Chaos Rising

by Kyla Stone

  The blade hit resistance at the abdominal muscle. He was scared to press too hard. He sliced tentatively. It wasn’t enough. The muscle was harder and tougher than he’d thought.

  It’s not Jessa. You’re not doing this to Jessa.

  He gripped the knife, slick in his hand, and steadied his other hand on her stomach. Both hands were smeared with blood. He cut again, more firmly this time. The muscle sliced open.

  He dropped the knife and placed both hands inside the cut. He tugged and pulled at the warm, wet, squishy insides of the human body, pushing aside a few slick ropy intestines, his fingers searching, searching for the uterus.

  He pushed further in and felt something move against his seeking hands. The baby. Tiny feet or arms poking against the walls of the uterus.

  He didn’t have the time to glance at his watch, which was too bloody to see anyway. How much time had passed? Three minutes? More?

  He felt the seconds slipping by. Every second, a second Jessa and Lincoln’s child went without precious oxygen. He held his breath along with the baby.

  He picked the knife back up, tried to push the baby out of the way with one hand, and made a long, shallow cut with the other.

  A gush of fluid spilled over his hands. His heart stopped beating. Was it blood? What had he just done? Had he cut the baby? Had he accidentally killed him?

  But no. The fluid was clear. Not blood.

  Amniotic fluid from the amniotic sac. Jessa had warned him. In his fear, he’d forgotten.

  There was so much gushing out, he couldn’t see anything clearly. He grabbed a towel with one hand and daubed it over the cut, mopping up as much of it as he could, just enough to see what he was doing.

  He couldn’t afford to cut too deep or too hard, especially with the amniotic fluid obscuring his view. The rest he would do with his bare hands.

  He shoved his fingers into the laceration and tugged. He pulled harder—nothing wanted to come out.

  The human body resisted being pulled apart, even in death.

  His mind revolted from the actions of his body, revulsion and fear roiling in his belly. It was gruesome and barbaric. He nearly vomited.

  How many minutes had passed? Four? Already five? His blood rushed in his ears with a dull roar. Prisha said something but he didn’t hear her.

  With a ferocious grunt, he pushed both hands inside. He felt tiny slippery feet, buttocks, and a thin torso. So small. So achingly fragile.

  What now? He couldn’t just yank the baby out in case he tore or broke something crucial. But he had to move fast. His heart pounded, his lungs burning for want of oxygen. How much worse was it for the baby?

  The baby will be head down, Jessa’s voice said inside his head. Slip your hand underneath him.

  He obeyed. His big hand slid beneath the baby’s body. With his other hand, he grabbed the shoulders with his fingers splayed along his back.

  Liam plucked the infant out of his dead mother’s womb into the bright and angry world.

  12

  Liam inhaled sharply, precious oxygen flooding his system.

  The infant lay in his hands, impossibly small, one tiny fist smaller than his thumb. His little feet kicked weakly. He was bluish, wrinkled, and covered in red blood and whitish goop.

  He was moving, but he wasn’t making a sound.

  Liam’s gut lurched. Was the baby breathing? He couldn’t tell.

  He didn’t know. He didn’t know a damn thing.

  Jessa’s words echoed in his head again. Rub his sternum gently to stimulate breathing.

  He grabbed one of the white hotel towels and wrapped the baby inside it, careful to keep his face free. He cradled him in one arm and rubbed his chest with two fingers.

  “Breathe, damn it, breathe!”

  The infant opened his mouth and released a tiny, scratchy wail. His chest rose and fell.

  He was breathing.

  Liam let out his own relieved breath. He examined the child’s arms and legs, counted the toes, checked his back and chest, ran his fingers over his slick wet scalp, the fuzzy ears, the delicate scrunched face.

  Everything was present and accounted for. No lacerations or bruises.

  His nephew was born perfect.

  Prisha came to the bed. Tears streamed down her cheeks. She wiped her face with the back of her arm and sniffed. “Don’t forget the umbilical cord.”

