Battle Baby

  They called it a freak accident in the official report. The paperwork stated that the nurse slipped and slammed her head into the corner of the cabinet. Her skull was fractured. The NICU ran short-staffed that evening, and the other nurses gave the unnamed baby in the middle-left incubator a wide berth. 

  Hank called the whole thing a freak accident. Young and stupid, nobody thinks there will be an unplanned pregnancy until it happens to you. Twenty years old, got nothing figured out, and all of a sudden he’s holding his girl’s hand as she deals with complications, a premature birth, weeks and weeks in the hospital. Finally back home, he was forced into a cohabitation he didn’t want, sleepless, trying to figure out what it would take to get a baby to stop crying. He longed to be back at the hospital, with its uncomfortable furniture and stern-faced helpers. Emily lasted ten days as a mother. He woke up one morning, and all of her stuff was gone. No note. Welcome to single parenthood, Hank, don’t forget to give the baby a name.

  Later that week, he was struggling to get the baby to eat. It hated formula, wanted real milk, and he had none to give. It threw the bottle, and then balled up its tiny little fist. Hank remembered thinking it was sorta cute how the baby seemed like it was mad and actually wanted to punch him. When later he woke up from unconsciousness with a broken nose, he no longer thought it was cute. 

  Hank found a stroller next to the dumpster. With a little tape, he got it back in working order, and he and the baby went out in search of a job. His face hadn’t healed yet, and he could barely see out of his swollen, black eyes, but his stomach was empty, and by the end of the week, the formula would run out, and the baby's stomach would be empty too. 
 
  The search went poorly. Ignored, laughed at, scoffed at. The signs said now hiring, but that didn’t apply to a dirty twenty-year-old with a crooked nose and a crying baby. Nobody was hiring him. And so they wandered aimlessly through the city. It was dirty too, and cold. Unforgiving, just like most of its inhabitants. 
 
  “You look like you could use a smoke.”

  Hank paused and glanced over. It’d been a while since anyone had been nice to him, and he eyed the man with suspicion. But the guy didn’t seem to mind. He extended a cigarette. 

  “They’re the cheap ones, but they do the trick,” the man said. 

  Hank took it and leaned closer as the man held up a lighter. He flicked it several times, but the wind kept blowing it out. 

  “Step in here,” the man said. He backed a few steps into the alley, out of the wind. 

  The wheels on the stroller squeaked as Hank pushed it into the alley. The man lit the cigarette, and Hank closed his eyes and leaned against the brick wall, taking a long drag. He held it, the harsh burn a welcome change from the pain in his face. 

  “Cute baby. What’s its name?” 

  When Hank opened his eyes, the man was holding a pistol. It wasn’t specifically aimed at the stroller, but the threat was apparent. 

  “Toss your wallet on the ground.”

  For a second, Hank was frozen. Not out of fear, but confusion. Had life not realized he was nothing but a broken, bloody pulp of a man? There was nothing to his life. Empty cupboards, empty fridge, empty head, empty heart, broken bones, broken spirit. Was it really necessary to bring the boot down on him again?  

  “There’s nothing in-”

  “NOW!” the man yelled. He raised the pistol and aimed it at Hank’s face.

  A bullet didn’t scare him, but if he died, who would feed the baby? So he reached for his wallet. 

  And that’s when it happened. A tiny hand darted out of the stroller. It hit the man’s hand, and the gun went flying. It smacked against the wall and clattered to the ground. The baby grabbed the man’s coat and jerked him toward the stroller. Then a little fist rose up, a perfectly thrown uppercut that caught the man under the chin. The impact took him into the air, and his legs spasmed. He landed in a heap, unconscious. 

  “What a shot!” Hank yelled. 

  He ran to the stroller, a huge smile on his face. The baby looked completely unbothered, as if nothing just happened. 

  Hank knelt and searched the attacker’s pockets. He took the man’s cigarettes, lighter, and all fifty-seven dollars in his wallet. 

  “Serves you right,” Hank said, kicking the guy as he tossed the empty wallet onto his chest. 

  He grabbed the stroller and pushed it back toward the street, but paused at the alley entrance. He stared down at the baby for a moment, then glanced over his shoulder. 

  “Her name is Battle Baby.” 

  They ate good that night. Well, he did. Battle Baby had formula, but Hank enjoyed a cheeseburger and an entire two-liter of soda. By the time evening came, he lay on the stained, ripped sofa, content for the first time in a long time. Battle Baby was asleep on his chest, and the nightly news was on. An investigative report about local crime lord Scram Grunch. It was a blistering expose about Grunch’s misdeeds, and a plea for the authorities to do something about it. None of it was news to Hank. Grunch’s bar was two blocks away, and everyone in the neighborhood knew it was a front for the man’s drug and gun empire. The authorities turned a blind eye because Grunch paid them a pretty penny to do so. 

  Like most good ideas, this one came to Hank in a rush of certainty. It was one of those moments where everything just made sense, and he knew for sure it was the right play. Once Battle Baby woke up, he changed her diaper, dressed her, and they headed out into the night. 

  The city was quiet, and most places were locked up for the night, but he knew that Scram Grunch’s bar never closed. It was there for the desperate and deranged 24/7, and Hank fit at least one of those classifications. 

  The place reeked. Hank stifled a gag as he pushed the stroller inside. Thankfully, it was nearly empty. A single poker game was going on, and Grunch was at the bar, counting piles of money. 

  “One chance to save yourselves,” Hank said, projecting bravery. “Put every dollar in this place into a bag and toss it over.” 

  They hadn’t even noticed him before that, but every head turned his direction. Then the laughter started. 

  “Or what?” Grunch asked. 

  “Or this.” 

