*****
She wails, straining against me, but at least now sheâs warm. Sheâs lost that deadly chill, the clamminess to her flesh she had when we first found her.
And I think hope has eased the pain for her. She still screams as her body spasms, but now she sounds more like âmy Charlotteâ. The screams are of defiance and determination, not of hopelessness and fear.
And sheâs madâ¦
Angry as hellâ¦
I sit, leaning back against the wall, Charlotte cradled in my arms. She, lying between my knees, is supported against my chest. Her rib cage pressed to mine, her heartbeat thumps through me. And the breath in her saturated lungs rattles as she breathes.
When it really comes down to it, what can I do to help her? Other than keep her warm? Help her feel safe? While she gets on with doing what women have done as long as there have been women;
delivering our children.
She relaxes back against me, panting as her most recent contraction eases.
I curve around, kiss her cheek. âHow do you feel now?â
Klempner glances back.
She struggles to turn, head twisting round as far as she can towards mine. âFeel?â she screeches.
âHow the fuck do you think I feel? Itâs like someone's trying to scoop out my fucking vagina with a fucking soup ladle!â
Klempner chuckles and turns away. âThatâs my girl.â
*****
Klempner stirs. âMichael, time's up.â He jerks his chin up to where the indicator on the camera is blinking red.
Crapâ¦
âGot my hands full here. You're just going to have to hold them off.â
âWonderful.â He leans cautiously out, then yanks back as from outside, the sound of a shot ricochets along the corridor.
He exchanges glances with Charlotte. âJenny, this is a good time to keep doing what youâre doing.â
I squeeze her in my arms, whisper close by her. âBabe, push. Push as hard as you can.â
âI am fucking pushingâ¦â
*****
Richard At the clinic, Elizabeth receives the red-carpet treatment. And the doctor is comforting in his brisk efficiency, taking away the need to think.
âI understand your concern, Mr Haswell, but be assured, your wife is in the best possible hands. We will try first to control the contractions; to see if we can halt the premature labourâ¦â
âBut whatâ¦?â
He cuts in, shuts me up. âAt this stage, even a few days delay in delivery can make life more comfortable for the baby. Butâ¦â He brandishes a forefinger⦠âIf that proves impossible, the baby still has a very good chance indeed. Babies born preterm at this age have a 95% survival rateâ¦â
Elizabethâ¦
In her room, in dressing gown and slippers, Elizabeth sits in an armchair, gulping down a glass of water as a nurse stands over her.
âDrink it down, Mrs Haswell. The Nifedipine should reduce the contractions. If weâre lucky, it will stop them altogether. In any case, drink plenty of water.
*****
James Limping heavily, painfully, I arrive at my destination.
A parking lot: half-occupied at one end with trucks and wagons camping overnight; the other end with cars and a couple of skinny cats squabbling over something theyâre trying to peel from the tarmac.
Itâs not a bad place; in the normal scheme of things; a simple facility for shoppers and visitors to the local restaurants, bowling alley and cinemas. It could use a little maintenance on a couple of potholes, but thatâs all.
But right now, itâs almost silent save for the distant rumble of traffic, my footsteps echo into the gloom.
In the iced night, my breath blows blue clouds. The temperatureâs still fallingâ¦
Are you cold, Jade-Eyes?
Theyâre coming for youâ¦
And Caraâ¦
And Iâm buying them time to get to youâ¦
I pace, searching for my next instructions. Almost immediately, I think Iâve found it; a slip of paper tucked under the wiper of the nearest car.
Want to sell your car? We pay $$$$
Disgusted, I screw it up, tossing it away. Then I scan the rank; a dozen or fifteen cars, and every fucking windscreen has a note.
Cursing, I hobble along, working my way through them, looking for the one intended for meâ¦
I lose count. twenty, thirty, forty of the frigginâ thingsâ¦
Pain spears through my thigh, combining forces with the bruises at knee and hip and I whistle in airâ¦
And it comes to meâ¦
⦠Iâm not alone.
Itâs the gang again. My back turned, theyâre all around, encircling me.
Tall-Boy steps forward, his grin back in place. The knife too. And as I reach for the gun, two of them are behind me, gripping my arms. One grabs my damaged wrist, twisting and sending sparks flying behind my eyes.
âGet the bag off him...â
A million is snatched from my handâ¦
â⦠Letâs see whatâs so interestingâ¦â
The bag is dumped down. Tall-Boy stoops and unzips⦠Then leans forward, staring. âFuck meâ¦â
From two ranks away, tires squeal and headlights swing. A gunshot sounds, then another. One round impacts the car I was checking, holing the wheel arch and the gang scatter, yelling and diving for cover.
The next punches through the windscreen, a spiderâs web of crazed glass.
And as Iâm spinning, ducking for cover, a third shot fires and a rhino charges me, smashing into my ribs. I drop, my back to the car, gasping for air Tall-Boy grabs the bag, starts running, but the headlights swing again, squaring onto him.
And he reacts the way every panicking, unthinking animal does but which for humans, it should be screamingly obvious is the fatal moveâ¦
He tries to outrun the headlightsâ¦
The car screeches up behind him, engine revvingâ¦
Cupping hands around my mouth, I yell out, âDrop the bag. Itâs the bag they want.â Then I clutch my ribcageâ¦
Fuck, that hurtsâ¦
But either he doesnât hear me, or he simply ignores meâ¦
He runs, head twisting back to see, his fear nakedâ¦
⦠and heâs still looking as the car ploughs over him.
I jerk my head away as he goes under, a screaming, twisted thing. The vehicle rides over him, then screeches through a U-turn and stops, pinning me in the beam.
A figure gets out, picks up the bag and dumps it in the car. Then silhouetted, the light a bright corona around him, the figure approaches me. Then two more, heavily-set, beside him.
âHello, James.â And I know that voice. Finchby. âGet him in. Donât be gentle.â
*****