Dauntless (Lawless Saga Book 4)

by Tarah Benner

  “What?” shouted Soren and Axel in unison.

  “She just had a contraction, but we don’t know if it’s a real one yet.”

  “Whaddo you mean a ‘real one’?” Axel bellowed.

  “It could be false labor.”

  “Sounds like a bunch of made-up girly mumbo jumbo to me,” Axel muttered.

  “Oh, shut up,” Lark snapped.

  “Hang on,” said Soren, clearly confused. “She’s having contractions, but we don’t know if she’s in labor?”

  “They’re called Braxton Hicks contractions,” said Lark impatiently. “Well, they might be. We don’t know.”

  “You gotta be shittin’ me,” said Axel. “So how’d you end up ass-o’r teakettle in that ditch o’r there?” He shook his head. “I keep tellin’ ya’ll . . . Women shouldn’t drive.”

  “You — asshole!” Lark shrieked, leaning over Soren to yell at Axel. “It’s your fault we’re here to begin with, and this is serious! Portia might be in labor, and I don’t need any attitude right now.”

  “All right, all right,” said Axel, holding up his hands in surrender.

  Lark backed down with a growl of contempt.

  “We can pull you out an’ then . . .”

  “You don’t understand,” said Lark. “I was trying to get unstuck when we went into the ditch. The snow’s gotten too deep. We aren’t gonna make it in the Subaru.”

  “Okay . . .” said Soren. “And if she is in labor —”

  “Then we need to find a safe place for her to deliver.”

  “Right.” Soren nodded slowly, thinking to himself. “Well, we can take the Jeep — two trips. We’ll go find a place and then come back to get her.”

  “Okay,” said Lark, still feeling shaky. “Okay . . . That could work.”

  “Fine,” said Axel with an eye roll. “Me and Soren’ll —”

  “Oh, no,” said Lark. “You and Soren aren’t going anywhere.” She took another deep breath. Her hands were quivering. Her chest was heaving. She could not just sit there in the snow while Portia had a goddamn baby. She had to do something. “You’re staying here with them,” said Lark. “I’ll go with Soren.”

  “I’m not stayin’ here!”

  “Shut up!” Lark yelled. “Just shut up! You’re staying here, and that’s the end of it.”

  Lark hadn’t realized that she was screaming again, but judging by the looks on Soren’s and Axel’s faces, her outburst had done its job. Axel was unbuckling his seatbelt and clambering out of the driver’s seat.

  “Should I drive or do you —” Soren began.

  “You drive,” Lark breathed. “I need a minute.”

  Axel swam through the snow toward the Subaru, and Lark followed. The snow was falling thick and fast, forming a hard layer of frost in her hair. She signaled for Simjay to roll down his window, and a second later, his sweaty panicked face appeared.

  “We’re going to look for a safe place to wait this out,” said Lark.

  “Where?” asked Simjay.

  “We’re going to take the Jeep to look.”

  “I have to stay here!” squeaked Bernie. “I’m her birthing partner, and I —”

  “Got it!” said Lark, cutting her off.

  Bernie was Portia’s birthing partner by default — mostly because she was the only one who’d volunteered, but also because she was the one who’d been pouring over Katrina’s mother’s copy of The Home Birth Handbook.

  Simjay shot Lark a “don’t leave me” sort of look, but Lark just opened Portia’s door so that Denali could hop out and make room for Axel.

  “Good luck!” Bernie called as Portia rode through another contraction.

  Lark nodded and stumbled toward the Jeep with Denali bounding through the snow behind her. She hopped inside, slammed the door, and let out a heavy breath of relief.

  Soren was still staring at her as if she might explode, and Lark felt a sudden pang of guilt.

  “Everything all right?” he asked.

  “Sorry,” Lark mumbled.

  “Hey . . . It’s okay.” Soren reached across the center console and plucked Lark’s shaking hand out of her lap.

  “Thanks.”

  He drove off without another word, and Lark felt her breathing return to normal.

  The Jeep, as it turned out, was having a much easier time in the snow than the Subaru. It had more clearance and tires that were made for snow, which allowed it to churn through deep drifts without any trouble.

