I’d barely slept, hardly eaten, couldn’t do anything but hold Seraphima and pray she could fight this off. Worse, Donavan wouldn’t parlay with Marks, no matter that a child’s life hung in the balance. Apparently, Donavan still believed that Vincent was alive, and refused to help us on those grounds alone.We tried to feed Seraphima evaporated milk, water, and even a few mouthfuls of a box of baby formula one of the men found, but nothing stayed down. I begged God to let her live, to spare her life, to give us hope through her that all would be well.Marks ranted and raved at Donavan, the world, and God, his shouts and anger not once disturbing the baby. I wanted to rant with him, but I knew it wouldn’t help her.The morning of the third day I startled awake, my arms numb from holding Seraphima all night long. I jiggled her softly and her head rolled. I sucked in a gasp of air. “Oh please, no,” I whispered, my fingertips brushing against her cold skin.The door creaked open and Marks stepped in, his uniform rumpled, his eyes tired and drawn.
