The entities were utterly, ambitiously evil; their line of defense, apparently, was absolutely impregnable.
omely grinning carrot-top a girl like Lorry could put into dreams as the center of a satisfactory future.
But all this didn't justify a case of jitters in the "basket room."
Lorry said. "Hi, short stuff," and lifted Baby Newcomb--Male, out of his crib for a cuddling.
Baby Newcomb didn't object. The blue eyes came closer. The week-old eyes with the hundred-year-old look. Lorry laid the bundle over her shoulder and smiled into the dimness.
"You want to be president, Shorty?" Lorry felt the warmth of a new life, felt the little body wriggle in snug contentment. "I wouldn't advise it. Tough job." Baby Newcomb twisted in his blanket. Lorry stiffened.
Lorry felt two tiny hands clutch and dig into her throat. Not just pawing baby hands. Little fingers that reached and explored for the windpipe.
This could have been a good story if the author knew how to create a proper ending. Mildly intense, the story builds interest until the end, at which time there is an unsatisfying twist and anticlimactic closure. Worth a read, but nothing to boast about. 2.5 stars.
A great short story; well-written and creepy, about a roomful of babies who are infected twice.
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