  Soren was driving with a look of deep concentration, but Lark could tell by the way his eyes lit up that he was enjoying himself. What was it with guys and Jeeps?

  “There’s gotta be a place nearby,” Lark muttered. “A vacation cabin or . . .”

  “I’m sure there’s something,” said Soren, tearing his eyes off the road just long enough to give Lark another smile. “It’s gonna be okay. Portia’s got time.”

  “You don’t know that,” said Lark. “If she really is in labor . . .”

  “If she is, then we’ll figure it out.”

  “We need a doctor,” said Lark.

  “She’ll be all right,” said Soren in a firm voice. “She’s in good hands.”

  Lark paused. The part of her that was vibrating with fear wanted to lash out with a cold reality check, but Soren’s words seemed to burrow deep inside her heart, warming and calming her from the inside out. She dragged in a deep breath and closed her eyes, feeling slightly better just by being in the car with him.

  They fell into silence as the Jeep plowed through the snow, and Lark looked up at the overwhelming scene around them. They were inching along a road that seemed to be cut into the side of the mountain itself. Snow was flying through the air in enormous wet chunks, sticking in the pine trees and melting as they hit the windshield.

  “Look,” said Soren, nodding down over the edge of the road.

  Lark squinted.

  In the distance, she could see what looked like a lake down in the valley formed by the mountains. It was frozen and covered with snow, but situated around it were at least a dozen houses that looked as though they were made of gingerbread.

  Lark didn’t see any cars parked outside or smoke billowing from the chimneys. The houses were just sitting there, frozen in time — waiting to fulfill their purpose.

  Relief surged through Lark like a warm stiff drink, and she broke into a wide grin. They needed a place, and there it was. They just had to get Portia down the mountain.

  24

  Lark

  The drive back to the Subaru felt surprisingly short. When they reached the car, all the windows were fogged up, and a collection of disturbing noises were issuing from the back seat.

  Lark clomped over to the passenger-side window and knocked, and Simjay toppled out of the car looking as though he’d just fought off a bear. His eyes were bright with nerves, and his hair was a disheveled mess.

  “How is she?” asked Lark

  “She’s . . .” Simjay swallowed, struggling to get the words out. “She’s in labor.”

  Lark’s breath caught in her chest. She didn’t know what to say.

  “Did you find a place?” asked Simjay.

  “Yeah,” said Lark. “There are a few houses just up the road.”

  “Oh, thank god,” Simjay muttered, nearly collapsing in relief. He stumbled toward the Jeep to talk to Soren, and Lark peered into the vehicle.

  Axel was sitting in the front seat staring straight ahead. It looked as though he’d seen something that had scarred him for life. Either that or he’d been told off by Bernie and had decided to remove himself from the situation.

  Portia was sprawled across the entire back seat, gripping the handle above the door while Bernie coached her on her breathing.

  “You found a place?” asked Bernie.

  “Yeah.”

  Bernie turned to Portia. “You hear that, Mama?”

  Portia only moaned louder.

  “Come on,” said Bernie in her most upbeat voi
ce. “Inhale . . . Exhale.”

  “Let’s get her in the Jeep,” said Soren, coming up behind Lark. “Bernie, you can come, too.”

  Bernie nodded, and she and Lark helped ease Portia out of the Subaru and waddle through the knee-deep snow.

  It was harder than Lark would have imagined. Portia’s pregnant-girl waddle seemed to have stiffened, and the slick wet snow did nothing to improve her gait.

  About halfway to the Jeep, Portia froze. Her face contorted in pain and concentration, and she let out a yell as a contraction rolled through her.

  “How far apart are they?” Lark asked.

  “Still ten minutes,” said Bernie.

  “What does that mean?” asked Soren.

  “We’ve got time,” said Bernie. “As long as she’s able to talk through them, she’s still in early labor.”

  But once they were all piled into the car and on their way, Portia experienced another contraction. She sweated, whimpered, and swore like a sailor, and Bernie raised her eyebrows.

  “Eight minutes,” she said, still staring at her watch.

