by Joe Nobody
Bishop held her hand, squeezing it firmly, holding on. Nick warned me, he remembered. What did he call it? “Transition.”
The expectant father still remembered how his friend’s counsel had been tempered with humor, coupled with what Bishop hoped was a little hyperbole. “Now, it has been quite a few years since I was in your shoes. But in my birthing class, the nurse warned about a phase called transition. That bride of yours is going to hurt from her hair follicles to her tippy toes. She is going to be nauseous and have chills and half a minute later, she is going to be telling you to turn on the air conditioning because of the sweats. I’m telling you, man, it is like the pain causes some kind of chemical imbalance in the brain or something. She is going to struggle to manage these intense feelings her body is having, and your job is to ride it out as best you can. Anyway, be ready for her to spout some crazy shit, brother. My wife claimed I had shot her sister in cold blood. She begged the delivery room nurse to call the cops and have me arrested. Problem was my wife didn’t have a sister. She was an only child. You gotta know this is coming and just roll with it.”
“I love you, Terri,” he said warmly, in line with Nick’s advice. “Can I do anything to help?” his hand brushing her cheek to offer comfort. “You know I’d take the pain for you, if I could.”
Her eyes changed, rage no longer contorting her face. “You know I love you, too.”
She leaned back, still panting from the last contraction, the stack of high pillows against the headboard elevating her head, her torso partially upright. The doctor glanced at his watch. “They’re three minutes apart. We’re in the home stretch now.”
Betty reached across the bed, brushing the hair from Terri’s face and offering a cold washcloth. “You’re doing great, sweetheart,” she cooed. “You’re doing just fine.”
Bishop relaxed for a moment, appreciating the older woman’s presence during the process. Terri’s decision to have the baby in Meraton had been a point of contention. He had lobbied for Midland Station, the larger town equipped with a real hospital, more medical resources and skilled personnel. He wanted every option available, just in case something went wrong.
Terri had insisted on traveling to Meraton, her argument a belief that “People are more important than any ol’ equipment.” Now that they were here and actually experiencing childbirth, he understood her desire.
The Manor was an old friend in so many ways. Yes, there had been a gun battle here – a fight that Bishop was sure had ended his life. Despite that memory, the grand gardens and peaceful atmosphere of the landmark hotel held a special place in the couple’s hearts.
As he watched Betty mothering his wife, Bishop realized his spouse’s longing to return to Meraton ran much deeper than just the hotel. It was the town, its people, and energy that drew her. He had to agree.
Meraton had been an oasis after the collapse. The tiny berg had shrugged off society’s downfall, banded together and carried on. The simpler life and slower pace of West Texas hadn’t been so addicted to government, services and infrastructure. When everything extravagant went to hell, the self-sufficient population and surrounding ranches hadn’t suffered nearly as much as most of the planet.
Terri and Bishop had resided in Houston when the US experienced financial devastation. They had tried to ride out the ever-increasing tide of anarchy, working hard to persist and keep their neighborhood safe. Over the weeks, it became clear that living next to a starving, desperate population center just wasn’t a long-term survival option. They had bugged out, heading for the land of Bishop’s childhood, an inherited hunting retreat nestled in the mountains of West Texas.
The journey across the Lone Star State had almost ended their lives. It seemed like every few miles offered a different challenge. It had taken weeks, expended all of their resources, and nearly destroyed their faith in mankind.
They had limped into Meraton out of gas, low of food, and desperate for reprieve from a world gone crazy. The 600-mile drive across Texas had left the couple feeling like life could never be normal again… that there was no future. Meraton changed all that, providing an optimism that was so critical. Hope was something they had needed badly. Could the birth of a little one solidify that hope?
Terri looked like hell. Her hair was stringy, drenched in perspiration, skin pale from exhaustion. Yet, despite the hours of agonizing pain, Bishop was proud of his bride. She had shown grit and determination, and that was all anyone could ask.
Bishop glanced at himself in the hotel room’s mirror. I don’t look much better, he admitted, noting the dark circles under his eyes, his face taunt from the rollercoaster of stress and worry, and then relief as the contractions passed.
“Terri, I’m seeing some really good dilation,” the doctor commented. “That’s a very positive sign. I don’t think we’re going to have to wait much longer.”
The down time between her bouts of pain seemed to pass far too quickly. “Here we go again,” she managed between her clenched teeth. Bishop moved to comfort, wishing he could do more as her head rolled back, and the howl of agony leapt from her throat. Panting. Deep inhalation. Screaming until her lungs were emptied.
And then it passed.
“On the next one, I need you to push,” announced the doctor. “Do it just like we talked about. Bishop, keep reminding her to push. Your job is to be a cheerleader for Team Push.”
The waves of hurt came much quicker, hardly a minute going by. “Push!” commanded the doc. Bishop squeezed Terri’s hand, “Come on... push and breathe… push and breathe… that’s it.”
“The baby’s coming, Terri. Keep pushing. Almost there. Just a little longer.”
Then a new life arrived, a new person where there hadn’t been one just a moment before. A new set of lungs inhaled for the first time – a new voice joined the choir of humanity. A miracle, he realized. I’ve heard so many new parents use that word. I thought it was cliché. It truly is a miracle.
