The Last Humans (Age-Regression)

Chapter Fifty-Nine: The Day After Tomorrow

Grace (Mama) POV:

Calisto has been off at work, trying to track down the last of these terrorists while the rest of my family waits in the bunker. We're still on high alert and there's currently no end in sight. All I know is that Calisto is trying his best to track down the people that hurt my family.

In the meantime I'm trying to keep Clara calm and distracted. Ever since the attack she's been practically attached to me. She refuses to go to any of her Daddies, and only wants to nurse and lay on me. Toys and TV doesn't even interest her.

If I try to set her down it turns into a crying fit. I honestly don't mind it, though. After the attack all I want to do is keep my family close, especially Clara. My precious girl has gone through so much.

Currently, we're sitting on the couch in the bunker and Atticus is watching a comedy on the television. Clara is playing with the sleeve of my shirt and staring off into space. A pacifier is securely tucked in her mouth, bobbing up and down with every one of her suckles.

The worst part about being trapped down here is the lack of windows. We're used to seeing the sun rise and set through the windows. Without that, Clara's sleeping schedule has been off. She sleeps at awkward times and never more than a couple hours at a time.

That might also be because of the trauma she endured.

The biggest problem is she's going through a cluster feeding faze. All that means is she wants to nurse more than usual. It's mostly every hour on the dot. Which means I'm sleep deprived and my breasts are sore. Add to that Clara's sleeping in our bed since the new bunker doesn't have a nursery for her.

The old room where her nursery was, was damaged in the explosion that knocked off our bunker door. We decided to turn that room into an armory down here when we remolded the bunker. Our thoughts were that she could just sleep with us if we ever had to be down here. I'm regretting that decision now.

"How is she?" Atticus suddenly asks. His foot is tapping on the floor in an annoying rhythm and he's running his right hand along his newly grown stubble.

"Clara? I honestly don't know. She needs sunlight and fresh air. That can't happen while we're stuck down here." I respond while gently bouncing my baby.

"Honestly, I hope we get out of here soon. It feels like we're being kept prisoner instead of being kept down here for our safety." Dechen chimes in. He's sitting on the armchair to my left, one leg slung over the arm of the chair and the other planted firmly on the floor.

"Yeah. Let's hope Cal gets them soon." I murmur.

The conversation stops there and we all focus back on the television. Looking at the clock I see that it's three-fifteen. That means Clara's going to want to nurse again soon. She's already beginning to wiggle and root around on my shoulder.

Gently taking her pacifier out of her mouth, I lift my shirt and guide my breast to her mouth. She latches on without a problem and begins to nurse. "She's nursing again?" Dechen asks with a hint of shock in his voice.

"Yup. Every hour, sometimes twice in an hour." I reply.

Clara stares up at me while she nurses and tries to wiggle closer so there's no room between her body and mine. She's wearing a yellow, duck onesie and she pulls at the fabric. "Do you want it off?" I ask her.

She doesn't respond but that's to be expected. Clara hasn't been talking much since the incident. The only things she'll say are 'Mama, milky, no, yes, and please.'

It's beyond frustrating because I can't take care of her without knowing what she needs.

Her tiny hands grasp the fabric of her onesie and she pulls again. This time grunting when her frustration mounts. "Okay, stop pulling and Mama will take it off."