He has years of experience in search and rescue. I’ve seen him crawl into roof collapses, carry adult men out of mudslides, and plunge into dark water when tools failed. He never seemed to be shaken by anything. However, I realized something was off when he sent me a picture from his satellite phone.

“We pulled the baby from Building 6,” the message said. I was relieved by his words, but I froze. That building was familiar to me. Before being rented out as a small office space, it had been a bakery. There was no reason for a baby to be inside since there had been no tenants for months.

The main entrance had been sealed, which made it even stranger. Unaltered, padlocked, and reinforced. It wasn’t through that door if the team entered. So how did a swaddled baby show up inside? In an attempt to find details, I enlarged the picture.

I was hit first by the blanket. Fleece with cloud and star patterns. Not only did it look familiar, but it was the exact same one that our aunt had hand-sewn six months prior. She had sewed it for her daughter’s stillborn son.

Along with the infant, that blanket had been lowered into the earth. It should never have returned, much less wrapped around a living child in a sealed structure. My stomach clenched as I attempted to rationalize the impossibility.

I was reluctant to speak to him. Not just yet. But there was a heavy silence. I looked at the picture once more, the baby’s small face showing through folds of white and blue cloth that ought to have been hidden.

The telephone then rang. My cousin was the one. She spoke with a trembling voice that conveyed my own sense of disbelief.

There was something wrong with Building 6. The baby wasn’t either.