The Girl at the End of the World (15 page)

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing or seeing, didn’t know what to feel or think.

“What do we do?” Chad asked. He didn’t mean just himself, or Donovan. He meant all of us, the woman in the rain included, and for a second seemed to have forgotten that one man among has had all the power over the rest.

“Sit down,” Donovan said, waving his gun toward the aisle.

“We can’t leave her,” Chad said, and I wanted to say the same thing.

“Shut up and sit down.”

Chad looked out into the rain for a moment and then complied. A minute later, he was locked in place again, and I expected we’d be on our way. Whatever plan Donovan had for the survivors he’d captured, three must have been enough; he could do without the headaches of a pregnant woman and the baby she’d be saddled with before long.

But instead of turning back toward his seat, Donovan approached Dolores and me.

“You two are gonna help her,” he said, bending to free Dolores before me.

“How are we supposed to do that?” I asked. Other than my step-mom, I’d never really even been around a pregnant woman before, and when my brothers had been born I hadn’t been in on any of the details.

“Figure it out,” he said. “Can’t be too hard. People did for thousands of years before hospitals. No more hospitals now.” He moved farther along the aisle so Dolores and I could exit in front of him. “Hope your Spanish is good,” he added.

I didn’t reply, just got up after a moment’s waiting. It wasn’t that I weighed the possibility of defying him. I just didn’t want him to see me get up as soon as he commanded me to.

Dolores went first, and when we got to the door, Donovan said, “You do anything stupid, and I’m gonna shoot your boyfriend here. You got it?”

I turned, looking from his face to Chad’s. For just a second, Chad met my gaze; then he dropped his eyes to the floor.
Can’t handle having your life in my hands?
I wanted to ask. I didn’t need to. I knew it was true.

“It might take a long time,” I said at the bottom of the steps. Dolores was already out in the rain, heading toward the pregnant woman.

“You got a watch on? Come back in two hours and check in. Don’t forget.”

Then I was out in the rain, too, hurrying toward Dolores, no thought at all in mind about running away. Not then, anyway. Everything I’d said to Chad before I ended up on the bus, all the posturing about not caring if Dolores died…I had meant it, kind of. But now there was a pregnant woman out in the rain. Leaving her there on her own just wasn’t an option.

We got to the woman, and right away we helped her off the ground. Rainwater streaked across her face, but I could tell there were tears as well. She looked to be about ten years older than me.

“Please help me,” she begged.

“Okay,” I said. “Just…come on.”

I didn’t know what else to say. Dolores and I each took an arm and walked with her to the curb. I was thankful for the lights from the bus, could see the drugstore across a narrow parking lot. It was a chain store and looked no different than the one near our house where I’d gone countless times before with my mom and sister.

“Who are you people?” the woman asked as we crossed the parking lot. She sounded astounded that we’d found her.

“I’m Scarlett,” I said. “This is Dolores. We’re…”

I didn’t want to tell her we were captives, that we were helping her because the guy who’d first come out of the bus was being held at gunpoint now, his safety contingent on our return. She could hear the ugly truth later. She had enough to worry about right now.

“We’re traveling. Donovan…he’s the driver. He had this bus before…the sickness. He found us one at a time.” Then I added, “He saved us.”

I counted on Dolores not understanding any of what I said, or if she did understand, that she’d play along and know my intentions as I lied to the poor woman.

“What’s your name?”

“Alex. Alexandra. I can’t believe you’re here. I’ve been alone all this time, and now…”

“It’s okay. We’ll help you.”

I didn’t know what I was saying and certainly didn’t believe it. How could I help a woman deliver a baby? I had no idea what Dolores could do, if she’d had kids before, if she knew anything about what to do or how to do it. But, ignorant and scared as I was, I knew Alex was more scared, more lost. What the last weeks must have been like for her, I couldn’t imagine.

“Thank you,” Alex said. “Thank you. Oh God.”

A contraction must have hit, as she stopped moving and half bent at the waist, letting go of my arm to grab at her stomach. We were maybe ten feet from the store’s glass doors, and I could see now that one of them had been smashed to bits, a thousand tiny crystals of glass on the ground around and inside the entrance. The electric opener hadn’t worked anymore, and Alex had needed to get inside. I’d have done the same thing, though I couldn’t see what she’d used to smash the glass.

Dolores gave her only a few seconds to deal with the pain and then began nudging her forward, gently pulling at her arm to lead her toward the door. Of course, the store’s lights were out, but Alex had several flashlights burning. They didn’t make it bright inside, but as our shoes crunched across the broken glass, I could make out the counter with the registers and the make-up aisle to my right. The pharmacy would be in back, but Alex had set up a little area near the front of the store where she’d planned to have her baby; now I was going to have to help, and I found myself shaking at the thought.

It wasn’t the little kind of drug store that just sold things related to health and hygiene. It had a bit of everything. And far enough from the smashed door to be sheltered from the rain and the breeze outside, but not so far in as to be swallowed in the dark, Alex had arranged orthopedic pillows and some cushions from a cheap display of patio furniture. She had gathered several bottles of rubbing alcohol, towels, blankets, medical tape, a first aid kit, cotton pads, scissors, and several other things I couldn’t identify at first glance.

“
Siéntate,
” Dolores said as we approached the makeshift delivery room.

That was a word I knew, and so I followed suit, encouraging Alex to sit down on the cushions. The photo counter was right behind her, and now Dolores arranged pillows so Alex could lean against it.

“Just try to relax,” I said.

Dolores put her hands on Alex’s stomach, feeling the baby.

