Beth was pregnant and I knew she was due. No, wait, she was in labor.
Bill was still clutching the doorframe when he called in, “I’ll try to get Lawson on the radio.”
Greg nodded and Bill flew from the room. Then with exasperation Greg faced my husband. “Daniel, please help. The baby is coming and she refuses to give birth.”
Daniel nearly scoffed. “She doesn’t have a choice, does she?”
Greg’s eyes shifted to me. “Mera, can you? You’re a woman.”
A woman? Just because I was a woman didn’t mean I knew anything about giving birth. I didn’t pay much attention when I birthed my own. How could I make a difference? I wasn’t a nurse or a doctor. However, I knew at the moment I wanted to help. I needed to help.
I stepped to the bed and before I said anything, Beth grabbed hold of my arm, yanking me to her.
Her voice was throaty, strained, and emotional and she peered at me with so much hurt, her blonde hair dangling in strands against her face. “Please.” She begged. “I can’t do this. I can’t have this child. I can’t see another die. Please. Kill me. Do something.” she sobbed. “You know.” She pulled me closer, dropping her voice. “You know. I can’t do this. I can’t. I watched my two children die. I can’t watch another.”
I did know. More than anyone in that room, as a mother I did know. “Beth,” I clutched her hand. “You can’t stop this baby from coming, no matter how hard you try.”
“Beth,” Daniel called out brightly. When I looked, his hands were on her stomach. “Beth, the baby is moving. He’s kicking in there. He’s alive. Beth, he’s alive.”
She shook her head back and forth, then despite her best efforts, nature took over and Beth flung forward and began to bear down.
From her gut, graveling all the way out of her mouth, Beth cried out, “No!”
Holding one of her legs, Daniel called out a demanding, “Chirp! Please.”
Both he and Greg looked at me as if because I gave birth I was suddenly some sort of guru. But you know what, something happens. It’s odd. As apprehensive as I was, I moved to the bed and I felt as if I knew exactly what do to. It was instinctive and I didn’t have to be an obstetrician to know all that blood was not a good sign.
Trying to peer between her legs, to see if the baby had crowned, was useless. “I can’t see anything,” I said. “Her legs.”
Beth, with everything she had, kept pulling her legs together, stopping the child from emerging … or at least trying.
It was about three or four minutes of arguing with Beth, pleading with her in between her worsening contractions, that George Lawson arrived.
George looked as if he had been through the ringer, tired, drawn, dark circles traced under his eyes. A short, stout man, he wasn’t big in height but was extremely large in presence. He entered the room, set his bag on the floor, and flicked his forefinger against the already prepared syringe.
“This will calm her,” he told Greg and without hesitation jabbed the needle into Beth’s arm, plunging the fluid into her.
Beth screamed.
“Beth,” George said firm, “Beth.”
“I don’t want to have this baby. I don’t. I don’t!”
“Beth!” George snapped, taking a seat on the bed. “Listen to me.”
Like a two year old having a tantrum, Beth thrashed. “It’s going to die.”
“It will die anyhow!” George said firm. “This blood? The placenta has detached. If you don’t stop this, the child will die. At least give it a chance.”
Apparently, George’s words didn’t faze Beth. His hand rested on her belly and I could see her skin and stomach distend, moving, jolting.
Calm, George turned to Daniel and quietly ordered out, “Hold her legs.” Then to me, “You too.”
I wasn’t a big woman, not at all, and while neither was Beth, clearly she was out of control and I feared it would be a struggle to hold one leg down.
Using both hands, I gripped her leg, pushing down. Beth heaved forward with a painful groan then suddenly she went limp. Her head fell to the side.
I thought she died.
“She’s fine,” George said, peering up from his examination of her. “The sedative kicked in. Greg, I need you to brace behind her back and lift her toward me.”
Holding her leg outward was easier, and I focused on Greg taking his position behind his wife.
