by S. K. Falls
She opens a door to my left. It is a small room with stone floors and walls, no windows. Ceres and I step through. I am trembling, so I slide down to my knees and laboriously curl up on my side.
"Please...give us a bl-blanket," Ceres says. I can tell by the tone of her voice that she must be addressing Elara. "Please. For her."
There is a shuffling sound and then Ceres puts a wool blanket over me. I clutch it just to transfer my energy somewhere, to squeeze something tight.
"We should go," Elara says. "Zelia is waiting."
They leave, the door closing with a final thud. The only sound is of Ceres sniffling in the dark. Through the slats in the door, a few beams of light filter through from the hallway. I turn my head to look at my sister. She looks impossibly tiny in these stark surroundings, just a little child cocooned in chiffon and lace.
"It's okay." I struggle to sit up and cover her legs with part of the blanket. It's cold down here. "It's going to be all right."
Ceres smoothes my sweaty hair back from my face. "How? You're—you're having...the baby."
"Well, my body knows what to do." I do not know this for sure; it is only something I've read in the books Marisa has given me.
I take a deep breath, trying to calm both myself and Ceres. "I'm just going to follow my instincts. The baby will make its way down. Besides, first labors are usually long. I could be in this state for hours, and who knows how things might have changed by then." I don't say that they might have changed for the worse—much worse. I can't think that way, and I certainly can't have Ceres thinking that way.
The hours pass by in lurches and stops. There are times when I take in the darkness, the cold, the damp, the utter gravity of our situation, and I feel sick and panicked, like an animal in a trap. But then a contraction snakes its way around my belly, building and building and building, and those thoughts and feelings fly out of my head. All that remains is the pain, the tremendous clenching, seizing, clamping pain. My body is nothing but agony; I am nothing but agony. When it wears off, I'm relieved—relieved and grateful for the reprieve. And in the minutes between the pains, I try not to give in to my terror.
I don't know how long Ceres and I have been sitting there. I pace, I lie on my side, I listen in wonder as my throat tightens around grunts and groans. After a particularly strong contraction, I touch my face in wonder to feel it is warm and wet with sweat and tears. Once, I come out of a contraction to find Ceres stroking my back and singing me a children's lullaby.
When the door opens again, I am bathed in perspiration, having just finished yet another contraction. I look up, squinting, to see Elara. I open my mouth, to tell her the baby won't wait, it won't be long, can't she move me somewhere safer? But she enters without looking at me. Right behind her are the others: Zelia, Octavia, and Pryor, who brings in chairs for everyone. The women sit along the wall across from us so they are facing Ceres and me. The two of us remain sitting on the floor.
Zelia leans forward, her slender, tall frame bent almost in half, elbows balancing on the white material of her silky pants. Her upper arms, sticking out of her tight white top, are barely wider than my forearms. She reminds me of a plant stalk, reedy and thin. "Are you prepared to talk to us?"
I nod. If I cooperate, maybe they will let me see a doctor. "Yes."
"Good." She smiles, her thin lips curving up under her black mask. "Then tell me. Where is Shale Underwood?"
I stare at her. "He...he's been captured."
Zelia leans back. Octavia sighs, as if in disappointment. I look at her. "Let me tell you something about us, Vika Cannon. We were big supporters of your mother’s work. She was a woman to be admired, to emulate.” Octavia’s teeth glitter as she smiles. “And we all expected great things from her oldest daughter. Imagine our disgust when you not only betrayed the regime, but then escaped like an absolute coward on a ship.” She leans forward as if she plans to lunge at me. My heart races and I strain back, against the wall. My stomach twists in pain and I gasp, but Octavia appears to not notice. “So believe me when I say we don’t plan to make this easy for you. Now, back to Shale Underwood. He was in our custody, yes. But shortly after you were brought in, he escaped. And we're all in agreement that you probably know where he went. He must’ve told you. As I understand it, you two are very close." She flashes her teeth, a snarl of a smile.
