Bad Bloods Prequel

Blake

Blake's Story

Northern Flock

March 24, 2084

Daniel

One spring day, when everyone else was worry free and I felt made out of worries, a single knock rapped our door, and I was the one to open it.

I was the leader. I was always the one to open it.

Most of the time it was Cal. Some of the time, it was a neighbor. Mr. Pewinsky for mowing his lawn. Mrs. Lauuran for watering her garden (and pulling out all the weeds). Ms. Hanison for babysitting her nephew. And then the worst of the times, it was a cop.

But they liked me all right. Especially when I convinced them to check with a neighbor that my uncle would be back real soon. Calhoun Wilson.

After the first instance, not even a year ago, Cal got to work immediately.

Within a week, I had a fake ID.

Daniel Wilson.

My name was Daniel Wilson.

And I had my ID ready to go when I opened that door that spring morning.

But it wasn't Cal, or a neighbor, or a cop.

It was a basket with a blanket.

March 24, 2084

Adam

"It's a baby!" I exclaimed before Daniel even realized I was right behind him.

I did it any time he opened the door, especially when the cops began showing up and I saw him shake like a bunny rabbit. It was the most fearful I had ever seen him, and though he thought it was his duty to face it, I would always be there to back him up.

That was what a side kick was for.

But even side kicks had limits.

"A freakin' baby!"

Daniel shushed me like a parent would, and unsurprisingly, I didn't listen.

"You can't touch that thing," I said. "You don't know what disease it has. Or who it belongs to."

"I'm on it."

I leapt at Vi's ghostly voice as goose bumps trailed up my spine and a shadow shot out from the front step. She was after the person who'd left the kid on our doorstep.

"Sometimes that girl really creeps me out," I admitted, but no one heard me.

Squeals came from the dining room table in front of the bay window. Maggie and Michele bounced like...girls, and Ryne watched them with mild interest. Daniel, however, dangled a pen over the basket, and a baby's hand stretched up, little fingers dancing circles around what it perceived to be a toy.

Pathetic little thing.

Even I had to smile. But I swallowed it before I approached.

"What is it?"

"A boy," Daniel said, not at all concerned with the fact that someone dropped off a BABY on our front porch like we were some sort of church in an old comic book. Those tales never did end well. Babies might as well have been omens. Same with church.

"You cannot be serious," I said, collapsing into the nearest chair. "We can't take care of a baby."

"Look at how cute he is," Michele squealed over me.