Anomoly, Part 2

I want to tell Britt to be absolutely silent but it’s too late. The person behind the flashlight begins to make way toward us. I squint past the light. Though it’s dim, it’s the brightest thing in the hall, making it impossible to see more than the shadowy outline of the carrier’s figure. My eyes ache from the brightness of light.

Light sensitivity. It’s another symptom.

Instinctively I pull Britt’s tiny little body into me, willing that she would disappear from view and be safe.

“Mommy, that’s too tight!” She moans, resisting my grip.

My heart beats so loudly against my ribcage that I almost miss the voice from behind the light.

“Are you okay? Miss?”

It’s a woman’s voice.

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. Though no one in the world is really, truly safe, a woman is safer than a man—especially where children are concerned.

“We’re fine, thank you,” I say, trying to sound dismissive. I know it won’t work, considering I’m a wet whale splayed out on the ground, but my every instinct tells me to get rid of her.

The woman continues to approach, making her way around the strewn and discarded equipment and heaps that I have to assume are bodies.

Britt pushes against my chest. “Mommy, put me down,” she protests against my ironclad grip.

The flashlight settles on Britt’s face. “Are you sick?” the woman asks.

I want to lash out block the light, but it’s an impossible task.

“Baby’s coming,” Britt says, oblivious to the potential danger.

“Shhh, baby. We’re not sick,” I say, getting an elbow under me and sitting up.

The flashlight moves from Britt’s face to my swollen belly. “Ohmigod. Are you in labor?” The woman asks. She’s no more than ten feet away now.

“No. I mean, not yet,” I say, trying to sound strong.

The woman takes another step over an upturned dinner tray. Her proximity makes me want to recoil.

“Don’t come any closer. You might be infectious!” I demand. I have no way to force her away from us, but she doesn’t know that. My only option is to convince her that I might have a weapon. I need her to move on.

“Infectious?” The woman laughs, but she stops her forward progress.

“The virus…” I say, thrown by her laugh.

“Honey, the virus has already taken out everyone it’s going to. If you’re alive it means you’re resistant,” she says.

“Not necessarily. We’ve been shut in. That’s how we’ve stayed safe.”

“That doesn’t matter. The way it spread, it’s hit everyone. It’s airborne. You’re breathing it right now. If you’re not sick, you aren’t going to be.”

I try to wrap my frantic mind around what she’s saying. Despite the headache, exhaustion and panic, it sinks in. The only people left are resistant. They’d been hiding from a virus that had already found them.

The woman closes the gap, kneeling down beside me and offering her hand.

“My name is Abby Windstrom. I’m an RN. I used to work here.” She gestures vaguely to our surroundings.

I can see her face clearly. It’s gaunt with overly angular cheekbones. She’s half-starved, but otherwise clean. Her dark hair is pulled back into a neat ponytail. Blue scrubs hang slightly askew on her diminished frame. She looks at me with bright, curious eyes.

“Martha,” I say, accepting her hand and somehow heaving myself up.

Abby shifts her attention to Britt, who buries her face in my shoulder. “And who is this?”

“Brittany,” I say. For some reason I don’t want to give Abby the name she responds best to—the one Mommy and Daddy call her by.

Abby smiles warmly at Britt, who peeps out from behind her arm. “Hello Brittany.”

Britt grunts and returns to the cocoon of my embrace.

Abby shines the flashlight over me following the cone of light down my body and then back up.

“Are those your waters,” she asks.

“I think they might be,” I admit.

“Let me help you, Martha,” she implores.

I want to say no. Every fiber of my body tells me to scream no—to run from this hospital and find Matias. But every second I waste is another second that might bring me closer to death—closer to leaving Britt completely alone in this world.

I weigh my options, trying to make the best bad choice. The weight of Britt’s sleepy head warms my shoulder and makes my arm ache. Another trickle of wet slips down my leg, causing my pants to cling.

“Thank you,” I say.

~ ~ ~

Abby works in the dim glow of the flashlight to set up the IV drip. I try to hold the light steady as she works but my arms are shaking. Britt notices and crawls from where she was resting splayed out across my legs.

“It’s okay Mommy. She’s a nice doctor.”

I marvel at the way she can parrot my words from so long ago.

“I know sweetie, Mommy’s arms are just tired,” I tell her.