One hand between her legs, George leaned forward placing his other hand on the top of her stomach near her ribs. “Now,” He said to Greg.
I watched him push on her stomach, manipulating her belly downward.
“Okay, stop.” George called out, then lowered to re-examine her. “Once more . . . now.”
They repeated the ritual.
“Stop.” George’s expression showed no emotion. “Head is out.” He then moved completely between Beth’s legs and nodded to Greg. “Again.”
Greg did as instructed.
“That’s good. Greg, can you get me a towel or blanket please.”
Greg gently placed Beth down and stood straight. “Why is the baby not crying?”
I didn’t think anything of it. None of my children didn’t cry when they were born. But after Greg questioned, I realized there wasn’t a sound.
My heart raced, my breathing became heavier. I felt like I was suffocating and I couldn’t get enough air.
A hard stomach twitch hit me when Daniel whispered out, “Oh, God.”
Then finally I looked. What was it? I certainly didn’t see what Daniel saw. From my point of view, I saw the baby’s shoulders emerging as the child rotated clockwise as all infants do upon birth. It looked normal, alive, its shoulders moved and I saw the fingers clench.
He was fine. He was fine . . .
And then just he flopped into George’s hands. His little arms and legs dangled lifeless over George’s fingers and his head titled my way.
The ache shot from my heart causing a sound to emanate from my throat. I saw what Daniel saw. His face. His tiny little face had no features. No nose, mouth or eyes. As if he were an incomplete sculpture with no details ever added.
I had seen enough and I left before George had finished. My heart broke again. For the child that never had the chance to experience life outside the womb, for Beth who would wake to hear the news, for Greg who broke down and sobbed. Crying out, “I thought he would live. I thought he could be saved.’
Greg repeated those words releasing his emotional grief against his sedated wife.
How devastating. How truly devastating it was for them to lose both of their other children, then to lose the baby.
To me it was also a vile form of cruelty. The infant kicking with life inside of her stomach was nothing more than a misleading glimmer of hope.
It was surreal and hard to believe any of it was really happening. But it was.
My son, their children, all of the children. The only inkling of light I had remaining was that Jessie and Danny were alive out there.
We just had to find them.
If that was even possible.
7. Footsteps
It was hard to determine where the gunshots were coming from. Occasional shots and even rapid fire filled the night air. Those alone told us to wait until daylight to leave for Harrisburg and then Seattle.
Smoke from fires blocked out any stars mixed that with early summer humidity and the air was stifling hot. For some reason I expected quiet. I guess in a sense, even with the gun shots, the world would be quiet in its own way. How could it not? There were no more children to fill our ears with laughter or cries. No more children. How was that possible? It was so inconceivable that a part of me didn’t want to believe it was more than our city. Despite the fact that I had heard the news broadcast before the airwaves went dead.
While we are all born with blind faith, the older and more educated we become, we question. Everyone, I truly believe, at one point in their lives questions the existence of God or a supreme being. So
mewhere in the back of the mind, there’s that spot that has been waiting for undeniable proof. I got it, there it was. And I didn’t want to accept it.
Because accepting that God had begun finishing off the world meant no hope for a better tomorrow. I was certain that I was not one of those people chosen for salvation and welcomed with open arms at the pearly gates. Because at that moment, having witnessed my son’s death, God was the last Being I wanted to see.
The weather, the lack of a breeze, made staying indoors unbearable. There was no power, no air conditioning. Daniel and I, like many on the street, were on our porch. We sat on that swing that I adored, he on one end, I on the other, both just sitting there speaking no words.
What was there to say?
We were packed and ready to leave and were only waiting for the first light of day, and then we’d go in search of Danny and Jessie. Truly, we felt Danny was going to be easy. He was less than a hundred miles away, and Bill via his radio contacts learned through this person and so forth that Harrisburg was good and Carson Military Academy was secure. We didn’t hear that directly but I felt I truth to that. Jessie, as long as she continued to listen to Daniel, we’d find her. Hopefully we could get across the country. I didn’t know what it was like outside our little Philadelphian world. It could be normal, it could be worse.
