The End of All Things

by Lissa Bryan

  Justin woke. “Where are you going?”

  “To the bathroom.” She was being honest about that part, at least. Pregnancy seemed to stimulate her bladder.

  Afterward, Carly went into the office and sat down at the desk. There was a new notebook in a drawer. She took it out and began to write. She never did return to bed. When Justin shuffled out of their bedroom, he found her downstairs in the living room, by the tree. “Morning, honey.” He greeted her with a yawn. “I must not have heard you get up.”

  Carly let that pass. “Merry Christmas, Justin.”

  Justin kissed her. “Merry Christmas.”

  She unwrapped her presents first, at Justin’s insistence. He seemed excited by it, as if giving presents was more fun for him than actually receiving them.

  He’d gotten her a new board game; a trivia game because he knew how much she liked them, a bit of a sacrifice on his part since he always struggled with reading the questions when it was her turn. The next package contained more books, which was good because she was running low. He handed another package to her with the same tentative look he’d worn at the wagon after his first trip to town.

  “The baby hasn’t been born yet, but this is our first Christmas with him or her, so I thought . . .” The look he gave her was a little sheepish.

  “Justin, I think that’s very sweet of you.” Carly unwrapped it carefully so she could save the paper and found a selection of baby items, including more clothing, a baby sling, pacifiers, a rattle, and a wind-up butterfly mobile to hang above the crib.

  Justin was building the baby’s crib himself, using tools he’d taken from the small museum in town and that book he’d found on old-fashioned furniture making that had step-by-step instructions. The process seemed to involve a lot of cursing and banging, and Justin had refused to let her see it in progress.

  Carly wondered occasionally what the crib meant. He didn’t intend to transport the crib with them when they headed south, did he? Did he intend for them to stay there for a while after the baby was born? Carly was due in early May, the best she could figure, but the book said first pregnancies varied in due dates. When Justin first talked about their winter home, he’d made it seem as if they would move on in the late spring, once he was sure they wouldn’t be caught in a sudden blizzard.

  The last item was a baby book, not intended for photographs, but to record memories of her pregnancy and the baby’s first life experiences. Carly’s voice was too choked with tears to thank him, so she gave him a hard hug instead, and Justin smiled, delighted she had loved his gifts.

  Carly gave him the only present she had for him. He unwrapped it and found a notebook, with the words 101 Things I Love About You written on the cover, but she had crossed out the “101” and replaced it with “201,” but then she had scratched out the “201” leaving only “Things I Love About You.” He opened the book and found it filled with Carly’s large, loopy handwriting, all the way to the last page.

  1) Your smile. When it’s wicked or sweet, teasing or happy. It makes my heart soar whenever I see it.

  2) Your eyes. Dark and seductive, or warm and loving.

  The list went on and on . . . His strength, his bravery, his kindness, his considerate nature . . . Justin looked up at Carly, and his eyes contained something akin to awe.

  “I found more than a hundred things, so I just kept going,” she said, and she felt a little shy about it. He was still staring at her, and it made her a little nervous. He didn’t have a problem reading her handwriting like he did with printed material, but maybe he thought it was a silly idea or—

  “I don’t know what to say,” he rasped and blinked rapidly. “No one has ever . . . God, Carly, thank you. I’ll treasure it, always.”

  Carly crawled up onto Justin’s lap and put her arms around his neck. He held her, and they both looked past the Christmas tree to watch the falling snow.

  Justin found Carly in the barn and took a deep breath before speaking. He didn’t want to yell at her, but he had been worried when he couldn’t find her anywhere. The barometer indicated a storm was on its way, as though the dark and lowering clouds were not enough warning.

  Tigger and Sam were right outside of Shadowfax’s stall. Justin had cleaned it out that morning, and it had a thick, comfortable layer of straw on the floor. There was large helping of hay suspended in a wood rack on the side of the stall, but Shadowfax hadn’t touched it. She was restless, pawing the ground and pacing. Justin had removed the door to her stall so Shadowfax could come and go as she pleased, but she stayed within it, despite the way it shortened the distance she could pace.