Relief courses through me. Shale managed to escape; what I overheard in the yez was true. I look at Elara. Her face betrays nothing, but I imagine I see pain in her eyes. Perhaps it is only that—my imagination. "No. He didn't tell me. I can't imagine where he went." I begin to breathe deeply. My stomach is starting to tighten again.
Elara shifts in her seat. "She might be telling the truth," she says hesitantly. "From what I hear, they haven't been in touch in a while. Vika hasn’t been at the compound in months."
Zelia cocks her head. "Ah, yes. That's the other thing we'd like to know. Where have you been, these past few months? Shale told us what everyone else believes: that you ran away. But come on.” She smiles admonishingly. “We both know there’s no way you could’ve possibly survived in your condition, on your own in the wilderness, especially through the coldest parts of winter. A quick check with our Chinese counterparts tells us you weren't in their custody either. And yet, here you are tonight, at the yez as if nothing happened, in the pink of health. Interesting."
In the small space, I hear Ceres's breathing, ragged and fast. I cannot speak. I double over as the contraction arrives at its peak, making conversation impossible. A small groan escapes my lips. The contraction lasts at least a minute; I am sure it lasts an hour or more. When it is over, I look up at the women. Elara looks stricken, but she is silent.
"I...don't...know...where Shale is," I gasp. "I would tell you if I did. Please...I need a clean room, a doctor."
"Tell us where Shale is, tell us where you've been, and we'll get you whatever you need." Pryor's voice is deceptively soft and sweet. I look at her round cheeks and wonder what made her this way. Why is she one of them and not one of the Rads or Sympathetics? How can she believe she is doing the right thing?
"I did run away," I say, gasping from the pain I’ve just endured. "I took Ceres and we ran. Into the wilderness, just as you said."
Octavia barks a laugh. "And you happened to find those outfits out in the wilderness, too, I assume?"
Zelia stands. "Clearly you need some time to think about how honest you’re going to be. We'll return in a bit. If you don't tell us what we need to know next time, we'll take your baby away, and your sister. Do you understand, Vika? We'll make it so you have no one left in this world. And after we kill them, we'll kill you...slowly, like the traitor you are." She turns and strides out of the room.
"No, please, wait." I struggle to my feet. "I'm telling the truth. The outfits—we found them. We..."
But the women are walking out, one by one. They know I'm lying. I'm not thinking clearly, not with being in labor and pain. I know my story isn't plausible but I can't think of what else to say. I begin to sob. "Please! Please don't leave. I need...my baby needs a doctor. Please."
But they close the door. Elara looks at me through the slats. Just for a moment. Then she, too, is gone.
A contraction rips through me, sudden and fierce. I fall to my knees, and begin to scream.
CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE
Flashes of time. I'm gripping the wool blanket. I am on my hands and knees. I'm trying not to scream, but my throat has a life of its own. It opens and births noise, then closes again. Something soft wipes at my brow, mopping sweat. A sweet voice, singing, then coaxing. Ceres?
I am trying to breathe, but it is getting harder. The pains come every few seconds. There is no time for me to rest between them anymore. I can't do this very much longer. I am being ripped in half from the inside out. Something breaks inside me, something wet gushes out from between my legs. Can't they see? Can't they see I'm dying?
A woman is screaming. What are they doing t
o her? Oh, no, no. Not a woman. It's me.
Incredible pressure down below. Needles everywhere, all through me. Heat, as I've never felt heat before. Pain, everything is red, hot pain.
A terrifying, relieving sense of something slipping, something moving down, down, down. Something wet and warm sliding out from between my legs. Something warm and solid.
"V-Vikki! Vikki, it's th-the...baby!"
I sink down, roll on my side. Ceres is beside me, laughing, crying, holding something wet and squalling; it is so loud. Its lusty wailing echoes around the stone room; it is proclaiming proudly that is alive, it is alive. It says, I am here, you will hear me.
It is my baby. I take it from Ceres, I hold it against me, looking at its muddy brown eyes in wonder. Already, I can see it has Shale's chin, his nose.
This is our baby, I think in wonder. This is our son.