“Have you ever done this before?” Alex asked, apprehension in her voice.

Dolores didn’t reply, just looked at me and said, “
Ir a buscar unos guantes.
”

I had no idea what that meant and gave her a quizzical look, hoping my cluelessness didn’t scare Alex.

She took her hands off Alex and mimicked putting on a pair of gloves, repeating, “
Guantes, guantes.
”

“Gloves,” I said. “Gloves?”

Dolores nodded, “
Si
.”

“I’ll be right back.”

Taking one of the flashlights with me, I went back to the first aid aisle and looked for Latex gloves. They were easy enough to find, and I went back to the makeshift delivery room. In my absence, Dolores had removed Alex’s pants and underwear and now had her covered with a blanket. I watched as the older woman put on the gloves, prodded Alex to bend her knees, and then she pulled back the blanket.

At that point, I didn’t want to watch any more, and so shifted my position. Kneeling closer to Alex’s upper body, I reached for her hand, and when she squeezed back, it made me feel glad to be there for her, scary as it was.

“Has she ever done this before?” Alex asked again.

“I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe.”

“Oh God,” Alex said, tears not far behind.

“It’s okay. I think…I’m pretty sure she knows what she’s doing. At least you’re not alone.”

“Okay,” she said. “Okay.”

“Do you know if it’s a boy or girl?”

She shook her head. “We didn’t want to know.”

I didn’t want to ask
who the other half of
we
was.

Then another contraction hit, a bigger one, and she tried to writhe with the pain, but Dolores held her knees and kept saying, “
No se mueven.
”

“Hold still,” I translated. “Try not to move around so much.” And I put my hands on her shoulders, hoping to encourage her to be still without actually pinning her down. I didn’t think I was strong enough to force her.

It took several seconds for the contraction to pass. When Alex stopped gasping and grunting through it, Dolores sat back and smiled. “
Pronto
,” she said.

“Soon,” I translated.

“Okay.”

Sweat beaded on Alex’s forehead. I found a small towel among the supplies she’d gathered and used it to mop her brow and wipe at the tears running down her cheeks. She smiled a little at that.

The contractions came and went, maybe for an hour. I tried talking to Alex, first telling about when my brothers had been born and how I’d gotten to hold them as babies, and then just moving on to things about my family, anything to keep her focused on something other than the pain and what I was sure must be her fear over something going wrong.

At one point, she said, “Do you think the
baby’ll be okay?”

“It’ll be fine,” I said. “I really think Dolores knows what she’s doing.”

She shook her head. “No, I mean after. What if it…gets sick? You know?”

She meant the fungus. What if the baby didn’t share her immunity? I hadn’t even considered the horrible possibility. To carry her child all this time, to go through the pain and risk of labor, to hold the new baby and love it…only to lose it in a day’s time if it breathed in the spores and they infected it. I didn’t want to think of an infant suffering the death I’d seen thousands afflicted with in the past weeks, but even so the image popped into my head, and it was hard to get it out.

“You just have to hope,” I said after a few seconds. “Maybe it’ll have your immunity. Or…who knows? Maybe the danger is passed. Maybe all the spores are out and gone and floated away. There may not be anything left to make the baby sick.”

She nodded and gave a feeble smile, but I knew she was still worried.

The contractions got closer, and Alex’s reactions to them more dramatic. She squeezed my hand to the point I thought it would break and then apologized when the pain had passed.

“It’s okay,” I said. “I’m tough.”

She smiled, not so weakly this time.

“Have you ever taken care of a baby?” she asked.

“Not really. My brothers a little. Well…half-brothers. I wasn’t around them that much.”

She nodded. “Listen. Kayla if it’s a girl. Okay? Michael if it’s a boy. Michael Ramos.” A distant look overcame her.

I almost asked why she was telling me this now, but then I understood. She wasn’t just worried about the baby not surviving.

“That was…the dad?” I asked.

She nodded again, and then another contraction started. Alex writhed and cried out and at one point moaned in desperation, “I can’t do this.”

“You can,” I said, still holding her hand. “You are. You’re doing it.”

When that contraction passed, Dolores got a pleased, almost beatific look and said, “
La cabeza.
”

She leaned back and waved me toward her. I was scared to look, expecting to see the baby’s whole head sticking out, but when I leaned over the edge of the blanket, all I saw was Alex, her legs open. Dolores must have known what she was looking at, but I couldn’t tell and didn’t want to stare. I leaned back and forced a smile at Alex.

“Can you see?” she asked, tears and sweat running down her cheeks.

“I think so.”

The next contraction started almost right away, and Alex screamed as she clutched my hand in one of hers and clawed at the floor with the other.

“
No gritar!
” Dolores said. “
Empujar! Empujar!
”

I didn’t know what that meant and looked with panic first at Dolores and then at Alex, feeling completely useless.

Then Dolores made a pushing motion with her hands. “
Empujar. Empujar,
” she said again. She waved her hands in front of her mouth, opening it wide and making a face as though she was screaming with the same force as Alex.
“No gritar!
”

I got it. “Don’t scream,” I said to Alex, raising my voice to be heard above hers. “You need to push. You can’t scream and push at the same time!”

She tried, putting her energy into pushing, but I could see she still wanted to cry out. And then the contraction passed, and she was left panting and crying.

“I can’t,” she kept repeating.

I bent down close to her. “You’re exhausted. You’re exhausted. It’s okay. You’re going to be okay. The baby, too. You just have to push a little more when the next one hits, okay?” She made no reply. “Okay?” I said more forcefully.

A feeble nod and then, “Okay.”