Anomoly, Part 3

“It doesn’t count if you’re already planning defeat.”

Matias used to say it all the time, his optimism versus my grim pragmatism. It was the end times after all, the pandemic that would ruin humankind. It didn’t take a genius to look at the statistics and see where we were headed. The chances we would be able to avoid the virus by staying locked away were slim to none.

“What are you even counting?” I’d ask him.

“The different scenarios where we survive this thing!” was one of his varied responses.

Rather than getting heated, the argument somehow always ended on a light note. His positivity would get the better of me every single time and I’d agree with him that maybe we would be the one in a million—one in ten million, I’d correct him—family that would make it through this thing unscathed.

Our data point would be remarkable—an anomaly.

“After all, we’ve beaten the odds going the other way!” This made him laugh.

I kissed him on the cheek. “Alright, I’ll be your anomaly.”

“I want an anomoly. Can we get our own?” Britt piped in, completely unaware of what we were discussing.

“I’ll be your anomoly.”

The words come out clear enough. My mind isn’t completely fogged over.

In the distance Abby calls out in a sing-song voice. “Brittany! Where are you? Come out, your mommy wants to talk to you…”

It’s only a matter of time before she finds her. Though Britt is quick, and a clever hider, she’s also completely terrified. All it will take is one sob, one trip in the dark for Abby to corner her. And then what? Take her away somewhere, leaving me to die?

It doesn’t count if you’re already planning on defeat…

I can’t just lie here and let that evil woman steal my girl.

“I’m coming baby,” I whisper.

My arms are completely dead, like something pinched the nerves and cut them off from the rest of the body. I can feel it spreading through the rest of my body, but it’s not there yet. The last contraction was agony. That means I still have my core. I have to get the IV out before that’s gone too.

An ache spreads across my back, signaling the onset of another contraction. What I would have given for labor 24-hours ago! At least I wouldn’t have been so foolish as to bring Britt here—exposed to the horrors of this world. What if she sees a body?

A crash echoes through the hall, followed by Britt’s scream. Abby runs toward the noise, but from the sound of it, she’s a ways away.

“Get off this bed!” I hiss. Ignoring the discomfort, I begin rocking myself back and forth.

The IV is in my right arm. The best shot in tearing it out is to fall to the left. I just need enough momentum to get up and over the guardrail.

The contraction builds in intensity, carrying me along with it as it peaks. I moan through it, rocking. The bed bucks and shakes on braked wheels. I think I’d make it over if I went but there’s a mental block. I could fall on my stomach and hurt the baby. I could tear my vein and bleed out.

I could die right here, listening to someone kidnap my baby…

With one final push I hitch my body over. My stomach catches on the guard and I’m temporarily suspended, but I have enough mobility to tip myself over the balance point.

I land hard on my left shoulder. A dull ache radiates up my collarbone but I’m too numb to tell if anything is broken. I pant, recovering from the contraction and the fall. Heavy footsteps make their way toward me.

Good, I think, let her come to me. Let Britt find a new place to hide.

But the footsteps stop in the hall outside my door. I strain to hear what Abby must—the pit-pat of little feet scrambling for escape.

“Brittany… I can hear you…”

I marvel that Abby can sound so cheerful in such a horrific environment. She must be insane.

My body burns and tingles, but my senses seem to be clearing. I notice a steady tap-tap-tap on the exposed skin just above my hip and realize it’s the fluid from the IV. I let out a stifled sob of relief that I succeeded. Hopefully it’s only a matter of time before I regain the use of my limbs.

“Brittany, I’m with your mommy. I think something is wrong. She said she needs you!” Abby calls out. She’s still close to my room, probably hoping Britt will take the bait.

“Don’t buy it baby girl. You stay put!” I whisper.

My arms start to burn and itch. I take it as a good sign. I focus on my hands, trying and trying to move my fingers.

Britt is crying. I can hear her sweet little whimper wafting down the hall. Abby stills. In my minds-eye I can see her weigh her options. Should she follow the cries and risk her vantage point or wait for Britt to come to her? Go for the quick catch or lure her prey into the open…

My heart pounds in my ears, a thousand beats a minute as my body fights from every angle. For some women, labor stalls when they’re stressed or uncomfortable. That doesn’t seem to be the case for me. With the progressing preeclampsia my body has one and only one goal—to get the baby out. Unfortunately, that goal is at odds with the situation.

I giggle. It burst out from me, a hysterical contradiction to the terror that’s overtaken me. The whole situation is at odds with the situation.

If I focus on Britt, it could be to the baby’s detriment, and mine. But if I focus on the baby, I could lose Britt. It’s impossible to choose.

“Sweetie, your mom is crying. She says she needs you,” Abby coos. She’s decided to go with the lure—to use Britt’s love as bait.

My fist clenches in the first sign of body autonomy.

“I’ll make you regret this,” I mumble, pulling my limbs into compliance.

Carefully, and as quietly as I can manage, I bring myself to my knees. Another wave of contractions blossoms from my midsection. It isn’t as intense as the previous ones. Maybe my body has what it takes to save all of us after all…

I reach up to the bed and grasp the guard rail. My head throbs with the change in position, but even that feels dull compared to before. I get my feet under me and pull myself to a stand.

“Mommy?”

Britt’s still a ways away from the sound of it, but that won’t last. The lure is working.

