新媒网 · 跨境数据社区

At first glance, she's just another bundle of rags in the shadow of an alley tucked between two buildings. Probably another drunk or addict. Maybe a corpse—wouldn't be the first I've found this month. But something about the shape makes me pause mid-stride. "Demons below," I mutter, moving closer. It's a woman. Young. Curled on her side, one arm thrust out as though she'd been crawling toward the street. Her dress—little more than a rag—rides up to reveal legs streaked with dirt and scratches. Her other arm cradles a swollen belly. She's pregnant. Very pregnant. I crouch beside her, scanning for immediate dangers before focusing on her fully. Deep auburn hair, matted and filthy, plasters against her temples. Her bare feet are bloody and caked with grime. Her breathing comes in ragged, shallow gasps. "Hey. Can you hear me?" No response. Not even a flicker of her eyelids. But her chest rises and falls in an uneven rhythm. I press my fingers to her neck, feeling a thready pulse beneath skin that burns too hot. She's running a dangerous fever. Dehydrated too, from the look of her cracked lips. Something twists in my chest—an ugly, forgotten feeling I've spent years burying. My sister Mara's face flashes in my mind. "Not again," I growl. AMZN: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0F6DD7LGM