◊ ◊ ◊
It is amazing to me how naturally it comes, feeding the baby, making sure his needs are cared for. I never thought of myself as particularly maternal, and yet, when he cries, I slip my arm out of the sleeve of my dress, and put my breast in his mouth. He quiets immediately, his eyes open, seeking out mine. I stare at him, lost in his shortsighted gaze, transfixed by the trust and—already—the love I see in there. It is as if to him, there is no universe. There is only me.
Ceres chuckles and strokes his downy head. "H-he’s hungry."
I smile at her hand on his hair, at the absolute wonder that this moment has happened. My sister and my baby, both happy—in this moment, both safe.
"Wh-what will you...name him?" she asks, her smile lighting up the dim room.
"I don't know." I blink past sudden tears. Shale and I had this conversation, I remember. I'd promised him that he could name the baby, that he'd have a say. "I think I'll wait to name him." I look at Ceres. "Until we find Shale. He's his father; he should have input, too."
She nods and looks down at the baby, falling asleep as he suckles. "Un-until then, I-I'll call...him Little Love."
I open my mouth to answer, but we're interrupted by voices at the door. Elara and the three women are back. Zelia's face peers from behind the slats on the door, peers straight down at my child. I shield him with my hand and turn, but the door opens and they walk in, their shoes scuffling and tapping across the floor.
Fear, thick and cold, drips down my spine. I clutch the baby's warm body against me, knowing that if they want to rip him from me, there isn't much I can do. There are four of them, and only one of me. One adult to protect one young girl and a newborn baby. It's not a fair fight and they know it. I decide, in that moment, that I will give them anything they want. Anything, if it means they won't take him. I am secretly glad that I don’t know where Shale is. I’m not sure that I wouldn’t give away information about him if it meant our son wouldn’t be ripped from my arms. And I know Shale would want me to do that, too, to protect the baby first and foremost. It is a parent’s burden, to always make that choice, no matter the consequences.
They sit in their chairs again and face me. Octavia's sharp nose looks sharper; Zelia looks taller; Pryor doesn't seem baby-faced anymore, just sly. I am seeing them through terror-colored glasses. Elara's eyes don't leave the baby's profile. It is as if she has forgotten where she is. I try to will her to look at me, to see the plea in my eyes.
"I see there's been quite some progress," Zelia says, staring pointedly at the baby.
"Are you ready to tell us the truth now?" Octavia asks. "They say a mother's love is so strong it trumps everything. Even romantic love."
I breathe in and out, steadily. I want them to see I am being honest. I want them to see I am willing to cooperate. "I want to give you anything you want," I say quietly. I wonder if the baby can hear my sped-up heart, if he can smell my fear. "But, please, you have to believe me." I look each of them in the eye. "I don't know where Shale is."
"She's...t-telling the truth," Ceres puts in, covering my hand, where it lays on the baby’s head, with hers. Now we are both shielding the baby.
Zelia shakes her head slowly, as if she is sad that I am still so unwilling to cooperate. I have a feeling she’s going to tell one of them to take the baby. I can’t let that happen; I simply cannot.
“Wait.” I say this quickly, tripping over the word as if it is a stone in the road. My heart threatens to plow through my chest. “I can’t give you Shale, but...” My eyes slip to Elara’s. I want to tell her I’m sorry for this betrayal, that I have no choice. She sheltered us, but the sense of loyalty I feel toward her for that is nothing compared to the fierce protectiveness I feel for my son. “Th—”
Elara stands abruptly, interrupting me as her chair scrapes back. The other women look at her. "Well. Then, since you aren't ready to speak, we must show you how willing we are to keep our promises." She comes over to where I sit. I shrink back in terror, speechless, covering the baby with my upper body. But she doesn't take the baby. She grabs Ceres by the arm and drags her to her feet.
"No!" I get up too, but she is already racing to the door, my sister with her, screaming my name. "Wait! Ceres!" But then the door slams and locks behind them. I hear Ceres wailing, and I sob, turning to the women, the baby beginning to stir in my arms. I understand why Elara has done this. She knew what I was about to say, that I wanted to betray her. She is threatening me. If I give her up, I must also be willing to give up Ceres. "Please. Please don't hurt her. She doesn't know anything! She's innocent; she’s only a child!" I turn back and peer through the slats. "Don't hurt her, Elara! Please!"
