Chaos Rising

by Kyla Stone

“Lincoln…” Jessa mumbled against his chest.

  His heart jolted. A wave of grief rolled through him, threatening to take him under.

  “It’s Liam,” he said.

  “Liam…I miss my mom. I want my mom…”

  “I’ll get her for you. Both of your parents. Just as soon as we get to the hospital.”

  He glanced down at her. Her eyelids were drifting closed. Her skin was turning a sickly gray.

  “Don’t fall asleep on me.”

  She was so cold. Her pants and coat were still damp with her own blood. In addition to the shock and the blood loss, hypothermia was a concern.

  He jostled her slightly, just enough to snap her out of it. “Stay awake!”

  She raised her head, nodded groggily. She lifted her arm and felt her own wrist with two fingers to time her pulse. “Liam.”

  He didn’t say anything. Kept walking. Had to place each foot carefully to keep from slipping on the wet, slushy sidewalk. The cold stung his cheeks and burned his throat with each breath.

  His legs, back, and biceps ached from the strain of her weight. He longed to shift position but was afraid of dropping her. Less than half a mile. They would make it.

  Up ahead, two horse-drawn carriages waited beside a tangle of wrecked cars in the middle of the intersection. The drivers and several bystanders were loading the injured into the carriages, presumably to hurry them to the nearest hospital. Both carriages were already full.

  Briefly, he considered hijacking one for Jessa. She would get medical care that much faster. But the families of the wounded would only remove their loved ones at gunpoint.

  It would take time and effort he didn’t have. Plus, he’d have to put Jessa down to wield the gun. It didn’t make sense.

  He continued on foot.

  “Liam,” she said again, her voice soft but clear. “We need to stop.”

  “We’re not stopping.”

  “Just for a few minutes. I’m so cold. Please.”

  He almost slipped on a chunk of ice but managed to regain his footing. She sucked in a pained breath.

  He glanced down at her again. Snowflakes drifted from the gray haze of the sky and landed in her eyelashes. Her beautiful features were pinched with pain. Her eyes were glassy, her pupils huge.

  “No more than five minutes.”

  Her arm loosened around his neck, her grip weakening. “Five minutes.”

  He stepped off the curb and wound between several cars to escape the crowds. He stood in the middle of the street, turned in a slow circle, and scanned his surroundings.

  The Intercontinental stood across the street, a fancy historic hotel with light glowing from the windows. They were using a generator. They’d have soft sofas so she could rest for a few minutes. Alcohol at a bar he could use to sanitize her wounds. Maybe something warm to drink if they were lucky.

  Dread and grief nipped at his heels.

  Who was he kidding? Their luck was fast running out.

  9

  Liam avoided the gold-hued revolving doors, wrestled a side door open, and pushed inside. The décor was understated with its creamy tile floor, wood lacquer walls, and fat wooden pillars.

  A giant two-story Christmas tree dominated the lobby. Green garlands were festooned everywhere.

  He barely noticed, focusing on the people instead. The high-ceilinged lobby held a few dozen people, most of them gathered into tight, worried clusters.

  Only two front desk agents remained behind the expansive check-in counter.

  “I’m afraid this building is for guests only,” one of the front desk agents said.

  “We aren’t accepting credit cards,” said the second agent. “The computers are down. Cash only.”

  “She’s injured.”

  The agent frowned slightly. “Northwestern is a half mile away.”

  “We’re going there. We just need a minute.”

  Liam glanced around. The lobby was smaller than he’d thought it would be. A wide staircase led to a second floor featuring several black leather chairs. But there were no sofas, no soft carpet to lay her down.

  Blood dribbled down Jessa’s injured leg and spilled onto the shiny, immaculate tile floor.

  A security guard with his hands loose at his sides stepped forward. “Sir, you can’t stay here—”

  Anger surged through his veins. Liam shifted Jessa in his arms and managed to jerk his wallet out of his back pocket. He always kept cash on him in case of emergency. He had two hundred in twenties in his wallet and several hundred in his go-bag.