  He’d almost forgotten she was there.

  She held out her hands, and he placed the child in her arms. He took the knife and hesitated, staring numbly at the strange purplish rope connecting the baby to his dead mother.

  “It needs to be tied off before being cut,” Prisha said. “I remember the doctors doing that with each of my own babies. Tie it between the baby and the cut. I’m not sure what to use…”

  “I have something in my pack.” Liam cleaned his hands enough to grab a coil of paracord from the side pocket of his go-bag. He cut an eighteen-inch length and quickly knotted it around the umbilical cord, then used the knife to cut the cord a few inches beyond the knot.

  His hands were shaking. Now that the child was safe, the adrenaline dump hit him hard.

  Prisha knelt beside him and together they gently rubbed the newborn until he was clean and dry. His skin shone a light cinnamon brown. The hair that had been matted to his scalp was thick, black, and curly, already almost an inch long.

  Prisha wrapped him neatly in a soft clean towel and handed him to Liam. “Newborns are so fragile. Be careful to support his neck and head.”

  He stared at the tiny being in his arms, hardly daring to believe that it was real, that he’d done it. This terrible day had seen so much death and destruction. But here in his arms was raw and beautiful life.

  It was almost too much to bear.

  Prisha brought him a hand towel and the bowl of water to wash his hands clean. She hovered behind him. “What are you going to do now?”

  “Hospital, I guess. Babies should be checked out by doctors.”

  “It’s freezing outside and getting colder by the minute.”

  He shrugged to belie the anxiety needling him. “Don’t have a choice.”

  She eyed him and the baby, frowning. “You should carry him inside your coat, against your body for warmth. You need a carrier, so you have at least one hand free in case you slip and fall with all that snow and ice out there.”

  He also needed his hands free for security. He needed to be able to get to his weapons quickly. He couldn’t do that with a baby in his arms.

  He mentally sorted through the items in his go-bag for possibilities. “I have paracord and an emergency thermal mylar survival blanket.”

  “That will help. And he’ll need something for his head. The most heat escapes the body through the head, and that little one needs to stay warm. I have a winter hat, but it’s much too large for him.”

  “I have something.”

  “Good. I can make you a wrap out of a hotel sheet. I’ve had four babies. Between us, we can figure this out. Let’s get this done.”

  Her steady, matter-of-fact attitude calmed his nerves. Jessa would have liked this woman.

  Prisha went to get a clean sheet. Still cradling the infant, Liam knelt beside Jessa’s body. He didn’t know what to say or do. He wasn’t a praying man, but in that moment, he wished he was.

  He wanted to destroy whatever evil had dared to take her from this world, who’d stolen his brother. To exact a painful and violent vengeance. It was what he did best.

  But the enemy was unknown and invisible. There was no one to fight. Nowhere to direct his inexhaustible wrath and grief.

  He bent and kissed Jessa’s forehead. The warmth was already leaching from her skin.

  He gingerly felt her coat with his free hand and reached into the right pocket. He pulled out the tiny knit hat he’d given her only hours earlier and tucked it over the baby’s soft scalp.

  Prisha returned with two king-sized sheets she’d cut into long eighteen-inch wide strips and
tied together. He held the infant to his chest while she wound the thing around him in ways he didn’t understand, then tied it at his back. It was snug, and the child felt secure.

  He was sure the woman noticed the holstered pistol at his belt, but she didn’t say anything.

  They wrapped the emergency blanket around the front of him and secured it with a bit of paracord, making sure the baby’s face was protected from the elements, but he could still breathe freely.

  He shrugged his coat back on, ensuring the gun was hidden, and put on his hat and gloves. He slung the pack over his shoulders. The go-bag’s weight was familiar and comfortable. The baby hardly weighed a thing.

  His nephew made soft cooing sounds. He would need a bottle and diapers soon. Liam hoped to make it to the hospital before then.