  Hank shoved the stroller. It bounced across the uneven, warped flooring before crashing into the poker table. 

  “Get them, Battle Baby! Punch their lights out!” 

  Nothing happened. One of the thugs checked the stroller for hidden explosives, then shrugged. Another of them handed Battle Baby a poker chip, which elicited a happy coo. 

  “I think she’s a gambler,” the thug said. 

  Scram Grunch approached. He gave Battle Baby a smile as he walked by, but it faded into a scowl as he neared Hank. The criminal was a towering mass of muscle. Twin scars stretched across his forehead. He crossed massive arms and looked down at Hank. 

  “You aren’t the first to come for me, but you are the first who was low enough to endanger their child in the process.” 

  Mouth dry, Hank tried to swallow. How could such a solid plan go wrong so quickly?

  “Umm, Mr. Grunch, sir,” Hank muttered. 

  Battle Baby’s delighted coos went quiet, replaced by a series of grunts. Hank recognized the sound immediately. It meant she was angry. 

  He smiled. 

  “The only people in danger are you and your thugs,” Hank said.

  Grunch laughed. 

  “Is that so?” He started to turn around to face his men. “What do you think, boys? Do you feel like you’re in-” 
 
  Two little hands reached up from the stroller and grabbed hold of the closest thug. Battle Baby lifted the man out of his chair, then flung him across the table. Like a human missile, he wiped out two of the other thugs. 

  “What the-”

  Battle Baby’s fist cut off the comment, shattering the speaker’s jaw. He spilled from his chair with a whine. 

  The last thug at the table threw up his hands and shook his head. 

  “Be a good baby, leave ol’ Davey alone.” 

  Battle Baby crawled out of the stroller and rolled onto the poker table. She squirmed toward Davey. He squealed, then shot to his feet and ran out the emergency exit. 

  “Must I do everything myself?” Grunch bellowed. He rolled up his sleeves and stalked toward the table. 

  He snatched Battle Baby by the foot and lifted her, holding her upside down. 

  “She doesn’t like that,” Hank warned. 

  Grunch shot him a glare. 

  “Be quiet! I’ll deal with you in a minute,” he barked. 

  Grunch turned his attention back to Battle Baby, bringing her face close to his own. He sneered, and Battle Baby sneered back.

  “You may be strong for a baby, but I’m a full-grown man.” 

  Battle Baby started fussing, trying to wriggle out of his grip. But Grunch held tight, and she dangled in the air helplessly. 

  “Gettin’ mad?” Grunch asked, leaning closer. “What are you gonna-”
 
  Battle Baby swung forward and headbutted him. The impact crushed his nose, and he dropped the baby onto the poker table and stumbled back, blood pouring from his face. 

  “You brat!” Grunch screamed. 

  Wriggling on her belly, Battle Baby gripped the edge of the table and flung herself off. She flew through the air in the only position that came naturally to her. 

  Fist first. 

  Grunch’s eyes went wide. 

  “Spare me!” he cried. 

  But it was too late for all that. Battle Baby’s punch sent him into a spin. He collided face first with the brick wall and went down hard, spitting broken teeth and blood as he passed out.

  Battle Baby’s momentum sent her flipping through the air. Hank ran and dove, catching her in his arms. When they hit the floor, she laughed, then reached out and patted his cheek. 

  “I love you too, Battle Baby,” Hank said. 

  As quickly as he could, Hank gathered up every dollar in the place and stuffed it into a duffel bag he found behind the bar. He used the phone and anonymously called 911, then he and Battle Baby headed home. 

  It took a little over five hours of counting for Hank to learn that he and Battle Baby were now the proud owners of $1,398,221. To a man like him, it was the same as having a billion dollars. 

  “We’re getting you a new stroller,” Hank said as he looked at the piles of money. 

  BANG BANG BANG

  He whirled around. Someone was pounding on the door. He found a blanket and threw it over the giant pile of money, then pointed at Battle Baby. 

  “Be ready.” 

  He cracked the door, but the person outside shoved it open. Hank stumbled back. He raised his fists, ready for a fight, but froze when he saw who it was. An older gentleman in a military uniform. High-ranking, judging from the amount of medals, ribbons, and bars. 

  “Evening, Hank,” the man said. 

  “Am I in trouble or something?” Hank asked, lowering his fists. 

  “Trouble?” The man smiled. “Quite the opposite, young man. Quite the opposite indeed.”

  He walked across the tiny living room and smiled down at the baby, then turned to face Hank.

  “Allow me to be frank, young man. Your country needs you. You and Battle Baby.” 

  “Needs us?” 

  “We saw the security feed of what you did to Grunch. Impressive stuff.” His smile faded. “But America has worse enemies than that. Enemies we can’t get close enough to strike. But a single father out for a stroll with his baby? Why, something tells me they could get just about anywhere in the world.” 

  Hank tried to keep the smile from his face. He glanced over at Battle Baby. So long as she enjoyed hitting things, why not let her hit bad guys? 

  He forced a frown and shook his head. 

  “I don’t know, sir. We’d have some demands before we even considered doing work like that.” 

  The officer nodded. 

  “We thought you might.” 

  He snapped his fingers, and ten soldiers came into the room. The first nine carried duffel bags of cash. The tenth had a cooler and popped it open to show what was inside. 

  “Fresh breast milk, delivered daily,” the officer said.

  Battle Baby perked up at that one. Hank walked over to her. 

  “What do you think? You’re the one who’ll be doing most of the work here.” 

  Keeping her focus on the cooler, Battle Baby answered with a quick thumbs-up. 

  “That’s my girl,” Hank said. 

  He smiled and nodded, then faced the officer and saluted.

  “Battle Daddy and Battle Baby, reporting for duty!”