“Mommy’s over here. You need to come quick. It’s okay.”

I squint in the darkness, looking for something I can use as a weapon. There’s a small needle on the tray next to the tipped IV pole. It likely used to contain whatever paralytic Abby used on me. I pick it up and study it. The words blur into nonsense, but it doesn’t matter. It’s empty.

That gives me an idea.

As long as Abby doesn’t realize I’ve escaped I should be able to sneak up on her.

I pull the plunger so that the syringe fills with air. The needle is small but the syringe looks like it could hold a bit of liquid—maybe a cc or two. I have no idea if that’s enough to cause an embolism.

I take one uneasy step, and then another, trying desperately to be quiet. Abby left the door open when she ran out.

“Why can’t I hear her?” Britt asks. She’s close now.

I hold my breath and creep toward the hall.

“She’s whispering. I can hear her because I’m closer,” Abby says. She’s on the right side of the door.

I take a wide step so that I can see her back. Every last bit of the woman’s attention is on Britt. I force myself to not look in the beam of light. Her scared face might break me. Instead, I narrow in on the back of Abby’s head—to the curve of her exposed neck.

“I need to see her,” Britt whimpers.

“She says she’s coming,” Abby says. Her shoulder turns and I freeze, thinking she’ll look back and see me in her effort to convince Britt that I’m here.

I am here.

The irony has an edge of satisfaction to it.

“Mommy?” Britt asks, raising her voice to travel over the barrier of another woman that isn’t her mother.

Confident Abby is completely consumed by the task of capturing my daughter, I edge closer.

“Come a little closer and you’ll be able to see her,” Abby coaxes.

This is what I need—for Britt to expect to see me so that she doesn’t give me away.

I wait to the last second. Britt climbs over the tipped dining cart. She’s just out of Abby’s reach, but I can tell she won’t wait for Britt to close the gap. I step out so Britt can see me. Abby crouches, as if to lunge for her.

“Mommy!” Britt cries. Her voice is coated in anguish.

Surprised Abby pauses. It’s the briefest of pauses, but it’s just enough for me to swoop in. I drive needle into her neck as she turns. When I hit resistance, I compress the plunger. I have no idea if it will work, or if I’ll be engaged in hand to hand combat momentarily.

“Don’t come any closer baby, she’s dangerous!” I warn.

Britt stands, frozen in terror.

I have no idea what the odds of success are for a preeclamptic woman in the throughs of labor in a wrestling match.

Abby opens her mouth in the shape of an o. She reaches up and takes the syringe from my hand, pulling it from her neck.

“What did you do?” she asks.

“You tried to take my baby!” I hiss.

“You’re going to die anyway! What did you do?” she shouts.

I take a step backward, waiting for whatever is about to happen.

Abby looks from me to Britt. The plunger slips from her fingers and makes a bright ping sound as it hits the tile and shatters. She slumps to her knees, then collapses. I don’t know if she’s dead. I stare.

“Mommy!” Britt sobs.

I snap out of it, rushing to her as quickly as I can manage. The second I reach her she melts into me. We hold each other, both hysterical.

After a long moment Britt looks up at me, gulping air as tears slide down her cheeks.

“Mommy, I ran away,” she says so matter of factly I almost laugh.

“Yeah you did, baby. Good job,” I say. Pain grips me as the contractions set in again making me gasp.

“Mommy, you okay?” she asks.

“Yeah,” I tell her, “Yeah, I’m okay. The baby is coming, but that’s good.”

“Okay,” she agrees, clutching my leg and patting my belly. She looks over to where Abby lay in a heap. “Lady okay?”

Clinging to my baby I move back to the cause of this nightmare. She’s still. Her eyes are two crescent slits staring at nothing. I reach down and prod her gummy flesh, searching for a pulse that isn’t there.

“She’s sleeping,” I say as a new contraction builds, this time faster and stronger.

“Mommy, let’s go,” Britt says. She tugs at my arm, willing me to take her from this place.

I let out a breath, trying to remain calm. The respite is over, if there even had been one. Maybe it was just adrenalin…

“Okay baby, but we have to find somewhere for the baby to come out,” I say.

She squeezes my hand, leaning away from me in that small, persistent way that toddlers have of exerting their will. I stand to comply but my body resists.

“Mommy come!” she says in half command and half plea.

I try to stand again and fail. My body simply will not go. The contractions are too strong, and I’m too weak. I’m forced to remember the peril of unmedicated labor in my condition.

Maybe there’s still time to find something before the baby comes. Maybe there’s still time to find Matias?

I know better than to entertain such fantasies, but somehow can’t help myself.

“Mommy?” Britt’s frantic again.

I reach for her, finding her shaking arm. “Honey, don’t be scared. The baby is going to come out right now.” I try to say more, but can’t. Pain slams into me like relentless waves crashing against a rocky shore. It mingles with the throbbing at the base of my skull, blurring my vision and making me moan. I collapse on the ground, unable to help myself.

“Please stop! Please stop!” Britt pleads.

But I can’t stop.

Tiny hands find my face. She’s calling for me, but I can’t seem to answer.

I have to get ahold of myself. I have to get this labor finished, because if I can’t… If something still goes wrong, then, after all of the fighting, I might lose her anyway.

I might lose us all.