  Carly looked back at Justin, her forehead wrinkled with worry. “Something’s wrong with her.”

  “I was worried about you,” Justin said, addressing his primary concern. “There’s a storm coming.”

  “I know. That’s what you said at breakfast,” Carly said in an absent tone. Shadowfax stopped her pacing and lowered her head for Carly to pet.

  Justin took a deep breath. She wasn’t taking this seriously enough. “You shouldn’t have come out here. If the blizzard came—”

  “I’d follow the rope.” Carly’s brows crunched together with worry as Shadowfax tossed her head and let out a soft whinny.

  “What?”

  “You said there might be a blizzard, so I took a rope from the barn and tied it to the porch railings beside the door.” She pointed to the end of the rope, which lay on the floor inside the barn door. “I’d just follow it back if I couldn’t see the house.”

  Justin had to smile. “Carly, that was very clever of you.”

  “Thank you.” She smiled, too, but hers was tense. “Justin, I’m really worried about Shadowfax. I knew something was wrong when she didn’t come to the kitchen window today to get her treat. Could it be she can sense the storm and is worried?” Carly’s eyes grew hopeful at this last idea.

  “I don’t know, honey.” He pressed his thumb into one of the horse’s ears. Her temperature felt normal, as far as Justin could determine. Her huge, bulging belly seemed to have developed a point toward the front. He hadn’t had a chance to check it out when Carly wasn’t around. He hoped to God it wasn’t a tumor. He didn’t know how Carly would cope if her beloved horse died, or worse, if he had to put her down to spare her a slow, painful death. God, it would kill him to have to do it. Shadowfax, Sam, and Tigger were part of the family, and it made his heart ache to think of losing any of them.

  Shadowfax pawed the ground and tossed her head. Carly made soothing noises but the horse snorted and pawed again. Justin slowly moved up to Carly’s side in case the horse reared or kicked. He didn’t think Shadowfax would intentionally hurt Carly, but Carly could get in the way of a flying hoof or knocked down by a butting head. Shadowfax resumed her agitated pacing and then went over to the corner of her stall and lay down.

  “Oh, my God,” Carly whispered. “She must be really sick.”

  He wanted to send Carly into the house, but he knew she’d refuse to budge. To his alarm, she went into the stall and sat on the straw by Shadowfax’s head. The horse made a soft grumbling sound and laid her head on Carly’s lap. Inches away from his unborn child. He was about to go into the stall and remove Carly by scooping her up into his arms when he saw something strange.

  Something was emerging from the back of the horse, some type of membrane. Justin knelt to examine it more closely. An intestine? he wondered. He was horrified and started thinking of ways he could grab Carly, cover her eyes, and convince her to stay in the house while he—

  A small hoof appeared, and the membrane broke with a sudden gush of fluid, splashing Justin from head to toe. He laughed; it was the only way he could react after having just been soaked in such a fashion. “Carly, she’s not sick. She’s having a foal.”

  “What?” Carly gasped. “Really?”

  “Yes. I can see one of the feet.”

  Carly hugged Shadowfax’s head, and tears dripped down onto the horse’s hair.
“Oh, thank God. Thank God.”

  “I can’t believe I didn’t think of her being pregnant.” Justin shook his head with a rueful grin. “She must have gotten pregnant before the Crisis. Your horse book said they have a gestation period of almost a year.”

  She smiled at him and craned her neck as much as she could without disturbing Shadowfax’s head. “What can you see?”

  “One little hoof sticking out, and here comes another.”

  “Justin, run and get the horse book,” Carly urged, “so we’ll know if everything is going right.”

  “No, Carly, I’m not leaving you alone in here with her. I know you trust her, and I do, too, but she could hurt you without meaning to if she starts to thrash around.” Justin kept his voice low, his tone as soothing as possible. “Try to keep her calm.”

  “Do you think she’s in pain?” Carly gently stroked Shadowfax’s long jaw. The horse’s body heaved with the effort, and her tail was raised high.