She rests her head on the round of my belly. I run my fingers through the fine silk of her hair.

A sharp pain grips my stomach, reaching out from behind and clamping down like a vice. I suck in a sharp breath and clench my jaw, intent to hide my response.

“Is that a contraction?” Abby asks.

“I think so,” I say.

“That’s good, because I don’t think there’s any picotin,” she says.

“Then what’s the IV for?” I ask, my body relaxing.

“In case I need to give you medication for your blood pressure. In case I can find some. In case of a lot of things.” She says, then shrugs. “Or maybe it’s just habit.”

I nod. There isn’t anything to say. The contractions have been getting steadily stronger in the last hour, but they haven’t been anything to marvel at—yet.

Abby turns her attention to Britt. She’s been trying to coax conversation from her for a while now, but Britt’s been resistant. I don’t blame her. Something about Abby makes me uneasy, but I can’t put my finger on it. Maybe it’s just that we’ve been wary of people for so long now.

By all appearances Abby is a completely normal, competent nurse and I’m insanely lucky to have run into her.

Before the apocalypse, she worked in L&D for ten years. She stayed on as long as possible, helping women who came in as doctor after doctor fell ill. She didn’t get sick. Not even when her husband did. She lost him and her daughter, who was Britt’s age. She tried to save as many patients as possible, but one by one they all got sick. The poor nurse had been through hell. She was only here tonight because she was looking for medicine, hoping to take it somewhere where people were still in need…

“Brittany, isn’t your mommy so brave?” She asked in a cloyingly sweet voice.

Britt turned her head away from the woman.

“Is she always this shy?” Abby asks.

“It’s been a long night. She’s tired,” I say.

“Is there something I can say—or something I can get her to help her warm-up to me?”

The question strikes me as odd.

“She’s tired,” I repeat.

Abby turns on the IV drip, chewing her lip in contemplation. Suddenly, another contraction hits, this one much more intense than the first. Britt can feel the change and squirms up, trying to bypass my belly and reach my neck.

“Mommy!” she cries.

Abby turns to her, placing a hand on either side of her face. Her eyes are wide and intense, “Do you want to help your mommy?” she asks.

Britt nods, trapped in the woman’s grasp and terrified.

“Then I need you to come with me. We’re going to get some medicine for her,” Abby says, moving her grip from Britt’s face to her arm.

“No,” Britt whines.

“She can stay,” I manage to say through gritted teeth. I can feel Abby pulling Britt from my grasp.

“Martha, be reasonable. She doesn’t need to see you like this,” Abby says.

“She’s going to see a lot worse than this before the night’s over,” I hiss, trying to readjust my grip so that Britt isn’t pulled away.

My hands don’t respond like they should and Abby manages to gather Britt into her arms.

“No, she isn’t. I wouldn’t let her see anything so terrible,” Abby says.

Britt lets out a wail that tears straight through my heart.

“Give her back to me Abby,” I say, still trying to gain control of my arms.

“Martha, be reasonable,” Abby says again.

“I am being reasonable. Give me my baby,” I pant as another contraction creeps up.

“Brittany needs a mother. She can’t go through this alone,” Abby says, contorting to manage Britt’s twisting body.

“I’m her mother!” I wail, flinging my arm out. All it does is give a pathetic flop.

This isn’t preeclampsia. Something’s wrong.

“You aren’t going to survive this. Even before the apocalypse you might not have. Brittany shouldn’t be alone. She needs a mother,” Abby says as Brittany shrieks.

“What did you do to me?” I scream.

“It’ll be faster this way. You don’t have to suffer. I promise I’ll take good care of her,” Abby says.

“Mommy!” Britt sobs.

“Brittany, shush. It’s okay,” Abby tries to coax.

“NOT ME!” Britt protests.

Her whole body goes ridged. She bucks her head back, making contact with Abby’s nose. Abby shrieks, dropping Britt.

“Mother EFF,” she wails.

Britt finds her feet. Fighting the blur that’s slowly taking over my mind I turn my head to her.

“Baby, RUN!” I yell.

Britt’s eyes go wide. Abby staggers forward.

“Run baby!”

Just before Abby reaches her, Britt turns on her heels and darts out the door.

Cursing, Abby follows her.