Terri’s position did not provide a good line of vision for the events now taking place, and she was craning to see. In a voice that betrayed her physical exhaustion, Terri prodded her husband for information. “How does the baby look? Is it healthy?”
Bishop took his eyes from Terri’s for barely a moment to secure the update. There was blood – more blood than he expected, and it worried him. Beyond, he saw the doctor’s hands moving in a blur, Betty standing nearby. It was the older woman’s expression that told him everything was okay. Her eyes were filled with a mixture of confidence and joy.
“They’re cleaning the baby up now,” Bishop narrated for Terri. His eyes caught the movement of a swirling, pristine white towel, Betty’s hands moving with both speed and grace. Moments later, she was standing beside Terri, offering a bundle. A tiny, wrinkly face was all Bishop could see. Crinkled, purple and bloody, that miniature image of humanity poking out from the white softness of its swaddle was the most wonderful sight he had ever experienced.
“Nine hours of labor,” the doctor commented, writing in his journal. “I know it didn’t seem like it at the time, but for a first child, that’s not so bad. Mother and child are doing well. The APGAR score is good.”
Bishop’s head was spinning from it all. The long sessions of suffering endured by the woman who owned his heart and soul. The agony in his wife’s screams. The sound of the baby breathing and its thin wail of life.
Betty was whispering to Terri, kissing her forehead after sharing the secret. For just a moment, Bishop felt a little left out, but it passed. He would never bear children – was excluded from the club. He understood that a connection had been forged between the two women that was not dissimilar to the bonding he had experienced in combat.
“Bishop,” croaked Terri’s hoarse voice. “Would you like to hold our son?”
“Yes... I would love to hold our…. Did you say… a boy?”
“Yes, it’s a boy.”
Death was a constant companion. Like a faint shadow on a gray day, the
need to take life had stalked Bishop – always looming, a harbinger of what hid over the next hill of his life. So many times the Texan had pulled a trigger or wielded a blade. So many lives taken, each loss corroding a part of his soul.
The void wasn’t filled with guilt or despair - just emptiness. Each death at his hand removed a spoonful of his inner being. He realized that if it continued, eventually he would end his days as a hollowed-out shell of a man, reliving nightmares and wondering what the afterlife would bring to a soul that had ended the existence of so many of his kind.
But not today.
As Terri handed him the tiny bundle, new life-energy filled his core. For the first time, he was on the opposite side of the equation - creating, not destroying.
And he liked it.
The new mother watched, beaming with pride as her mate accepted his son for the first time. Bishop could have easily held the tiny wrap in one hand, but didn’t, instead cupping his palms together as if the infant weighed a hundred times its meager size.
It was the extreme of the dichotomy that filled her with bliss. Bishop’s corded arms, so strong and capable, wrapping ever so gently around the helpless, fragile newborn. She hoped the child would feel the protection of those arms, the safety that laid within, just as she had experienced on so many occasions.
Bishop’s expression flashed a carousel of emotions, like a revolving door of honesty opening to his inner heart. After pulling the baby close to his chest, he gazed at his mate, smiling but unsure if he were holding the fragile package correctly. The tentative moment quickly passed, replaced with his pure fascination at what he held in his arms.
“He’s perfect,” Bishop pronounced, again meeting his wife’s eyes.
When the newborn found Bishop’s finger and squeezed, the father’s smile widened. “You’re strong. Aren’t ya, big fella?”
I’ll teach you everything you need to know, thought Bishop. Your mother and me, we’ll fill you with honor and wisdom. You’ll neither bully, nor run. We will teach you the value of integrity and make you aware of the treachery of men. You’ll know right from wrong and won’t be afraid to act upon that knowledge. We will give you the opportunity to improve our world – to make this a better place.
It was a wonderful, silent moment for Terri and Bishop. He somewhat gingerly perched on the edge of the bed so as to share the precious treasure with her – the woman with whom he had created this new life.
Betty, not wanting to interrupt, padded to the door and exited as quietly as the old hinges would allow. Outside, one of Pete’s helpers slumped on a bench, the lad clearly bored but unwilling to leave his assigned station.
“You can go tell Pete that Meraton has a new son. The baby is healthy, and the mother is doing just fine. Tell him I estimate it weighs somewhere around seven or seven and a half pounds. Ten fingers. Ten toes. Now repeat it back to me.”
The young man did as he was instructed and in so doing was released by The Manor’s caretaker, scampering off toward Pete’s Place, excited to deliver the news.
When the door to the local watering hole burst open, Pete and several dozen customers all peered up with anticipation. Less than a minute later, glasses were being raised throughout the bar. Excited toasts of “It’s a boy!” could be heard clear to the other end of Main Street.
The messenger’s next stop was the town’s ham radio operator. Moments later, his hands worked in a familiar blur across the knobs of the glowing transmitter, his voice informing listeners in all of the towns that made up the West Texas Alliance of the good news.
