White Out: A Post Apocalyptic Thriller by Eric Dimbleby

accompanied the repetition of that single line (she wondered: weren’t there any other words to that damn song? ) with a series of painful whistles. She could barely hear the whistling, but it sounded like he had a knack for it. They were high pitched and crisp, as if delivered by a pro. 
    At first, she chuckled at his terrible singing voice. She was just loud enough so that he wouldn’t hear her amusement. Perhaps that was his intention, to get a laugh out of her, to force a bit of charm down her throat. His voice eventually lulled her, even though the words would surely drive her crazy soon enough. The song reminded her of Paulie, who had recently emerged himself in classic Disney movies. Snow White and The Seven Dwarves was probably his favorite, right next to Bambi.
    She pictured Paulie, cuddled up next to her in the wheelbarrow hull.  
    Annie could practically smell his breath, slightly sweet from the orange sherbet that he loved to snack on before bedtime. She usually frowned on that kind of snack, but Christian loved to sneak it to him, as the child was mildly addicted to it. It was their little private thing, eating sherbet together at the kitchen table after a long, hard day, so Annie never got on Christian’s back about it, even though she was worried Paulie’s teeth might soon rot out of his precious head.
    “Hi Ho! Hi Ho!” yelped Tony, now sounding like he was trying to project his voice in an amphitheater. She could hear Tony laughing to himself and she suddenly worried that he might go crazy if they were stuck out here long enough. If he went crazy, she had no idea what she’d do to protect herself. Annie couldn’t deal with crazy, especially when crazy had romantic intentions towards her. “Hiiiiiiiii Ho! Hiiiiiiiii Ho!”
    Serenity filled her as she continued to picture her baby boy.
    She remembered the first time she held him, right after Paulie was born. Though she fought through a prolonged labor, she ended up having a C-section, mostly due to pain and impatience. She labored for more than twenty hours before they took Paulie out the new-fashioned way , as Doctor Deacon called it. There was a delay in giving the pinkish little fellow over to her, as she had to recover from the surgery for at least a half an hour, so that there was enough time for the drugs to wear off.
    Bring me my son. Right now.
    Ma’am, you need to get a little more clear-headed first. We wouldn’t want you dropping that little guy on his head, would we? That would be a terrible way to start things off.
    Bring me my son. Christian, tell them. Tell them I need to see my son right now. It’s been a half an hour and I still haven’t breast fed him. Don’t let them give him any of that formula crap… I need to give him his first milk. Go tell them that, Christian.
    Ma’am, please calm down. We won’t give him any formula, I assure you. You’ll have him within the next fifteen minutes, I assure you.
    You said that, fifteen minutes ago, too. I don’t believe you anymore ( looks at nametag ), MARY.
    And that moment, which felt like it would never come, finally came.
    She held Paulie close to her, looking into his tiny blue eyes, surprised that he was opening them so soon. It wasn’t typical from what she had read. She couldn’t even formulate words, for all the joy swelling inside of her, and she could see it in Christian’s dreamy expression as well. He was a proud papa, and he’d be a wonderful father. They’d both be wonderful parents, in fact. Paulie, in that single instant, became the sole reason for breathing, for existing, for surviving. He was everything that she had ever hoped for and she would die for him. And for Christian, as well. They’d die for each other, if it ever came to it.
    Hey there, little guy. Your papa and I are so proud of you. You’re the sweetest little thing I’ve ever held. All the other mommies out there are gonna be jealous of you and me. We’ve got something special, don’t