  Get to the hospital. Get the child to safety. That was the only thought in his head, the only thought he could allow. He couldn’t let anything else in, or the sorrow, anguish, and rage would undo him.

  13

  Liam gently covered Jessa with a sheet. He stood there for a moment, lost, confused, unsure what to do with her body.

  “I’ll watch over her,” Prisha said. “Don’t worry about that. You’ve got the baby to take care of.”

  Jessa’s parents would want to know where she was, would want to come for the body. That wasn’t a good idea. He knew that much. He hated the thought of leaving her like this, but right now, he needed to focus on the living.

  Liam left the bloodied hotel room and headed for the lobby. Prisha followed him. Outside the bank of elevators, she handed him his wallet. It was untouched. She hadn’t taken a single bill.

  “I hope this power outage doesn’t last too long,” she said. “It’s so bizarre about the cars and the plane crashes. And the phones.” She shivered. “I just want to be home safe with my kids, you know?”

  He hesitated. Most people didn’t want to hear the truth. They weren’t interested in worst-case scenarios or preparing for potential disasters. They didn’t like thinking about all the ways the world could go to hell. It was too terrifying.

  Prisha had helped him. She’d given them a room when no one else would. She’d stayed calm and steady. He owed her. “It’s not going to get better. It’s going to get much, much worse.”

  She crossed her arms protectively over her chest. “The TVs aren’t working, but one of my coworkers got a radio working. The emergency broadcast says a weather phenomenon has temporarily affected several transformers and the cell towers, but power will be restored very soon. They told everyone to stay inside and conserve heat.”

  “They’re lying to prevent a panic. But it won’t work. Three days from now, this city will be in anarchy.”

  Her eyes widened.

  “Power’s not going to come back on for a long time, maybe years. Might be regional, or it might be the entire country.”

  “So, it’s not a weather thing.”

  “No. And it’s not temporary, either.”

  “This was done on purpose,” she said slowly, understanding dawning. “A cyber-attack, like they’re always talking about on the news.”

  “Something like that.” He nodded. “No power means no heat. Few working vehicles means no food deliveries, no medical supply deliveries, no gas tanker deliveries. Water treatment plants stop working. Water stops coming from the tap. Gas stations stop pumping. Stores and pharmacies will empty out in three days. Generators will run out of gas a little after that.”

  She glanced up at the huge bright Christmas tree, at all the lights still on, even when they didn’t need them. All that wasted electricity using up soon-to-be precious resources. “What are we going to do?”

  “You got family or friends somewhere else? Outside the city?”

  She bit her lower lip. “Yes, I think so.”

  He tugged out his wallet and handed her the two hundred in twenties he’d promised to pay for the room. A deal was a deal. Better she had it than the morons running this hotel.

  “Collect any supplies you can. Use all the cash you have at any store that will take it. Get your family and get out, as soon as you can. The panic will start tonight when the heat doesn’t come on, and people realize freezing to death might happen before they starve to death. Might be starting already.”

  She placed one hand on his arm. “Thank you.”

  He paused at the revolving entrance door. Outside, snow fell from the gray sky, heavier and thicker now. The stalled vehicles, streets, and sidewalks were filmed with a thin layer of white.

  The temperatures were dropping toward zero and below. The wind chill from Lake Michigan would make things even worse.

  The crowds had thinned. Maybe people were figuring out they needed to decide what to do, make a plan. Some would hunker down and try to wait it out. Others would try to get as many supplies from the stores and gas stations as they could.

  “It’s supposed to be one of the coldest nights on record,” Prisha said. “Please take care of yourself and that baby.”

  With a curt nod, he left the warmth and light of the lobby and emerged into a city that would soon be cold, dark, and silent.

  14

  Liam trudged through the snow and the cold. He followed Michigan Avenue north to East Erie and turned right. He knew the general direction of the hospital from Jessa’s instructions.

  He didn’t lower his head but remained alert, steadily scanning his surroundings, watching faces and body language, cataloguing potential threats.