Venturing out was the only way to know. And while we had the car packed, Daniel said we needed more supplies, supplies to survive in case we were stranded. I found that hard to believe when he first told me. It was America, how stranded could we be in our own country?
Unlike me, Daniel’s faith took a different turn. He immersed in prayer, read The Bible. That angered me. I didn’t tell him, but I know he sensed my bitterness.
Around nine pm, two single gunshots a minute apart rang out on our street. They were undeniably close.
No one ran to the house, because those of us who had taken to sleeping outside knew. The shots came from Greg and Beth’s.
Two of many, I imagined, that would take their life in the aftermath of the Event. I wondered if I, too, would have been moved to take my life if I didn’t have hope in finding my other two children.
Probably not. At that moment, I turned into a coward, afraid of everything. Contrary to what people think, it takes a lot of guts to take your own life. More than I had, that was certain.
My head rested on my hand and only lifted once and that was on the first shot. I looked at Daniel who closed his eyes, made the sign of the cross and brought rosary beads to his mouth, moving his lips again in prayer.
When the second shot rang out, I was a little envious because Greg and Beth were not feeling the pain any longer. They didn’t have to worry about waking up the next day and realizing it was another day without their children.
I wanted . . . no, I needed to talk to my husband so badly. But he was trying to reconcile his pain, find comfort and I didn’t want to intrude on that.
My mind wandered to happier places and times. I thought about how I got the nickname Chirp. Daniel gave it to me because I talked too much and ate too little. It was a joke that stuck although he was the only one who called me that.
Soon though, the silence was too much for me, and I turned to talk to Daniel. He had closed his eyes and rested back. I got up, went into the house and sought another glass of bourbon, hoping a drink would numb me or perhaps even make me sleep.
Drink in hand, I walked across the lawn. The coolness of the grass on my bare feet felt good, and I sat by the flower bed where we had buried Jeremy.
It seemed like I was the only one awake. I wasn’t. I couldn’t be. Small campfires danced across the lawns. I saw the reflection of Bill’s fire in my drink as I sipped it and watched the flower bed.
His wife was asleep in a sleeping bag, while he sat next to her fiddling with a radio. Occasionally a rush of static carried out, followed by some voices.
Who was Bill? He lived on our street for a few years but I didn’t even know his last name; I never bothered. Did anyone? Yet there he was. A man barely thirty was trying to find a way to comfort neighbors who never took the opportunity to even get to know his last name.
Perhaps that moment was the one to seize. I sipped again and stood. Just as I did, I heard this flapping sound in the distance. That same sound caused Bill to stand up and look, like me to the direction from which it came.
Flapping, then the closer it drew I realized it was footsteps, hard footsteps, running, basketball shoes smacking against the pavement.
I moved to the street and within a moment, I lost every bit of my breath and my glass toppled from my hand, shattering on the street.
From the depths of my soul I cried out in relief and my body couldn’t move fast enough when I saw it was my son, Danny, running toward me.
****
I held him for the longest time in the middle of the street. Frozen with my emotions, I didn’t want to let him go. I was afraid, if I did, Danny would somehow disappear as well.
Something happened in that moment of holding my son, gripping him; I felt a glimmer of hope. A bit more strength returned to me.
“You were supposed to stay put,” I told him.
“I couldn’t, Mom. So many kids . . . they . . .” Danny shook his head. “Everything started falling apart at school and I caught a ride with the first car going east.”
“I’m glad you’re safe.” After realizing how selfish I was being in our reunion, I stepped back, wiped my eyes and grabbed his hand. “Daddy needs to know you’re back.” I pulled him to follow.
There was reluctance, I felt it.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“So Dad’s okay?”