  “Shit,” said Lark.

  “We’re getting closer.”

  Lark’s heart thumped harder. She was grateful that Bernie had taken the lead on Operation Baby. This was just the sort of thing she excelled at, whereas it made Lark feel sick to her stomach.

  Lark was glad when they reached the house they had chosen as their temporary home. It was close to the main road and tucked in a tall stand of pine trees covered in snow.

  The cabin had thick cedar siding, expansive windows, a stone chimney, and a large porch that wrapped around the entire house. Beneath the porch, the previous owner had left stacks and stacks of firewood that was already split, which meant that they would be able to keep the house plenty warm throughout Portia’s delivery.

  As Lark and Bernie helped Portia up the steps, Soren backed out of the driveway and turned around to pick up the others. Portia had to stop halfway up the stairs for another contraction, and Bernie held her hand and rubbed her back for support.

  Portia squeezed her eyes shut and hunched over the railing, and Lark heard Bernie’s fingers crack.

  “Almost there,” Bernie groaned, blinking through the pain and trying to steer her toward the door. “Come on, Mama . . .”

  Portia just clenched her teeth and refused to budge.

  “Help me,” Bernie moaned. “We need to get her inside.”

  Lark nodded and seized Portia under the armpits. Together, she and Bernie managed to drag her the rest of the way up the stairs and onto the porch. Lark tore up the welcome mat, hoping to find a spare key, but there wasn’t one. She searched the porch in a frenzy, turning over tarps and buckets until she found one hidden under a rock.

  They hustled Portia inside the house, and Lark swallowed down a fresh wave of panic. The baby was five weeks early. They were nowhere near a hospital. The only information they had on delivering a baby had come from Bernie’s book, and they were in way over their heads.

  “It’s okay,” said Bernie, as if she’d read Lark’s mind. But she was just talking to Portia as she guided her to the couch.

  “Shouldn’t we get her to the bedroom?” Lark asked.

  “No,” said Bernie, as if Lark had suggested that Portia do a headstand. “She needs to have full freedom of movement during labor.” She rolled her eyes as though this were obvious. “Moving around helps the baby find the best way through the birth canal, and staying upright allows gravity to help.”

  “Oh.”

  “See, this is why I wanted everyone to read the book,” said Bernie irritably. “What if something happened and I wasn’t here?”

  “Then I guess she wouldn’t have full freedom of movement during labor,” Lark grumbled, walking over to the hearth to start the fire.

  But as Lark began hauling in wood from beneath the porch, her feelings of gratitude for Bernie quickly returned. Bernie knew exactly what Portia needed, and she wasted no time in making those requests. She asked Lark to boil some water and make sure they had clean towels ready. There wasn’t any power running to the house, but it had a functioning well and septic.

  The boys arrived half an hour later, and Bernie immediately assigned them jobs. She told Soren to round up all the blankets and towels he could find and sent Simjay to raid the other houses for first-aid supplies. Axel got the job of making Portia a pallet by the fire, but when he started laying down blankets, Bernie let out a howl of disapproval.

  “What — are you — doing?” she boomed.

  “Makin’ a pallet like you said!”

  Bernie threw up her hands in exasperation. “You have to put down garbage bags first!”

  Axel stared at her blankly. “Garbage bags?”

  “To catch the amniotic fluid . . .”

  Axel looked as though he might be sick.

  “Lark . . . What are you doing?” asked Bernie.

  At that moment, Lark had been wandering around the house, stuffing rags into cracks and rolling towels against the doors to keep out drafts. “I — I thought I’d . . .”

  “Mama’s gonna need some ice chips.”

  “Right,” said Lark, shuffling outside to break off an icicle from the overhang. The rational part of her knew that Bernie was just trying to keep her busy, but she found it helpful nonetheless.

  A moment later, Soren returned with his arms full of linens, which Axel seized roughly and began piling onto the floor in front of the fire. Lark lit a few candles, and Simjay returned from the neighbor’s house with an armload of nonperishables, prescription drugs, and a small stack of baby clothes.

