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    Cemetery Babies
    Cemetery Babies
    Cemetery Babies
    Ebook117 pages1 hour

    Cemetery Babies

    By S. H. Love

    ()

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    About this ebook

    It's the year 2020. Abortions are illegal.

     

    Underground abortions are now the norm for those willing. Thanks in part to an illegal clinic specializing in a two-step process. The abortionist, John Maxwell, discards thousands of fetuses into a massive dirt hole behind an abandoned factory. That's until one woman decides to come forward.

     

    The discovery of the cemetery babies causes uproar in the city. When the police arrest Maxwell, lead prosecutor, Steve Powell, tries the case. The darling of the media, Powell botches the trial, losing his one and only case.

     

    With Powell suffering defeat, the defendant becomes a free man. The loss also contributes to the downfall of the famed district attorney.

     

    How did Powell lose a case that was so heavily in his favor?

    How will the city ever recover?

     

    "Cemetery Babies" is a compelling tale about life and death and the ability to choose what's right or wrong.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherIn & Out Press
    Release dateNov 11, 2020
    ISBN9781393030355
    Cemetery Babies
    Author

    S. H. Love

    S.H. Love is the pseudonym of a critically acclaimed author of fiction. Love writes psychological thrillers and horror stories and is influenced by the master of suspense, Alfred Hitchcock.

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      Book preview

      Cemetery Babies - S. H. Love

      Cemetery Babies

      A novella by S. H. Love

      a·bor·tion (noun): the deliberate termination of a human pregnancy, most often performed during the first 28 weeks of pregnancy.

      1.

      Cemetery Babies – August 2021

      The smell didn’t really hit until the fetuses became visible. Inhaling human remains, human insides, wasn’t something the city had predicted. The lingering aroma, a strong metallic odor mixed with ammonia as the blood coagulated, dramatically affected each of the city workers tasked to uncover the horror. They became woozy and dizzy, their legs becoming weak and shaky as the odor filled the air. The Midwestern August heat didn’t help the cause either; it was one of the hottest days of the summer. The humidity was sticky, the weatherman using the word nasty to describe the day. Six consecutive days in the nineties with heat indexes in the lower hundreds; the weather was just that, flat out nasty.

      A worker digging into the earth stopped to rub his sleeve against his face. The sweat was falling fast, the man moving his arm side to side quickly to beat drips before they got into his eyes behind his goggles. He exhaled as he wiped his forehead with the bottom part of the sleeve of his Tyvek coveralls, the wind blowing just enough to push the smell of rotten guts into his face. Even with a face mask, the man swallowed hard, his eyes nearly rolling back into his head.

      Ugh, he said. Smells like pennies. His goggles fogged up. This was followed by a premature dry heave exiting his body. The city employee quickly pulled down his mask and then covered his mouth with his hand. Once he regained himself, he spat on the ground and then shook his head.

      God, this is disgusting, he said, under his breath. The man, Larry, had three kids of his own and could not conceive something so vile. This is horrible.

      If you want to know what unveiling death smells like, leave a Tupperware container filled with uncooked ground beef on the counter until the content is unrecognizable, pretend the meat was participating in no shave November for a decade’s term, and then pull off the lid like a bandage.

      Inhale deeply in order to get the full effect.

      Loads of aborted fetuses, tucked underneath a layer of earth, were individually wrapped in tissues like pigs in a blanket. Some of them were sticking together. The workers digging them up were unaware of exactly how many aborted fetuses had been buried in the soil. What they did know was that the number was very high.

      I stopped counting after fifty, one city official said. Sweat fell down into the rubber lining of his goggles. He quickly closed his eyes and then wiped his upper face with the top of his glove. The glove’s thick fiber irritated his forehead, the combination of heat and salt from the sweat burning his skin. The perspiration slid deep into the corner of his eyes. He squinted and then whispered something to himself. The man pulled his eyewear away from his face. He rubbed and rubbed until the sweat was gone. The odor of death punched him hard. The man dropped his head into his chest and then gasped.

      Larry stood alongside with a shovel in one hand, his other hand on his hip. Poor kids, he said, his eyes locked onto the blackness of the ditch. They were never even given a chance. Larry noticed his colleague in the corner of his eye. His co-worker was bent over, his palms pushed hard against his face. The man shook his head and then stood erect. You OK? Larry said.

      The man nodded his head. His eyes closed tight, the worker said, Yeah, fucking heat. He rubbed his fingers against his eyeballs. Hottest day of the year and we’re digging up babies, he said. The man blinked repeatedly, looked at Larry, and said, Ready?

      The two continued digging.

      The earth was being excavated after a woman, Teresa, came forward with her account of the underground abortion clinic. Her experience had encouraged several women to come forward to detail their own stories. The domino effect, the news report had said.

      This was such a fucked up story, Larry said. 

      A line of women, together, all waiting to comment, had built up the courage to come forward to discuss their experiences with their abortions. Each offered similar accounts. They’d all described the man, John Maxwell, the same way. From his eyes to his voice, the women had all been consistent in their details.

      Each woman had called out the small size of the Machiavellian man’s eyes, his deep voice, slight mannerisms, even his speech cadence. One woman had said that his brazen attitude had made her sick, sicker than the crime she’d been committing. The woman already had repressed guilt so Maxwell’s demeanor was as if he’d added salt to her wound. It just wasn’t appreciated, she’d said in the report. It was bad enough that I was there to terminate my pregnancy. The article had stated that she’d broken down into tears following this statement.

      John Maxwell wasn’t always a monster. Prior to being labeled as a baby killer, he was an ordinary citizen. He’d lost his job, a decent paying one at a local factory, and fell into this business when times became tough.

      In Teresa’s feature story, she’d mentioned that each night she’d stayed up late to pray the sin away. I just want God to save my soul, she’d been quoted. Later on in the story, she’d said, I pray every night for my unborn baby. For all unborn babies. Teresa had slept with a teddy bear beside her each night, telling the reporter that it was her favorite. Her boyfriend had won it for her at the local fairgrounds. Her account had begun the downfall of John Maxwell.

      Larry stopped to compose himself. Reading the article and now I’m standing in the exact spot? he said. He shook his head in disbelief. I just couldn’t imagine.

      The building behind the excavators became a thing of the past soiled with bad memories of lives lost. At one point, Larry turned and envisioned the monstrosity that had occurred inside the structure. The old factory building was now vacant; the black cloud that was once looming over was now a bright blue sky stretched across the horizon. There were a few broken windows and some graffiti across the foundation’s concrete. Some window parts were hanging from its screws, the jambs and sills banging against the side of the building when the wind picked up.

      The abandoned building did nothing to stop Larry’s imagination getting the best of him. Seeing rooms where the abortions had taken place, Larry fell into a daze before the heat began to get to him.

      He combined the news accounts with his own visuals, a homogenized picture of what had occurred inside. Women screaming, keeled over in pain, holding their stomachs as if someone had kicked them with all their force, crying out loud without anyone coming to help. There were scattered beds, the sheets falling to the floor as the women tossed and turned in pain, the moans throughout the desolate building traveling down every nook and cranny and dissipating into thin air.

      He felt lightheaded. Larry quickly moved his head side to side and then looked down to the ground.

      Next to him was a bucket, filled to the top with guts. The vision almost knocked him out. In his view were little eye sockets where eyeballs should have gone, worms for legs bent together, and a sea of purplish-red

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