Cries of the Children

1


SAMANTHA WINSTEAD’S DAY had been a long one. She knew she shouldn’t have agreed to take a double shift at the hospital, and as one A.M. brought sixteen straight hours of work to an end, complete exhaustion was creeping into every joint of her five-foot-one frame. She winced, rolling her neck and closing her stinging eyes as she waited for the elevator.

“I thought only residents slept on their feet,” a familiar voice said.

Samantha looked up at Barbara Huston, her friend since medical school and a coworker for six years. As usual, Barbara looked gorgeous—tall, blond, and glamorous—making Samantha feel even grimier.

“It’s been a hell of a day,” Samantha said, running a hand through her shoulder-length brown hair.

“That’s what you get for telling John you’d do his shift for him,” Barbara said.

The elevator opened and they stepped on, barely finding space in the crowd of workers going off duty. They resumed their conversation in the downstairs lobby.

“Well, John had to go to a wedding,” Samantha said. “And he did fill in for me when I had the flu last winter.”

She yawned.

“But I don’t want to do this again in the near future,” she said. “Double shifts are for the young.”

“Are we old?” Barbara asked with a frown. “Last I looked, I was only twenty-eight.”

Samantha pushed her way through the front door into the cool April night.

“Sometimes I feel old,” Samantha said. “I guess it’s just fatigue. And we’re thirty-five, dear heart. Not twenty-eight. Sorry.”

“And here I was living in blissful ignorance,” Barbara sighed. “Well, maybe you ought to come up to the maternity ward sometime. The sight of all those babies bundled up like little pink and blue burritos is rejuvenating.”

Samantha smiled wearily. “Burritos. I always thought they looked like potatoes.”

“Well, at least your vacation starts next week,” Barbara pointed out.

“I wish it started right now,” Samantha said, “but I have to come in just one more day to tie up a few things.”

“Then two whole weeks to yourself,” Barbara said. “Any plans?”

“I thought I might drive into Denver,” Samantha said. “To do some shopping and sightseeing.”

Samantha’s divorce had cut off any ties she had to a family, since her parents had died when she was very young. Barbara wished she had some time off herself, to keep her friend company. The only girl among five children, she considered Samantha the closest thing she’d ever had to a sister.

They had reached Samantha’s truck, a denim-blue Bronco II. The hospital was on the edge of the town, and there were virtually no buildings between it and the mountains. Ashleigh Creek was situated just west of Pueblo, in the valley formed by the Front Range and the Sangre de Cristo Range. The snowcapped peaks of the Front Range loomed majestically in the distance, a virtually unbroken line of the Rockies that cuts through the center of Colorado. To Samantha’s stinging, weary eyes, they might as well have been the terrain of a distant planet.

“Enjoy yourself,” Barbara said as Samantha jumped into the truck. “I’ll see you when you get back.”

“So long,” Samantha said, yawning again.

“Put on the radio,” Barbara suggested. “You have to stay awake.”

“I will, I promise!” Samantha said.

Though the Front Range is the most densely populated area of Colorado, the twisting mountain roads were virtually deserted at this late hour, and she passed only a few cars as she made the half-hour trip home. The sight of her garage was a welcome one.

She pulled the truck to a stop, opened the garage door with a remote, then rolled the truck inside. As she got out, the garage door started sliding back down all by itself. There was an override switch at the back, and she jumped from the truck to press it, but the door continued its descent, leaving Samantha in darkness when it stopped.

She let out an annoyed groan and felt her way along the wall to the back door. She tried her key. The click was satisfying, but the door wouldn’t budge. Samantha fought a growing sense of claustrophobia, forcing herself to see that she had turned the key the wrong way. She tried again, heard a click, but still the door wouldn’t open.

Just then Samantha heard the barking of her dogs. Attuned to the pair of animals that she’d had for five years, she knew at once something was wrong. The barking was shrill and frightened. Was there an intruder on her property? Maybe someone had purposefully tampered with the doors!

She breathed in heavily and peered into the dim room at her rusty tools. There . . . an ax was just what she needed! Maybe if she shattered all the glass on the back door, and smashed the frame, she could crawl out.