"It ain't natural."
Jesse's gruff voice practically spat the words into the dark.
Jose, the expectant father tried to dismiss him. "It's just something left over from the Storm. It's just a new world, Jesse. I will love him or her no matter if they have spots."
They sat quietly outside the culvert that led to the underground shelter. It was an eerie night; humans weren't the only species nearly wiped out. Without the sounds of insects and other things, it just seemed wrong. At least the stars were still there. They outlined the edge of the treeline where the stronger trees recovered.
The old man cleared his throat and shifted his weight a little. "You may love your baby, but others may not. You thought of that?"
"Yea, we thought of that," Jose answered. "We can't worry much about what other people think."
"You better worry about it. They may run you out... or worse."
Jose sighed. "We are already packed, just in case." He had seen bigotry before, but since the Storm it was worse.
The starlight let them see each other as dark phantoms in the shadows. The quiet let them hear each other breathe.
Jesse grunted. "Maybe there won't be no spots. Maybe things will be just fine."
"I suppose," said the father, "but ours would be the first normal baby born in this shelter. We pray, but…"
"Well, I hope your prayers are answered. You're a good guy, and your missus is a good woman too. Y'all ain't like the Franks, you know. They didn't do a lot for others and all."
There was another long pause as each thought about and tried to forget the Franks and what happened to them.
The Franks were a nice enough couple. Neither had any real survival skills and hadn't adapted to life after the Storm. They kept wanting to live like the times before. Everybody wanted that, really, but knew it wasn't realistic.
When their daughter arrived with gray blotches on her skin, the real trouble began. Some in the shelter were openly hostile. Others, like Jose, had no room for hating someone just for being different. They were the minority.
The shelter council called for a vote. Even with an anonymous ballot, everyone knew how everyone voted. The result: banishment.
The Franks begged to stay, but they couldn't bargain any better than they could do anything else. They refused to leave voluntarily, so a mob dragged all three of them out of the shelter and into the wild. No food, no clothes, nothing but the injuries sustained in the act.
A few days later, hunters found the bodies. Someone had beaten the Franks. Parents and newborn, murdered in the woods. It could have been bandits but everyone was sure there was a savage in the shelter. At least one.
The memory of those events added chill to the night. Jose pulled his arms in tighter to keep the heat in.
He knew what would happen if his wife gave birth to a spotted child. He was better prepared. He was packed to leave voluntarily. He had already stashed supplies in the woods when no one was around. Nobody in the shelter knew he had a pistol; that was always his biggest secret. Anyone trying to beat him and his family were in for trouble.
"I don't understand why everybody gets so upset about the spots anyway," Jose said.
"You heard them," Jesse replied. "The spots are just a sign of disease. Got to get rid of disease before everybody gets it."
The father shook his head. "That don't make sense. It's only ever babies born that have the grey spots. The only way they would get a disease was if everybody already had it."
"Just the momma, maybe the daddy. That's why we get rid of the parents too. Like I said, it ain't natural."
The rusted shelter hatch screeched open. As the entry widened, light spilled into the area. Sarah, the closest thing to a doctor at the shelter, stepped out. "Your wife and new daughter are fine and resting."
Jose leapt from his seat, a broad grin on his face.
His companion rose more slowly. "What about spots? Did the baby have any spots?"
Sarah looked away with pursed lips. After a moment, she nodded.
The father's grin left. His posture straightened as his hands clenched at his sides. He took a deep breath and forced it back out through his nose. "How long before my girls are ready to travel?"
Is there more?
Is there more?
Is there more?
This is one short tale from about a thousand years of world building that I've been working on for decades. I figured it was about time to do something with all that work.
Over summer, I plan to do one of the novel-length tales set in that world.