  “No, I don’t think so. At least, not as painful as human births. She seems a little uncomfortable, but nothing unbearable.” He gave Carly a delighted grin. “I can see the nose!”

  Carly’s eyes sparkled. “What does it look like?”

  “I—uh—I can’t really tell.” The foal was covered in a membrane. “Here it comes!” Half of a foal slid, bit by bit, from Shadowfax’s body, stopping at the hips. They waited, breathlessly, but nothing else happened. Shadowfax huffed and lifted her head. She arched her neck and rumbled as contraction after contraction rippled through her body, but the foal remained inside. She rolled over onto her belly, and her legs thrashed in the straw. Justin was very glad Carly wasn’t in the way of those hooves. The poor horse jerked with each contraction, but the foal didn’t move.

  “It’s stuck!” Carly cried. “Pull it out! Pull it out!”

  “Jesus, Carly, I can’t just yank on the thing.”

  “She’s hurting!” Carly scrambled up from the floor and went down to the other end of the horse. She reached for the foal.

  “No, Carly, don’t. She could kick—”

  “She won’t kick us. We’re trying to help.”

  If he lived to be a hundred years old, he would never understand his wife’s way of thinking. Justin thought fast. “All right. I’ll try turning it a little.” He grasped the foal’s slippery body and twisted it to the side with gentle insistence. Shadowfax strained again, and the foal slid out to sprawl in a graceless heap onto Justin’s lap. He tore the membrane away from the foal’s face and it looked up at him, bewildered. It was smoky gray with a light tail and mane. Justin lifted one of the little legs and tore the rest of the membrane away from the foal’s body. “A girl.”

  “Oh, Justin, she’s beautiful,” Carly whispered. Tears glittered on her cheeks.

  “Carly, hand me that blanket.” Justin pointed to a blanket Carly had been draping over Shadowfax since the first snowfall. She thought the horse had to be cold and so she’d drape it over her back and used an oversized safety pin to hold it in place. Justin had made no comment about Shadowfax’s cape, though he was tempted to point out that wild horses seemed to fare just fine, and they didn’t have a cozy barn with straw bedding to go inside if they were cold. Carly handed him the blanket, and he used it to dry the foal’s coat. It was too cold in the barn for a wet baby, he thought.

  Shadowfax surged to her feet and turned around to inspect the little horse still lying, dazed and wobbly, on Justin’s lap. She sniffed at the baby and then began to lick. Justin lifted the foal onto a patch of clean straw and backed away to give mother and baby a chance to bond.

  “What do you want to name her?” Carly asked.

  “Me?” Justin smiled at her. He would have hugged her, but he was soaked in horse goo. “You don’t have a name already picked out? You named Tigger about thirty seconds after meeting her. Are we staying with the Winnie the Pooh theme?”

  “You brought her into this world. You get to name her.”

  Justin looked out at the swirling snow under the dark, lowering clouds. “Storm.”

  On a beautiful spring afternoon at the beginning of May, Carly stood at the pasture fence and watched Sam and Storm frolic in the field. Tigger sat on the fence post beside Carly, where Sam had left her. He had a habit of carrying the cat around and dropping her at a designated spot where he expected her to stay until he returned, like a bone he wanted to save. The cat wasn’t very happy with being hauled around by her scruff all the time, but she submitted to it with as much grace as a disgruntled cat could manage.

  Storm wasn’t entirely sure she was a horse. She had learned Sam’s body language early and currently spoke fluent “wolf.” She was even able to approximate a play bow by splaying her front legs and dipping her head as an invitation to a rousing game of chase. She would toss her head back and whinny when Sam howled.

  They had kept Sam away from Storm for the first few weeks of the filly’s life. As much as Shadowfax liked Sam, Justin and Carly were concerned her instincts to protect her baby, and the ones that insisted in her equine mind the smell of wolf meant “danger,” might overwhelm her. They had cautiously introduced the two, and Shadowfax grazed as Storm and Sam chased each other around the fields. Sam knew he was not allowed to tackle Storm. The first time he had done it, Shadowfax had run over to them, screaming in alarm. Sam had retreated, his head bowed and his tail tucked between his legs, even as Storm hopped to her feet and pranced around her, tail held high, as though to say, “I’m fine, Mom!” Sam had never done it again.