  He chucked his wallet at the desk agent. “Take what you need. If we’re here longer than ten minutes, I’ll pay more.”

  “That’s unacceptable—” the woman sputtered.

  Jessa groaned.

  “We’re not leaving.” If they wouldn’t take money, he’d have to up the ante. He didn’t want to pull out the gun, but he had no patience for pretentious morons, either. “I need to lay her down somewhere.”

  “That will be fine,” said a smartly dressed Indian woman as she came out from a door behind the counter. Her nametag read ‘Prisha Hunjan, Vice President, Customer Relations.’”

  “She’s getting blood everywhere—”

  “I’ll take care of it,” the Indian woman said.

  The first agent shook her head with a scowl. “Fine. It’s your butt on the line.”

  “I take full responsibility.” Prisha Hunjan pressed her lips together as she took in Jessa’s condition. “You don’t need to worry about it.”

  The first agent folded her arms across her chest and shook her head. If she’d stuck her nose in the air, he wouldn’t have been surprised. Just another reason why he hated people.

  Prisha picked up his wallet and tucked it into the pocket of her skirt. She didn’t even check inside it. She strode around the corner and gestured to him. “Come with me. She needs to lie down. She needs a bed.”

  He followed her without a word. She led him through a winding series of rooms he barely noticed to a bank of elevators. He carefully maneuvered Jessa inside. Prisha pushed a few buttons and the elevator soared upward. “Thank goodness for the generator.”

  He didn’t say anything.

  “We heard there’s been multiple plane crashes.”

  He nodded. “She got hit by shrapnel.”

  “Is she all right?”

  “No,” he said. “She’s not.”

  “I can’t call an ambulance. None of our phones are working, not cell phones and not the landline phones, even with the generator.”

  “I know.”

  The elevator doors opened. Prisha led them to a room and opened it with a master key. Liam glimpsed gray carpet, white walls, and most importantly, a crisp white bed. The room was warm and the bed was soft. That was all that mattered.

  Gently, he laid Jessa on top of the bed.

  Prisha made for the door. She hesitated, glanced back at Jessa’s swollen belly, and pursed her lips. “Can I do anything to help?”

  “Towels,” Jessa murmured. “Clean towels. A bowl of warm water. Something to sterilize with—rubbing alcohol.”

  Prisha gave a curt nod. “I’ll hurry back.”

  He loosened his scarf, took off his gloves, and stuffed them in his pocket. The snowflakes that had gathered on his head and shoulders were melting. Wetness gathered at his forehead beneath his beanie and the back of his neck.

  Liam sank onto the bed next to her, careful not to bump her. Jessa’s eyes were closed. She looked almost like she was sleeping, except for the deathly pallor of her skin.

  She said it so softly, he almost didn’t hear her. “He’s dead, isn’t he?”

  He couldn’t ignore it—or her insistent questions—any longer. He leaned in close. Licked his lips, swallowed. Forced himself to speak the words. “Lincoln is…yes. He’s dead.”

  The skin around her eyes twitched. Her lower lip trembled. But she didn’t collapse into tears or break down. She already knew, he realized with a start.
/>
  “You lied to me,” she said evenly, every word spoken with great effort.

  He didn’t apologize. “You needed to focus on surviving.”

  “You left him.” She opened her eyes and looked straight at him.

  “I—I had to.” He forced himself to meet her accusing gaze.

  “To save me.”

  It felt like all the oxygen had been sucked out of the room. Liam opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

  The truth was that he had saved Jessa because of his brother. But also, because Liam loved her. Had always loved her, from the first day they’d met.

  “Yes,” he said finally.

  10

  Liam’s mind flashed back to the moment he’d met her and lost her, all in the same night.

  They had attended some stupid college party, him and Lincoln. They weren’t in college but had friends who were. They were both about to ship out on their first tour in Afghanistan.

  Lincoln loved parties; Liam hated them. He went for his twin, like he always did.

  He’d quickly escaped the chaos to the peace and quiet of the deck. She was there, leaning against the railing in a wine-red sundress that matched her lipstick, her black braids tucked over her bare shoulders, the setting sun turning her light brown skin a burnished bronze.

