“I’ll just give you a few extra.” She fumbled with the container. “I know how much fuel you need to feed a new baby.” She tried to smile, but there were tears in her blue eyes. She could not look directly at the baby anymore.

“Oh, and did you also give birth in a dog cage?” Wab refused to reach for the treats as they were pushed through the bars, so Veronica placed them inside on the floor.

“I’m really sorry,” she sniffed. “I had no idea they would really go through with it. I mean, I have to think about Angel. And I certainly had no idea one of you would be carrying.” A single fat tear plopped onto the front of her sweater.

“Then do something about it,” Wab challenged. “Open the cage.”

“I cannot. I just can’t. Never mind what they would do to me—what might they do to my sweet Angel? Well, I just couldn’t live with that.”

“And you can live with keeping a newborn in an animal cage? I can’t even stretch out. It’s all blood and water in here. I’m in pain.” Wab was bordering on pleading but wouldn’t go that far.

“It won’t be much longer. Mrs. Purdue called. Recruiters want you back, but they don’t know about this one, the baby, so we get to—” She stopped herself. “Anyway, at least she won’t ever know those schools.” Veronica tried to sell this news as mercy.

“No! You can’t have her!” Chi Boy was as loud and abrupt as I’d ever heard him. The baby startled and began to whimper.

“When are the Recruiters coming? How many!” I was frantic, panic climbing up my guts. All I could see was Mellin. All I could hear was the loud pitch of the Correction Room siren. And then I remembered there would be no Correction Room for me, for any of us. It would all just be…over.

Veronica spun around, like she had forgotten the rest of us were even there. “I mean, don’t you want the baby to stay out of those terrible places?” She looked around and stood up when she saw us all staring.

“So if she stays here, you’ll let her live? What, give her a nice nursery and get on a wait list for a good daycare?” Isaac sneered.

“I…I really shouldn’t be telling you this.” She picked up the container and placed the lid on, rushing back to the door. “I shouldn’t be telling you any of this.”

“Veronica,” Wab called, sharp and loud, before the woman got to the door. She refused to turn around but paused, hand on the knob.

“Are they going to eat my baby? Are you going to eat my baby?”

The container slipped out of her grip and crashed to the ground, cookies pinwheeling over the cement. She didn’t answer, not directly. She just whispered, “I’m so sorry,” and left in a rush so that the guard, a short woman with a shorter hair, had to close the door behind her.