reached  for  the  infant.  Her  peasant  hand  was  thick  and  callused  and manly.