In Fort Stockdale, Midland Station, Alpha and other communities scattered throughout the region, celebrations broke out. Someone launched a few bottle rockets in Fort Davidson. A police officer rolled through the streets of Odyssey, broadcasting the birth announcement on his patrol car’s loudspeaker. Prayers were whispered at a small church, an excited usher passing the pastor a handwritten note, the news warranting an interruption of the carefully prepared sermon.
It wasn’t that Bishop and Terri’s baby was the first to be born after the apocalypse. There had been a handful of healthy children enter what was now a vastly changed world. No, the celebrations were due to an unspoken confidence… a reassurance demonstrated by one of the region’s best known families. Terri was wildly popular among the people, her act validating that the world was indeed a good enough place to raise a child. Terri had faith – why shouldn’t they?
Despite an unknown future that threatened war and a dozen other major problems, one of their leaders had brought a new life into existence. Like the pre-collapse birth of a royal in England, or the first child born of a new year, the news traveled fast, and for just a brief moment, the biggest concern on their collective minds was speculation over the newcomer’s name.
Nick scrambled with one of his quick reaction forces, a dozen pairs of boots pounding along Alpha’s sidewalks. The few citizens out at the early hour made way for the heavily armed men, unsure if it was another drill or the real thing.
Burdened with full combat loads, body armor and Kevlar helmets, the team rushed for the courthouse, separating into three groups as the landmark structure came into view. From the other side of the square, Nick spotted Deke and his contractors taking their predefined positions.
Word of a single Humvee entering Alliance territory had arrived a few hours ago, detected by the picket line of scouts watching the border. One of deputies had pulled the vehicle over shortly afterward, inquiring politely regarding the driver’s intent.
“We are on our way to Alpha,” had been the response from the four men inside. “Our job is to secure an agreement with the local authorities.”
A wave of relief had flooded the fledgling organization’s leaders. Washington is finally acting logically, they all thought. We can avoid war.
While Nick was as excited as anyone, he wasn’t about to be on the receiving end of a surprise like he’d just delivered to the convoy commander. “We’ll let them approach without any hassle, but I want a show of strength when they arrive,” he’d told Diana.
“Okay, but don’t overdo it. Without Terri being here, I just want to buy us time and see what they’re thinking. But… and this is a critical point… I don’t want to scare them off.”
And so the limited response to the diplomatic overture was deemed appropriate.
Ten minutes later, the Humvee rolled to a stop in front of the Alliance’s main government building. Nick made sure his men were visible, but not intimidating. One of the visitors was an army general who seemed to take a strong interest in the placement of the security personnel.
Nick escorted the men into the courthouse after satisfying himself they weren’t a threat. Diana met the four visitors in the conference room, smiling politely and offering refreshments.
After everyone was settled in and introductions were exchanged, General Owens began. “Miss Brown, we are here at the direct request of President Moreland. The president feels that a series of misunderstandings, combined with a lack of direct communication, are leading to a potentially hostile situation. This delegation’s job is to address those issues.”
Diana waxed diplomatic, her tone polite and smooth. “Thank you for clarifying that, General. Let me make it perfectly clear, right from the start – the last thing the people of our region want is conflict. We’ve all suffered enough violence and hardship. We only want to be left alone to improve our daily lives.”
The man who had identified himself as an undersecretary of the Interior spoke up. “Do you have any interest in helping your fellow Americans?” The question drawing a harsh look from General Owens.
“We do, and we are, sir.” Diana responded immediately. “We have welcomed and assisted thousands of refugees in the past few months, each individual provided with food, medical care and housing. Those multitudes, if not here, would be burdening your efforts in other parts of the country.”
“That is a valid perspective,” another of the visitors respo
nded, “but there is the lingering issue of scale and equality. In addition to the reports we have received, I could see with my own eyes as we drove in - your people are living at a much higher standard than the rest of the country. Millions are hungry and existing without even basic services. We in Washington feel like a portion of your resources could assist tens of thousands more if properly distributed.”
“We are not opposed to helping, as a matter of fact, we would welcome the opportunity. What would not be acceptable is an arbitrary seizure of our assets. All indications, both official and unofficial, have relayed Washington’s intent as just that. This, no doubt, has led to your ‘potentially hostile situation,’ General.”
The man from interior, despite General Owens’s prior visual warning, couldn’t hold his tongue. “We aren’t here for crumbs and leftovers, Miss Brown,” the man hissed. “It is ridiculous for you to assume that we would allow your people to thrive while the rest of the nation struggles.”
Diana almost broke out laughing at the man, barely winning an internal struggle to remain nonplused. “I don’t recall anyone offering crumbs and leftovers, sir. Our position is that a rising tide will lift all ships, and we would like nothing more than to be in the harbor. But let me be clear. We aren’t just going to hand over our livelihood. Offer us fair value, and I’ll wager you’ll be pleasantly surprised at both our patriotic spirit as well as our sense of fair play.”
“What is it you need, ma’am?” General Owens asked, finally getting to the crux of the matter.
The leaders of the Alliance had spent countless hours debating the answer to the officer’s question. Even in such a small, newly formed community, there were already special interest groups vying for influence and attempting to steer the council along a course that benefited their constituents.