  Carly had been suffering from an aching back all day. She’d decided to go on a little walk down to the pasture beside the barn, hoping it would, perhaps, help loosen some of the sore muscles. She must have slept funny.

  And then it hit her—a rippling cramp—and Carly winced. What in the—? It dawned on her what the pain meant, and Carly let out a little laugh of excitement. Her baby was coming!

  “Sam!” she called, and he ran over to her obediently, followed by Storm. His tongue lolled out of the side of his mouth, and she remembered her dad once telling her the stupider a dog looked, the happier it was. The same, it seemed, applied to wolves. “Call for Justin.” Sam tossed his head back and let out a long howl.

  That was something Justin had taught him over the winter. He’d said every wolf should know how to howl and teasingly chastised Carly for ignoring this part of Sam’s education. And since he would do it on command, it was an excellent way of calling Justin back to the house when he was outside working or scavenging the nearby farms.

  “Thank you.” Carly gave him a scratch on the ruff and headed back toward the house. Sam stood, his forelegs against the post, and picked up his cat. Tigger gave a small snort, but allowed it, dangling limp from Sam’s jaws as he trotted along behind Carly.

  Halfway to the house, Carly felt a gush of liquid leave her, and she thought for a moment her bladder must have let go, before she chuckled ruefully. You’d think with all of the books she’d read over the winter about babies and pregnancy she’d recognize the signs.

  Her heart was hammering, and Carly took deep breaths to try to calm down. Fear warred with excitement. It was only natural to be scared, even though all the books she’d read had been reassuring. She was young and healthy; the odds were on her side. She told herself she had to have faith. She wouldn’t have been brought this far only to have something go wrong at that point.

  She knew Justin was worried about her. All winter long, he had obsessively read the two obstetrical texts he had found at the used book store, squinting at the tiny print through the blue plastic filter. All they seemed to do was worry him further, and at one point, Carly had been tempted to hide them so Justin wouldn’t keep checking her for obscure symptoms and freaking out over every ache and pain. Carly tried to remain patient with him, difficult as it was sometimes with her hormones fluctuating, because she knew it came from love. He was terrified he was going to lose her. The closer her time came, the more worried he was.

&nb
sp; She had time to change into one of Justin’s T-shirts and clean herself up before she heard him open the kitchen door. He shouted her name.

  “Up here, Justin,” she called, and she heard him take the stairs two at a time.

  He came through the bedroom door so fast he skidded. His eyes were wide with panic. “What’s wrong?”

  “I think I’m going into labor now,” Carly told him and was pleased by how steady and composed her voice sounded. Inside, she was a jangle of nerves. “My water broke.”

  “Oh, my God. Oh, my God.” Justin ran his hands through his hair. “You need to lie down!”

  “Justin, I’m fine!” Carly protested, but he wasn’t listening to her as he began his preparations. He’d had the supplies in place for weeks, sterilized and stored in plastic containers under the bed.

  Despite his protests that she should be lying down or at least sitting, Carly helped him get out all of the supplies and prepare the room. They covered the mattress with a tarp, then put a set of comfortable sheets over it, and moved the pillows so Carly would be lying on the bed horizontally, making it easier for him to reach her. He patted the bed, and Carly lay down, propped up against the pillows.

  “I need to check you, honey, and see how far you’ve dilated.”

  Having Justin look at her in a clinical manner was somehow a little uncomfortable. Carly propped her knees up as he requested and concentrated on the canopy above their bed.

  Carly ran over the list of things they’d need one last time in her head. Justin had done really well on his scavenging mission to town and had gotten nearly everything on the first trip. She hadn’t said anything when she discovered the scalpel he had hidden at the bottom of the supply box. He had cleaned everything obsessively, first boiling the instruments in sterilized water and then soaking them in alcohol. He cleaned everything again before he used them. The smell of alcohol stung her nose, and she heard the snap of latex as he donned a pair of gloves.