Cut Throat. Шарон Сала

same haunting cry, but either the engine was too loud or the sound had stopped. One thing was for certain, her presence had scared away the coyotes. She didn’t hear them anymore.

      Her fingers tightened on the steering wheel as she ducked back into the car and accelerated slowly. Just when she thought she’d imagined the whole thing, a flash of red and yellow caught her eye. As she turned toward the color, she quickly realized it was a blanket—covering a woman.

      The woman was lying on her side, facing the headlights of Cat’s car.

      She wasn’t moving, which any normal person would have done if they’d been faced with headlights coming toward them.

      Cat’s stomach lurched as she hit the brakes and slammed the car into park. She got out on the run, trying not to think of how she’d found Marsha’s body by the color of the coat she’d been wearing. Within seconds, she was on her knees beside the woman, feeling for a pulse.

      There was none.

      She reached for the blanket, her hand shaking, then pulled it back and shined the flashlight—into the face of a baby, who was looking right back at her.

      It wasn’t until the baby closed its eyes against the glare of the flashlight that she realized it was still alive.

      “Oh God…baby…poor baby. Poor little baby.”

      But when she tried to pick it up, the mother’s grip—even in death—was so fierce that Cat couldn’t pull the baby free. By now the baby was wailing again, but the sound was so weak, it was scary. Cat had no way of knowing how long they’d lain like this—or how long it had been since the baby had been fed. Finally she managed to pull the mother’s arms away and gather the baby up into her arms.

      The scent of urine and feces was strong as she headed for her car. She opened the back hatch of the SUV, using the flat surface as a changing table, and began a quick check of the baby.

      It was a girl. Except for almost certain dehydration and an incredibly dirty diaper, she could see no obvious bruises or injuries. She didn’t know much about babies, but this lethargy couldn’t be good.

      She tossed the filthy diaper out into the darkness, then began cleaning the tiny child with some of the antiseptic hand wipes she kept up front. Within moments, the baby began to shiver. Cat stripped off her own sweater and, using it like a blanket, covered up the child. She knew the little girl was in need of food and clothing, but short of giving up her sweater, she had nothing. Praying that the mother had the foresight to have been carrying supplies, she made a quick run back to the body.

      The headlights were still on, keeping the tragedy in the spotlight. Cat wanted to scream, to cry and rage at the injustice of what was before her, but there was no time. The baby’s survival might depend on what she could find.

      At first she saw nothing, but she wouldn’t give up. She couldn’t believe that a mother would be out here, this far from anything, without food and water for herself and the baby.

      She crouched with her back to the headlights and searched the darkness with her flashlight. The scent of death and the desert were strong in her nose as she swept the small beam out into the night. Within seconds, she saw what appeared to be a large bundle a few feet away. Lunging toward it, she grabbed it, then ran, dashing past the headlights to the back of her car. She laid the bundle inside, near the baby, and opened it up. Within seconds, a scorpion crawled out from the folds, its upturned tail curled threateningly as it moved.

      “Son of a bitch!” Cat yelped, and swept the scorpion and the entire bundle out of the car and into the dirt before anything else could crawl out.

      The sweater she’d laid on the baby was now down around its feet, and the night air on the little girl’s fragile skin was chilling her moment by moment, reminding Cat that she didn’t have time to be squeamish.

      She stomped the scorpion into the dirt, grinding it beneath the heel of her boot, then went down on her knees, using the flashlight to search for what she needed. To her relief, she found a handful of disposable diapers. It had been years since she’d diapered a baby, but it did not deter her. The chore had been part of her life while living in foster care. After a few missteps, she finally figured out how to make the little tabs stick and the task was done. The diaper sagged sideways, but it stayed put. Her hands were shaking as she went back to the bundle. When she found a handful of baby clothes, she breathed another sigh of relief. After giving the clothing a vigorous shake, she dressed the little girl in a small T-shirt, then wrapped her up in a clean baby blanket.

      A brief sob slipped out from between clenched teeth as she put her sweater back on. For a few silent moments, she stared down at the baby, knowing that her efforts could be too little, too late, and tried not to panic.

      The baby’s eyes were closed, but her little hands were beating the air as she wailed against the hunger and discomfort of her situation.

      Cat felt helpless. What now? Oh. Food. That was it. The baby was surely hungry.

      She went back to the bundle. When she found some cans of condensed milk and a plastic baby bottle, she silently praised the dead mother’s foresight. Cat had no time to wonder where the woman had been going or how she’d died. Her whole focus was on saving the baby from dying, too. She stared at the cans of milk, knowing it was going to save the baby, but how? The little she knew about feeding babies involved diluting the milk, but to what extent?

      The baby squeaked again, raising Cat’s anxiety.

      “Hey, little girl…give me a minute. I don’t know what to do with this stuff,” she muttered, then brushed her finger against the side of the baby’s cheek. As she did, the baby moved toward the feeling with her tiny mouth wide open.

      “Okay, honey, I get the message,” Cat said, and got down to business.

      She popped the top on the can and poured until the bottle was about a third full.

      “Water, water, I need water.”

      Unaware that she was talking aloud, she ran around to the front seat and got her water bottle from the floorboard. There was no time to worry about measurements as she filled the bottle the rest of the way full. She gave it a quick shake, then gathered the baby up in her arms, crawled into the back of the car and pulled the door shut.

      The engine was still running.

      The heater was still on.

      The headlights were still burning.

      Cat’s heart was pounding as she cradled the baby up against her and pushed the nipple against the baby’s mouth.

      Again the tiny lips parted in that life-affirming motion, urgently seeking the sustenance that meant life.

      Cat watched in awe, seeing how the baby’s tongue curled around the nipple, watching the tiny nostrils flare in an effort to breathe and drink at the same time.

      At first it seemed that the baby was too weak to suck, and Cat didn’t know what to do. But the baby persisted and, when the first trickle of milk slid down her throat and she swallowed, Cat shuddered. It wasn’t until the baby settled into a steady, sucking motion, that Cat began to relax.

      She listened to the lip-smacking, sucking and swallowing sounds of a feeding baby and tried not to think of the dead mother only a few feet away. The weight of the tiny child was next to nothing in her arms, but the weight of responsibility was huge. For the first time in her life, Cat wasn’t focused on her own agenda.

      Ghost hunting had just taken a huge backseat to a little girl’s fate. She hadn’t been able to save the mother, but she would save this little girl’s life if it was the last damn thing she did.

      Cat sat in silent awe as the baby emptied the bottle and didn’t even know she was crying until tears dripped off her face down onto her hands.

      Five

      The bottle was empty, and the baby was asleep. Cat had put what was left of the opened can of milk in her small ice chest, along with the