“I saw you coming down, and I—I followed you, and then I saw him, and I—” Rosa said.

But Lucy didn’t hear her; terror and adrenaline had taken away most of her senses. The only thing that caught her attention was the way Rosa trembled. And how could she not shiver if they were in the garage, where the temperatures were low despite having the heat on full blast, and the poor woman wasn’t wearing a coat? Lucy would have gladly given hers, but—

No. There was no time to think about that.

She assumed Rosa was apologizing for what she had just done because of the way she was babbling. The poor thing was in shock. Lucy nodded; she wanted to thank her for having taken down her husband and asked her to help her with the boy who was standing next to the gray sedan. Her voice didn’t come out, though. And then, she saw herself getting down on her knees in front of the little one.

Broga had his brown hair all shaken up and covered with snow; his eyes were congested, his little nose was dripping, his skin had a worrying blue tinge, and he was shaking. He would freeze to death. The blanket! Lucy recalled and looked for it. Where was the blanket? Broga needed the blanket!

The pipe she had seen in Rosa’s hands fell to her side, and the cracking of the metal against the concrete pulled her out of her thoughts. It wasn’t just a pipe; it was a lug wrench, and it had blood on the tip; Bernardo’s blood.

Was Bernardo dead? She felt the need to attend to her fallen husband, but she stopped. The blanket was more important; Broga needed it.

And as if she brought it to her by merely thinking of it, the blue blanket, full of snow particles that shone just like diamonds, appeared before her eyes. Rosa had picked it up from the floor, and she was handing it over to her. Lucy thought she thanked her, but only a harsh moan came from deep in her throat, which, by the way, hurt quite a bit.

Shivering in the cold, Broga stretched out his little hands to ask for the thermal blanket. Lucy wrapped him in it, and he held it desperately as if it were the most precious thing in life. She rubbed his arms to keep him warm, and gladly, she discovered he still had the cloaking device in his left hand.

He’s left-handed, she recalled and rewarded him for his bravery with a smile. The corners of Broga’s mouth curved upwards. Was that a smile of gratitude? Yes. A strange warmth flooded Lucy’s heart; she’d just done something a mother would have done, take care of her child.

Hurried footsteps came carried by the wind; rubber sole boots scraping the concrete. The guards from the booth! They were coming for them!

Rosa was looking toward the exit gate, startled, and waved her arms to get her attention.

Lucy grabbed Broga by the shoulders, and with a slight push, hid him between the sedan and a tractor. She couldn’t ask him to be quiet, but she knew he was a smart kid; he would get what was happening. Then she joined Rosa.

Two soldiers dressed in black polar parkas came running with their rifles aloft, ordering them to stand still. Lucy looked at Rosa out of the corner of her eye and found her pale, with her hands up. Rosa’s lips were shaking. Were they in big trouble!

How much of the fray the soldiers had witnessed? Lucy didn’t know, but having Bernardo on the floor next to them, unconscious or dead, the guards had caught them at the scene of what could be a crime, and not of an ordinary one, but the crime of the Project Director himself. If the guards hadn’t seen Broga, it was only a matter of seconds for them to do it.

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Everything had failed: the escape plan, everything. They’d put her in jail, or they’d shoot her as a traitor. Whatever. Her life was ruined. Broga would be returned to the nursery, which was a nice way of saying cell. the Order would not allow the lack of a qualified neurosurgeon to perform another Major Surgery to put years of research and a lot of money at risk; they would operate on Broga with or without her, with or without Bernardo, and they’d leave the kid in the same state as his brother’s, or worse.

“Hands up, doctor! Up!” One soldier was aiming at her.

A rush of adrenaline overwhelmed Lucy. Her pupils grew bigger; she heard her breathing and saw it exposed in the form of steam. The howling wind was truly chilling; it was the singing of the dead. She glanced at Rosa, and Rosa glanced at her; and without quite understanding how they both knew what each had in mind. With this exchange of looks, another plan as desperate and improvised as the one that had just failed was born. Having let things get this far, there was no alternative. It was for the best.

They were two. The guards were also two. They were no match for them; the guards had weapons; they had none. The disaster was inevitable. But among those present, there was a third person who deserved a little more than an operating room, eager to have him at its mercy, and a sorry cell camouflaged as a nursery room; a little person who, so far, had gone unnoticed by the guards’ eyes. Neither woman would come out safe and sound from there; however, if they chose to go against the men, one of them could make it.

Rosa, who had one guard less than three feet away from her, jumped against him, trying to snatch the gun with her big, thick arms. Surprised by the abrupt reaction, the other soldier turned to her, ready to open fire. Lucy took advantage of the distraction and jumped against him. The skinny woman slapped the man in black; and while the slapping caused her more pain than it did to him, it was enough to make him lose the shooting angle before he pulled the trigger.

“Lucy, run!” Rosa shouted.

Lucy kicked the guard in the crotch and turned to where she’d left Broga, ready to hold his hand and put him in the car. But the kid was gone.

Where did he go?! Was it possible he had been taken by a third soldier they hadn’t seen? No! He had surely fled, scared.

She stretched her neck. The little one was running toward the exit gate, very far away from her. He was wrapped up in the blue blanket; the poor thing looked like a blond leprechaun. The image of Broga’s little white slippers moving rapidly was etched in Lucy’s mind like a snapshot.

But then, Broga sneaked into the booth through the door the guards had left ajar.

Don’t go that way! Lucy wanted to shout to stop him, but terror had suppressed her voice again. Inside the booth was a passage to the outside; if Broga went through it, he would leave the facility and he would find himself at the mercy of the raw weather.

What have you done? She reproached herself. Outside, that poor little boy will face the biting cold. That blanket won’t keep him warm, no matter how thermal it is. You didn’t save him, Lucy. You’ve condemned him to die of hypothermia.

And suddenly, she lost sight of him. I’m sorry, Broga, she apologized then.

In the end, she couldn’t behave like a mother. She had only spawned death and violence, and two little brothers had paid the price. She would have liked the boy to live and for her to see him grow up so much!

But none of those things would be possible.

Seconds ago, she’d heard a blast, and even when she still didn’t feel pain, something hot was oozing out of her. A shot had pierced her stomach. Who had fired? She didn’t know. She didn’t see it. Was one of the guards? Bernardo, perhaps? Bernardo might not have been dead after all, and he had a license to carry weapons.

That didn’t matter now, though. She was already face down on the cold concrete floor, bleeding to death.

She heard another blast, and she knew. They had just shot Rosa. The only person with feelings in that forgotten place, the only one whom she’d called a friend and with whom she’d shared more things than with her own husband, fell next to her, with her eyes open and her chubby face splattered with blood and snow.

“Rosa…” Lucy sighed, covered in tears, and apologized to her.

Broga, please, live! she thought afterward, and with the squeal of the wind getting lost in the distance, she closed her eyes forever.