  Minutes dragged into hours as Portia labored around the house. Soon she seemed to establish a pattern. She would stand hunched over the back of the couch, pace tight circles around the living room and kitchen, and bounce around on the couch holding her belly. At one point she even tried to go outside, but Bernie gently blocked her path and ushered her back toward the fire.

  About an hour after dark, Lark noticed that Portia’s contractions seemed to be growing longer and stronger. It was still chilly inside, but Portia just had on an oversized men’s flannel that Lark had found in the closet. She was panting and sweating as though she’d been working out, and she’d pulled her hair into a messy knot on top of her head.

  Another contraction came as Lark was adding another log to the fire, and Portia let out such a blistering stream of swear words that Lark wondered if she’d somehow missed part of her prison education.

  Bernie cleared the room so she could check how far Portia was dilated, and they crowded out into the cold. Snow was still falling in large wet chunks, and the temperature had plummeted into single digits. Lark shivered, and Soren wrapped his arms around her.

  “This is crazy,” grumbled Axel, blowing on his hands and rubbing them together. “I mean, how long does it take to have a baby, anyway? It’s been . . . what?”

  “Seven hours and twelve minutes,” said Simjay, checking Bernie’s watch, which was fastened around his belt loop.

  They all turned to stare in disbelief.

  “What?” he said, looking from Soren to Lark to Axel. “I’m the backup birthing partner.”

  “No, you’re not!” Axel guffawed, bouncing on the balls of his feet in an effort to stay warm.

  “Sure I am,” said Simjay. “Who else would it be?”

  “Maybe the only other person with working knowledge of a vagina,” Lark muttered.

  Soren and Axel chuckled for a moment before realizing that the insult applied to them, too.

  “I’ll have you know —” Simjay began.

  “Everyone knows the backup would be me,” said Axel smugly. He held up his thumb and started ticking off his qualifications. “Outta all of ya’ll, I’ve definitely seen the most vaginas. I’ve birthed I dunno how many litters of pigs, and I’m a real mean coach.”

  There was a long moment of silence as they all processed this declaration.

  “Yeah, that doesn’t
make you the backup,” said Soren.

  Lark opened her mouth to say that none of them would be the backup, but at that moment the door flew open, and Bernie reappeared. “It’s transition time, people!”

  Axel shot Simjay a challenging look, and they all piled back inside in a flurry of excitement. Portia was lying in front of the fire, propped up with all the pillows they could find. She had her legs spread wide and a sheet draped over her hips.

  “She’s dilated nine centimeters,” said Bernie anxiously. “We’re almost there!”

  Lark raised her eyebrows and turned to Axel. “Still wanna be the backup?”

  But Axel was staring at Portia’s strained expression with the look of someone who’d just seen how the sausage was made. He dragged in a deep breath, gritted his teeth, and then said, “Let’s do this thang!”

  Within minutes, the cabin filled with the sound of Portia’s moans and yells. Bernie started firing off orders again, and soon they had more water boiling, a pile of fresh blankets ready to receive the baby, and a pair of sterilized scissors at hand. Simjay was busy patting Portia’s face with a cool washcloth, but when it came time to push, she snatched the rag out of his hand and tossed it into the fire.

  Lark watched with a mixture of horror and fascination as Bernie coached Portia through one contraction after another. These contractions were longer and more violent, and Lark could tell the process was wearing on Portia. Pieces of hair were plastered to the side of her face, and tears were streaming down her flushed sweaty cheeks.

  “I can’t,” she cried after nearly an hour.

  “Yes, you can!” Bernie screamed, diving between Portia’s legs to check her progress.

  “I’m too tired,” she moaned.

  “Come on! You have to!” cheered Bernie, though Lark noticed that her enthusiasm seemed to be waning. She looked nearly as exhausted as the mother-to-be, and Lark was beginning to detect a faint glimmer of apprehension in Bernie.

  “Fuck off,” Portia groaned, squeezing her eyes shut and shaking her head from side to side.

  “Okay, okay . . . Just . . . hold on a minute,” said Bernie, getting to her feet and walking over to the bathroom.