  When he finally reached the hospital, the line was out the door and trailing into the street, eight-to-ten people thick. Hundreds of people. Too many. Emergency tents were being erected on the snow-covered lawn. Nurses were walking the lines, triaging the injuries.

  From all the car accidents, he thought dimly. And those injured but not killed by the plane crash. Multiple plane crashes, probably. Who knew how many others were unable to glide to a safe landing in a field or lake somewhere?

  “How long’s the wait?” he asked an elderly man in line. The man’s arm was cradled to his chest, a makeshift sling made out of a plaid long-sleeved shirt beneath his jacket.

  The man coughed into the crook of his free arm and wiped at his red-rimmed eyes. “They’re saying they’re way past max capacity but will continue to receive patients. They said to be patient. I assume that means we’ll be waitin’ for a long, long time. Don’t know how they expect anyone to be patient when we start freezing our hind-ends off right here in the street.”

  It would be hours before he could get the baby seen. A seemingly healthy child wasn’t a priority today, not by a long shot. Even with the thermal blanket, the knit hat, and Liam’s own warmth, he didn’t want to gamble the life of a newborn in this biting cold.

  He lifted the edge of the thermal blanket and glanced down. The infant’s eyes were closed. His breathing came in small rapid puffs. His skin color still looked good.

  Maybe he didn’t need the hospital. Maybe it was more dangerous to wait out here and expose him to the elements.

  Jessa’s parents. Mr. and Mrs. Brooks. They would take the baby in. He was planning to take the child to them after the hospital anyway.

  He just needed to get there. He knew the general direction of Lincoln Park, and Jessa had told him what street to look for. He checked the compass on his watch to orient himself and started walking.

  His whole body ached. From the accident, from the cold, from the black despair sucking at his soul. Just get there. That was all that mattered.

  A shout drew his attention. At the corner, a man in a white lab coat stood outside a CVS pharmacy arguing with two large, burly men and a woman. The woman was shouting and jabbing at his chest. “We have a prescription! We need those antibiotics for our child!”

  “The computers are down. The prescription was sent electronically by your physician. I can’t verify it without the computer. I’m sorry. Come back tomorrow.”

  “You and I both know that computer won’t be up tomorrow! Yo
u’re trying to hog all these medications for yourself, aren’t you? You think they’re gonna become real valuable real soon, and you’re gonna get rich trading off other people’s desperation!”

  “You’re being unreasonable and paranoid! Don’t make me call the cops,” the pharmacist said nervously.

  “With what phone?” one of the big men scoffed. “Nothing works, asshole!”

  “Now wait just a minute—”

  Liam crossed the street, weaving between the stalled and abandoned vehicles, and walked faster. The last thing he needed was to get involved.

  People were starting to get it. It wouldn’t be long before similar altercations were taking place all over the city. Many would end in violence.

  Block after block, lines were forming at pharmacies, gas stations, and convenience stores. At the gas stations, lines were at a standstill. The pumps were all electronic and non-functioning.

  He watched a group of people stalk out of an organic foods store, pushing past those still in line, muttering angrily at the cash-only signs taped to the door.

  Most people relied on their credit cards. Very few carried cash with them anymore. The banks and ATMs were already closed. There was no way to get cash unless you already had an emergency stash.

  He kept moving, stopping for nothing. He tried to blend in, to keep from drawing attention to himself, all too aware of the five hundred dollars in twenties and fifties hidden at the bottom of his pack.

  He stayed along Lakeshore Drive, skirting the lake and enduring the wind. Two hours later, as the day turned into late afternoon, he found the correct street.

  No one was outside. The road was empty but for a few stalled vehicles. The sounds of the city had gone completely silent. The cold air seared his throat and stung his nostrils with every breath.

  With the strange fog and the snow, he could barely see more than a few hundred yards ahead of him. The snow had a dampening effect, transforming the quiet into something eerie and almost otherworldly.