A Cry in the Cold

The cold bit into her skin like tiny knives.

Amira pulled her scarf tighter around her neck, breath fogging in front of her face as she walked along the empty dirt road behind her grandmother’s house.

It was deep winter, and the world around her was quiet, still, almost too still. The trees stood like dark silhouettes against a cloudy sky, and the only sound was the crunch of frozen grass beneath her boots.

Then she heard it.

A cry Sharp, thin, and unmistakably—a baby.

She froze.

The sound had come from the field just beyond the barbed fence.

Her heart quickened. Who would leave a baby out here in the middle of the night?

Without thinking, she climbed over the fence, ignoring the scratch on her coat, and followed the faint sound. The moonlight was weak, but just enough to see a shadowy figure moving ahead among the tall, frosted grass.

A man who was holding something small.

Amira dropped to a crouch, hiding behind a tree. The man was tall, dressed in black, with a hood pulled low over his face. His movements were quick, nervous he kept looking over his shoulder.

She could hear him whispering.

Not cruelly more like urgently.

He wasn’t abandoning the child. He was protecting it. Or trying to.

Just then, headlights flickered in the distance two vehicles approaching fast down a dirt road.

The man’s head snapped up.

He looked around frantically, spotted a nearby ditch, and darted toward it with the baby in his arms.

Amira moved instinctively, following behind as silently as she could.

The man reached a black SUV parked off the road. He opened the back door and gently laid the baby inside.

Before she could think twice, Amira slipped into the open trunk and curled into the shadows, unseen.

The man slammed the doors, jumped into the front seat, and drove off.

The road was rough and icy. The engine growled. Amira could barely breathe, trying to listen through the hum of tires and wind.

And then a sound like gunfire.

The car jolted. Skidded.

The SUV swerved violently before it came to a halt.

Amira hit her head against the side.

The door flew open.

Heavy footsteps.

Voices low, angry, getting closer.

The man opened the backseat door, grabbed the baby, and ran into the woods.

Seconds later, Amira stumbled out of the trunk, still hidden in the shadows, heart racing.

She followed the path of broken grass and snow where the man had run. And then She saw him.

Collapsed under a tree, the baby in his arms, his chest rising and falling rapidly. Blood stained the snow beneath him.

He looked up at her.

His lips trembled.

“He’s not... safe,” he whispered. “Don’t trust… anyone...”

And then He was gone.

The baby started to cry again.

And Amira, trembling in the dark, realized she was alone.

With a child she didn’t know.

And a dead man who took his secrets with him to the grave.