Genesis by Kaitlyn O'Connor

that the aliens might not use them to control the women, that they might be bent on entertaining themselves watching the alien women rip the two puny Earth women to shreds.
    Too weak with relief to stand, Bri wilted to the ground and promptly burst into tears of profound relief. Her reaction startled the baby or frightened him. Bri wasn’t certain which, but after uttering several noises that sounded like coughs, he set up a wail to match hers.
    Surprised, Bri choked back her own tears, wiped her eyes, and looked down at the squalling infant. Sympathy and remorse filled her. She’d scared him. He hadn’t let out a peep until she’d lost control. Sniffing, she began to rock him, patting his back, stroking him. He subsided after a few minutes, looking up at her with an expression that was almost accusing.
    Feeling more shame for scaring him than for running like a rabbit, Bri chuckled a little huskily at his expression.
    It was the first time, she realized abruptly, since she’d had him that Cory had cried. Was it reaction to fear he’d sensed in her, she wondered? Or was he just mimicking her?
    Rage seemed to be an emotion the yellow tribe was familiar with, but she doubted they were more than passingly familiar with fear. Maybe the babies were taught not to cry? Or was it just that he’d been too weak before?
    She frowned. It seemed important. Crying was the only way a baby could communicate fear or hunger or hurt, but he hadn’t before.
    A vague memory surfaced after a few moments. She remembered something she’d heard on TV about infants in an orphanage that didn’t cry because nobody came.
    She felt nauseous at the thought.
    She’d been right, she decided. Cory had needed her. He’d needed loving care as much as he’d needed food. He hadn’t been so weak and listless because the aliens hadn’t tried to feed him. He’d been dying by inches because no one cared.
    She cared, she realized, feeling warmth fill her chest, feeling it tighten with emotion. She loved him, as strange as it seemed even to her that she could come to love a child not even her own, a child, moreover, that wasn’t even of her kind. The determination to protect him filled her, as well, but how could she do that? She couldn’t defend herself against those creatures, or the aliens that had captured her.
    She was as helpless as he was.
    She shook that thought off. She’d never thought of herself as being helpless. She’d thought of herself as being self-sufficient. She’d been taking care of herself forever, it seemed. Her mother’s health had always been bad, and it had deteriorated more and more as she’d grown up until by the time she’d graduated from high school, she’d been supporting her mother instead of the other way around.
    She’d taken the skills she’d learned keeping house as a youngster and turned it into a lucrative business--homemaking for the working woman.
    She’d tried not to think about her business falling apart since she’d been taken, tried not to think about the time and money she’d invested in the trip to expand into new markets. It didn’t really matter if MacIntyre Prepared Home Cooking survived if she didn’t. She had a half dozen employees, but they could find other jobs.
    If she lived, if she managed to go home, she could start over.
    As daunting as that prospect was, it beat the alternative.
    And there was no point at all in thinking about it when she couldn’t do anything to change the situation.
    The worst thing was that she was not prepared to protect herself. She hadn’t even had ‘in home’ training squabbling with siblings to give her a clue in self-defense. She’d always had ‘authority’ to run to for protection. Then she’d had money to provide protection, and common sense--like staying away from dangerous situations.
    None of that was going to do her any good now.
    She would’ve liked to think she could fall back on her intelligence, but she was certainly no ‘brain’ and