“You, my friend, are an idiot.”
Rosie kept her arm around me as we started down the tunnel. Each step caused a grinding wrench to my back. I couldn’t go very fast, but I focused on the beam from her flashlight and put one foot in front of the other. We passed the glass room, and ages later, the side door. The floor sloped down, went on forever, and then leveled off again. Rosie kept encouraging me, but I barely heard her. I knew the door to the barn couldn’t be much farther when another contraction hit me. I stopped to lean my head against the wall while my entire body clenched into a deliberate stone. I had to drop to one knee.
“You are not having your baby in this tunnel,” Rosie said.
I ignored her, curling inward. Breathe, I thought, but instead a gasp caught in my throat, and I locked on it until my lungs wanted to explode. The pain was even more intense than before, ten big notches up, and when it finally stopped, I was a panting sweat ball of exhaustion.
“That was a bad one,” I muttered.
“That animal,” Rosie said. “Maybe I should go ahead and get some help.”
“If you leave me, I’ll kill you. I swear I will.”
“Where are Linus and Tom?” she asked.
Linus and Tom. It took me a second to even remember who they were.
“I have no idea,” I said.
“They must be looking for us,” she said. “Didn’t you tell them about this tunnel?”
“No. You said not to. Remember?”
“Unbelievable,” she said.
I tilted my face to look up and found her scowling.
“Don’t be angry,” I said.
“I’m not mad at you,” Rosie said. “I meant it’s unbelievable that you kept your promise.”
“You’d have done the same thing,” I said.
Rosie looked at me oddly and let out a brief laugh. Then she offered a hand.
“We’re going to get you out of here,” she said. “Ready?”
I groaned as she hauled me to my feet. My legs were wobbly logs.
“Gently now,” she said.
She drew my arm around her shoulders again, and I felt her support around my back. She steadied me against her. Together, step by step, we kept on. The flashlight beam jogged over the rough floor and walls.
“Another one’s coming,” I said, slowing.
“We’ve almost made it,” she said. “I can see the door ahead. It’s just a few more paces.”
But I dropped down to my knee again and braced myself against the wall. I was beyond caring how dirty everything was. My stomach, my back, and every other inch of me went tight with pain. A gush of fluid broke down my leggings, and I moaned.
“Thea,” Rosie said. “We’ve got to get you out of here.”
I heard her only dimly. More than anything, I wanted to lie down right there and huddle up, just conserve my strength during my precious stretch of painlessness before the next contraction set in.
“No,” Rosie said, tugging at me. “Up! We’re not staying here!”
You’re wrong, I thought. “Help me get my leggings off,” I said.
I was afraid she’d argue, but she rolled down my waistband and guided my pants and underpants down my legs. She spread our two jackets beneath me. The next tightening began, and I leaned forward on my hands and knees. This contraction was harder and deeper than the last, a vice of pain that sucked in all the dark of the world and held onto it, laughing with evil joy.
“I’m getting help,” Rosie said. She sounded frightened.
No. Stay with me, I thought, but the words couldn’t get past my gritted teeth. I grabbed for her hand and kept her with me. The contraction suspended beyond what I could bear, and then it finally released me. I rolled carefully onto my side.
I caught a glimpse of her anxious face in the flashlight.
“Stay,” I said.
She nodded. Her eyes were huge. “I will. Don’t worry. I’m here.”
I lay panting in the dark tunnel, calm as a stone. For this moment between contractions, my body relaxed completely. I let every last muscle sag downward into gravity, from my fingertips to my ankles. Even the muscles behind my ears gave up and went smooth. I breathed slowly and deeply, preparing, because I sensed that the next few contractions would count.
Without warning, a flashing, sunny image of a collie puppy surfaced before me. Gizmo. Gladness blossomed in me as the little dog turned his smiling snout my way and padded toward me on his oversized paws. A girl’s young, tan hands, my own, sank into the silky fur of his neck. Behind the puppy, Grampa sat in a porch chair, smoking a fragrant pipe and holding a new leash.
“Like him?” Grampa said. “He’s yours.”
“For real?” The girl’s clear voice was mine, and I was unmistakably Althea.
I knew he’d say yes. I knew the puppy was mine. I had a dog!
Then the next contraction came and slammed me back into the tunnel.
Moaning, I pushed back up onto my hands and knees and tucked my head, which felt like the only way to be. Be ready, I thought. It won’t be long. My body said push, and there was no arguing. The impulse became a sustained urgency. I expected noise, flurry, fear. Instead, my baby was born quietly, sliding out into a beam of light. Rosie handed the newborn to me as I rolled back, exhausted and mind-blown, and when Rosie brought the light around so we could see this new life, the baby winced and gave out a tiny cry.
35
ROSIE
BLOOD
“A GIRL,” THEA WHISPERS. She sounds as exhausted and amazed as if she’s taken a trip around the entire universe.
I don’t know how she can be so calm when I’m on the edge of panic. This situation is way over my head. Thea has an actual, live baby snuggled against her chest. The tiny girl has still got the umbilical cord attached and a motley layer of waxy stuff on her skin, but she’s out. She’s breathing. I have no idea what to do next, but I am certain of one thing. We need help. Fast.
“Thea,” I say gently. “I’ve got to get help. Just hold on and I’ll be right back.”
“Don’t leave me,” she says.
“I have to,” I say. I know this tunnel can’t be clean enough for Thea or the baby. There’s more blood, too. Things are oozing and pulsing in ways that can’t be right. “I’ll be right back. I promise.”
“Don’t go!”
But I have to. I know I do. I leave her the flashlight, and I bolt out of the tunnel. I charge up the stairs of the dairy barn. Nobody’s there but cows. When I try my phone, it has a real signal again, and I punch in 911.
“My friend’s just had a baby,” I say. “We’re in the dairy barn in Forgetown. Down in the basement. We need help fast.”
The dispatcher wants names and details. She asks if the baby’s breathing. She asks about the afterbirth.
“What afterbirth?” I ask, alarmed. “I have no idea what that is.”
“It’s all right. Stay calm.”