Angels in Despair

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Noah whispered to the bundle in his arms as a passing breath of wind raked across his skin. "So you're the last Hope. I'll do my part. You'll get to the hospital, but can you bring that which you are called?"

"Hey Noah, what were you saying?" Tom went rigid and his eyes deepened in their sockets. "Wait! Do you feel that?" He shoved away from the willow tree he had been leaning on, strode out of the shadow of its hanging branches, licked the back of his hand, and lifted it to the air. "It has the bite."

"It’s too soon. Run!”

"Where?"

"Over there, a ditch. We might make it." The infant held firmly in his arms, Noah sprinted up the dirt road, dodged chunks of pavement jutting out of the earth, and dove into the ditch, spinning so he landed on his back. He slammed into the ground, the breath blasted out of him, but the child was safe. Tom slid next to him, breathing hard.