Mary

Tayo entered the dark cellar where his wife and mother were hiding. Quietly, he closed the door behind him as the filthy unpleasant air filled his lungs. The new born babe—swaddled in its grandmother’s wrapper and in her hands—was making a terrible din, and fear was guest in their midst.
Faint and from faraway, the heavy thundering of explosives going off joined with the bawling of the babe. Together, both rang through the dark room, lit poorly by a candle burning from a corner. Only luck kept them so, they knew. The rebels never seemed to find them. Three had come close to their home in Kogi, only they had turned away once at the door of the room in which they hid. When they escaped the brigands at Ogori-Magongo, his then pregnant wife had encumbered them, and nearly they’d been caught. Then the soldier had found them in Ondo and showed them to this cellar.
If truth be told, they didn’t think it through bringing a child into this hapless reality. “We only have to get to Lagos as it is hardly touched by the war.” So they’d told themselves wishing it true, but for any more than they knew, this war would end their country.
“Did you get the baby food and water?” His mother inquired of him.
“Yes I did. I got the pills too for Mary.”
“The pills are of no use, she doesn’t need them.” She said coldly.
“What do you mean? Mary knows she does.” Tayo said, as he padded to the corner from where the candle shone to pick it up. He brought it to where Mary laid and he shined it on her face. Its amber light reflected in unflinching eyes.
“Mary”, he called, but Mary was gone.