  She held out a sweating root beer. Escaping all the crazy extroverts? She’d said with that grin that melted his insides from the very first time she’d bestowed it upon him.

  They’d talked and laughed so easily—and conversation never came easy for him. He was the quiet one, the outsider, the guy who never fit in, who could never quite relax or let down his guard.

  In less than thirty minutes, he’d fallen completely under her spell.

  After she’d gone back inside, he’d spent another thirty minutes trying to figure out how to ask the girl of his dreams on a date.

  She disappeared until later that night, well after midnight, but the party was still going strong. Normally, he left a party as soon as he could. But not this one. Not until he talked to her again.

  Someone put on U2’s “With or Without You”, a song he’d always loved. And then there she was, in the center of the living room with the couches and end tables all pushed back against the wall, with her wine-red dress swirling around her thighs, her head flung back, her braids whirling, that radiant smile lighting up her face, lighting up the entire night.

  He elbowed Lincoln. “See that girl?”

  Lincoln’s eyes brightened. He nodded enthusiastically.

  Liam said, “Think I’m gonna ask her to dance.”

  “Good call, brother!” Lincoln shoved his red Solo cup into Liam’s hand, beer sloshing over the rim. “I’m going in. Wish me luck!”

  Maybe it was so noisy that night that Lincoln didn’t hear him correctly. Or maybe it was just so out of character for Liam that Lincoln brushed his crush off as inconsequential.

  It was Lincoln who asked Jessa to dance. Lincoln who dazzled her with his humor and charm. Lincoln who got her to fall in love with him.

  Maybe at first, she’d thought Lincoln was Liam from the deck. He’d always wondered. But after that night, it hadn’t mattered. Her heart belonged to Lincoln. And his heart belonged to her.

  Their whole history passed in front of his eyes in a heartbeat. How hard it was to be around them. How easy it was to make excuses not to visit, to drift apart, to nurse his loneliness in private, to tell himself it was safer and easier for everyone if he just stayed away.

  Not only from his brother and his wife, but from life in general.

  Regret filled him, so bitter he tasted it like ashes on his tongue. What a fool he’d been. And still was.

  “If I hadn’t left him,” he said to Jessa, “he would’ve hated me forever. He would pick you to live a thousand times out of a thousand. I had no choice.”

  He half-expected her to yell, to rail at him, to hate him for killing her husband, for letting his brother die. He tensed, waiting for it.

  But she didn’t. Her chin dipped in the slightest acknowledgment.

  Maybe she would’ve hated him if she hadn’t been pregnant. The baby changed everything. She understood he’d saved the life she carried just as much as he’d saved her. Or maybe that’s how she chose to see it, because that’s what she would have done in his place.

  The truth was far messier than that. He loved them both. He’d resented them both, too.

  His heart clenched with grief, regret, and remorse.

  “Liam.” She squeezed his hand with weak, cold fingers. Her eyes were wet, but she didn’t cry. She was gathering the last of her strength for a different battle. “I need you to listen to me. I need you to really listen.”

  He stared at her.

  “My parents’ apartment. It’s less than four miles from here, in Lincoln Park…I’ll give you the address. I need you to memorize it.”

  “I told you. I’ll get them after you’re safe.”

  “It’s too late for that.”

  “We need to go. The hospital—”

  “I’m not going to make it to the hospital alive.”

  He reeled, stunned by her words.

  She took in a labored breath. “My heart is racing. It’s trying to keep up circulation, but it isn’t pumping enough blood to my body. My brain…the confusion…I don’t have much time. I’m developing ischemic injury of the vital organs, leading to multi-system organ failure. I’m—I’m dying.”

  “Then why aren’t we—”

  “It’s too late for me.” Her hand pressed to her lower belly. “It’s not too late for him.”

  He rocked back on his heels, too dazed to comprehend her words. “You’re not going to die. I won’t let you.”

  Her lips pressed together. “I need you to listen carefully…to my instructions. There’s not much time…okay?”