I wanted to blurt out that it was a silly question. Of course his father was alright. But there had to be a reason that spawned that inquiry. “Danny, why would you ask?”
“Just, you know, with it happening to so many. I knew you were fine, you ran to me. I figured when Dad didn’t, he had the sickness.”
“Baby,” I gripped his hand. “Dad’s fine. Jeremy though . . .” My head lowered. “Your little brother, he didn’t make it. He got this horrible illness.”
Then my son, so much taller than me, looked down, still such a child, innocence in his eyes. His lips did that pucker thing before he spoke. “I kinda figured.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Me, too.” Danny nodded. “I wish I was able to see him before, though. I wish I wouldn’t have stayed back at school. I would have been here.”
“You’re here now. And Daddy isn’t sick. So no worries.”
I watched Danny take a step, his eyes shifted to the porch and he stared at Daniel.
“Danny?” I called his name.
“He’s got it,” Danny whispered.
“Danny, no.”
A shift of his body, and Danny looked in another direction. “Mrs. Logan does, too.”
“Mrs. Logan?” I questioned. “Who is Mrs. Logan?” Then I saw where he focused. He stared at Bill’s lawn and to Bill’s wife, Jen. “Oh, Jennie. No, she’s fine.”
Danny didn’t respond. He just watched her. Then he murmured. “No, she has the sickness.”
My God, what my son must have seen. How frightened he must have been. To me, that was the only explanation for his paranoia that everyone was ill.
Bill made his way over and I was grateful for that.
“Danny,” Bill shook Danny’s hand and gave a half embrace. “Glad you’re okay.”
“You, too.” Danny said.
“Bill,” I interjected. “Could you tell Danny that your wife isn’t ill?”
Bill smiled. “No, she’s fine. Out like a light.”
“Just like Dad,” I added.
Danny’s eyes went from Bill to me. “They have the sickness.” He said those words so calm, so matter of fact it was almost frightening.
I laid his hand on his cheek. “Danny, that sickness, it only hit children.”
“Mom?” Danny grabbed my hand. “
That was the Rapture.”
I scoffed some and stepped away. “It was the Rapture. Please.”
“Then what was it?” he asked.
“I don’t know.”
“The Rapture, Mom. It wasn’t just the kids. It was entire villages. People are gone. Missing. Wiped out. The weather, the rash of disasters yesterday. Now, this. This is what some are saying is the cleansing phase. Starting with the sickness.”
Bill asked. “How do you know this, Danny? Where are you getting this from?”
“How do you not?” Danny retorted then looked around. “Oh, okay, I see, no power. Well, we had power at school. We had news. Internet. We had information over the last 24 hours and it’s insane.”
What had I missed? What in the world was going on? Suddenly I felt all the blood rushing to my head. I was so consumed with my troubles, isolated in our storm area that I had no idea what was happening in the world.
Danny looked at me. “Have you slept at all since Jeremy left?”
“Yeah, for a little . . .”
He turned to Bill. “You? Have you slept?”
Bill nodded.
“Then you’re fine. Have they?” He pointed first to Daniel then to Jen.
“I don’t know if Daddy slept,” I answered.
Bill looked over his shoulder at his wife. “I think that’s the first time.”
Danny nodded. “Then I suggest, if you don’t believe me, check them. Go on. Check. Feel them. Then try to wake them. They won’t get up.”
Bill turned and moved toward his house and to his wife. I watched as he crouched down, reached to her and quickly retracted his hand. He stared our way.
I didn’t hesitate after seeing that. I ran as fast as I could to the porch. “Daniel.” I called his name. “Danny’s home. Danny’s back.”
No response.
I refused to believe he was anything but in a deep sleep.
“Daniel.” I reached down to him, the moment my hand touched his shoulder, I pulled back as fast as Bill pulled from Jen.
Even through his clothes his skin was burning hot. Hotter than I’d ever felt.
Sleepers Page 3