But there is only silence. After a long moment, Ceres screams and then all is quiet again.
I turn back to the women. "I'll tell you anything, but I don't know where Shale is. I really don't. Please don't hurt my sister!"
The door opens and Elara strides in then. "Sit down," she says sharply. Something hidden glints in her eyes.
I do as she asks, my heart brimming with so much hate, I didn't even know I had the capacity to hold it inside me. The baby begins to fuss, so I help him latch on to my nipple again. He is quiet as he eats, his eyes closing, soft eyelashes settling against his round cheeks.
There is a knock on the door. We all look toward it, and I see familiar eyes, though they are behind a mask, standing behind the slats of the door. Pryor opens the door, and Marisa steps in, pushing a small cart. It is laden with drinks and powders. She keeps her eyes averted, though I stare at her.
"What you asked for," she says to Elara. "The best. Just arrived from Beijing today."
Elara smiles almost lasciviously. "Ah, excellent. Ladies, let's take a moment to refresh, shall we? And then we can continue the questioning in more comfortable circumstances. Well, more comfortable for us, anyway."
Octavia laughs, eagerly reaching her hand out for the cup of alcohol Elara proffers. The sharp, bitter smell stings my nose even from this distance.
Zelia wears a moue of uncertainty. "What is this?"
"Scotch whiskey. It hasn't been available in New Amana since the War, and it is in limited supply here. This here is about a hundred years old. And this "—Elara lifts a small bowl of light pink powder—" is rosie, a much purer version of candy glass. Quicker acting, too, with no after effects. Marisa was able to procure it at a great price for us. Keeps you sharp and on your feet for hours. I think it'll come in handy tonight." She looks at Marisa. "You can go. Thank you."
Marisa bows low and turns to leave. She tilts her face to the side, just a sliver, so I can see the look of what—friendship? Concern?—she gives me. Then she’s gone.
Zelia relaxes as she takes a small pinch of the powder. She snorts it and blinks, as if she’s trying to focus. "Mm. Good idea, Elara."
Pryor and Octavia don't waste any time snorting the powder, lining it up on a small mirror that Elara passes from the tray table. They close their eyes, letting the feeling of the drug overtake them.
Zelia lifts her glass of scotch to her mouth, then pauses to look at Elara. "You haven't t
ouched yours."
Elara smiles. I think I see a flash of something in her eyes—uncertainty? Apprehension? "It's probably best if one of us keeps our head."
"Hm." Zelia looks at Elara for a long moment, and then lowers her scotch, untouched, to the table. “Even better if two of us do, then."
Elara's smile freezes on her face. "You don't have to, on my account—"
"I insist. I won't if you won't."
I stare at them, wondering what is going on. There's something...something off about the way Elara's acting. And it's as if Zelia senses it, too.
Elara breathes in and out, deeply. " Well, if it makes you feel better, then I will." Her gaze alights on me and then the baby. There’s something unreadable in it, glinting in her eyes like gemstones in rock. Then, in one quick, smooth motion, Elara gulps down her drink. She winces, as if it hurts, and then snorts the rosie.
Zelia grins and picks up her scotch again. "Excellent." Then she follows in Elara's shoes.
The four of them are heavy-lidded and extremely intoxicated within minutes. Zelia makes a show of dangling the key to the door in front of my face and snatching it away. Pryor giggles drunkenly. I don’t understand what’s happening, but I keep my face a blank mask. Why would they get this intoxicated so willingly when they’re trying to find out where Shale is? And didn’t Elara say the rosie was supposed to keep them sharp? They look anything but to me.
Octavia sighs and leans back, her head lolling. "I say we just kill the three of them," she slurs. "What's the point? She isn't going to tell you anything anyway."
Pryor blinks. "I don't think she knows anything about Shale Underwood, really." She stares at me as if I am not in the room with her, able to listen to and understand every word she says. To her, we are as good as the stone beneath her feet—inanimate, unworthy of compassion. She sips at her second glass of scotch.
