"Here," says Donna as she shoves the baby in my arms. I try not to drop it.
I'm completely confused.
Donna takes a seat beside me. "We stopped Belinda before she could hurt it," she tells me as tears start to form in the bottom of both of my eyes.
"I don't understand how she can be so hateful," I tell her. Donna nods.
"It's different now. None of us want to stay here anymore -- not after what happened. We're going to try and find another town north of here."
I tell Donna that Maria told me that they didn't know of any other mutants and that they came from the East. Somehow my offering that information has given me safe passage with the rest of the group.
"Thank you," Donna says as she stands and walks towards the door. "We'll be leaving in the morning. We've burnt the hospital out of respect to those who were slaughtered. We'll be taking as many rations as we can carry. The next town shouldn't be more than three or four days' journey." She says. It sounds like a re-iteration to the rest of the group.
"You're welcome to stay. No one will bother you. I've spoken with Belinda." Donna tells me as she exits.
I sit there on the floor of the tavern while one by one the others file out. Jim lurks a bit longer than the rest and so I reach out my hand to thank him for all that he's done.
"I'm going to stay with you," he says.
"That would be amazing!" I burst through a fresh wave of tears. For the first time I'm terrified to be alone and having Jim with me on this next leg of the journey is such a relief.
For a brief second I forget that I have a baby in my arms, but then she cries. I take this moment to look at her face -- perfect and unburnt. The first baby born since the disaster.
"We're going to go west," I tell her as I readjust her bindings and stop her from crying. Jim agrees that we should. Tomorrow after the others leave, we will pack the car with all the supplies we can carry and head there.
For the first time in a long time I have hope in my heart -- the kind that exists on its own. That separate entity that fills your heart with new purpose -- not the kind you have to convince yourself of. A real hope for something better.
"That's what we'll call her," I tell Jim who gives me his first smile in quite a long time. And as Hope cries an abundance of relief, I rock her into a deep peaceful slumber. Eventually I too fall asleep on the floor of the tavern with Jim in the background collecting food and other rations.
I sleep for the first time with the real knowledge that hope is with me, that there is better out there; and even though the world as you know it may have crumbled around you -- somehow, somewhere, a new beginning exists as long as you're willing to believe in it.