  He nodded numbly.

  “He’s likely already losing oxygen. The best outcomes in terms of infant neurologic status occur if the infant is delivered within five minutes of maternal cardiac arrest.”

  “I don’t know what that means.”

  “He’s going to live, Liam. You’re going to make sure he lives.”

  “How?”

  Her eyelids fluttered. Her breathing was shallow—too shallow. “By cutting him out of me.”

  11

  Liam listened to every word Jessa spoke, dread and fear and grief churning in his gut. He didn’t want to do this. He’d rather be anywhere on the planet than here.

  Her voice grew weaker as she gave him instructions. He committed them to memory, his gaze pinned on her face, his heart jackhammering, everything in him screaming no, no, no!

  “Fight it!” he begged her. “Stay with me. I’ll pick you up right now and I’ll run. I’ll get you there. I can get you there.”

  But she wouldn’t fight. She couldn’t fight. Her body was giving up on her, and she knew it. She accepted her fate. Her only thoughts now were to protect the son who depended on her body for nourishment, for oxygen, for life.

  “Five minutes,” she whispered.

  And then she let go.

  “I love you,” he said. “I’ll always love you.”

  Her eyelids fluttered and went still. The hand he’d been clutching so tightly went limp.

  He stared desperately at her face, at her eyes, searching for signs of life, for Jessa. Unable to move, to even breathe. His pulse roaring in his ears.

  His heart ripping apart with every passing second.

  He leaned in close, held his hand over her nose, hoping for a puff of breath, for anything. He was so close he could smell the jasmine of her perfume, could count her lashes, could see the faintest beauty mark in the center of her chin. So close he could have kissed her.

  But he couldn’t. Not now, not ever.

  Her face was flat. Her eyes empty. She couldn’t see him anymore. She couldn’t hear him anymore.

  The woman he loved was gone.

  He sank back on his heels, eyes
wet and stinging, utterly devastated. Sorrow and grief clawed at his chest. He felt gutted. His insides were being torn out with rusted razor blades.

  In less than an hour, he’d lost everything that mattered to him.

  “Oh, no.” Prisha stood in the doorway behind him. She’d brought a cleaning cart holding the towels, bowl of water, and a first aid kit. “Is she? Has she…?”

  Liam closed his eyes and opened them to the same damn world Jessa had just left.

  A world he’d had little use for before the EMP and had even less use for now.

  “She’s dead,” he said dully.

  Prisha covered her mouth with both hands. “The baby. The poor baby.”

  He blinked again, stared at Jessa’s round belly. The baby. Lincoln’s baby. He was still alive in there. Jessa had begged him to save her child with her last breath.

  What the hell was he doing?

  Adrenaline surged through him. He forced himself to get ahold of himself, to focus. The world could go to hell, but not yet. Not until he’d fulfilled his promise.

  He leapt to his feet, shucked off his coat, and pulled out his tactical knife. It wasn’t a scalpel, but he kept it honed and sharp as a razor. It would do.

  He glanced at his watch. 11:55 a.m. He had less than five minutes.

  “You wanted to help?” he said. “I need to sterilize this blade.”

  She handed him the bottle of alcohol, and he poured it over the blade. Sterilizing it didn’t matter for Jessa anymore, but he was worried about accidentally cutting the baby.

  He was terrified he’d mess up. More terrified his fear would cause him to hesitate, to waste precious seconds, and he would lose the baby altogether.

  Prisha watched silently as he repositioned Jessa’s body on the bed so he could reach her belly and see clearly what he needed to do. Her maternity jeans had no zipper or snap, just a wide band of blue cloth with elastic at the top.

  He pulled her pants down over her hips, then spread a towel across her crotch to give her privacy. It didn’t matter that she was dead. She was still Jessa to him. She still deserved respect.

  Jessa had instructed him to cut low at the pubic line to avoid harming the baby. Carefully, he cut a line through the skin tissue like a smile ending below each hipbone. The skin separated, exposing a thin layer of whitish, marble of fat. Blood oozed, but far less than he’d thought.