by Trevor Zaple
Barry returned with a small pill bottle and a bottle of water. He handed it to Olivia, who looked it over, opened it, fished two tablets out, and took the bottle of water. She opened Carlos’ mouth gently and washed the tablets down his throat. She stepped back afterward, and looked around.
“We need to let him rest,” she declared authoritatively. “Everyone out”. No one put up dissent.
Carlos would not wake up for two days, and when he did he had only vague ideas of what had happened immediately following Barry’s request. He was weak for some time afterward, pale and withdrawn. By unspoken agreement he was not asked to scout around the outside world for news and supplies. He would recover when he recovered. Barry paced around the main floor, checking out the windows often and muttering. He kept his .357 oiled and maintained, and never went anywhere without it holstered to his side. Amber would keep watch from the second story, a long-barrel poking out to sweep the street. Mark and Emily would spend part of each day on the roof, watching the expanse with a bored eye. The only people who came through the area were men in the employ of Paul Taggert, who rarely stopped and even then imparted only the barest of news to them. Mark began to feel a deep itch in the base of his spine, an urge to break the stasis. The others seemed to share in his unease, except for Emily, who seemed to thrive on it.
Emily and Mark were on the roof during one of the rare patches of sunshine that broke through the almost-total October gloom. As usual they had seen nothing except the usual patrols that Taggert was sending out to keep an eye on things. Mark had leaned up against the side of the hut that housed the roof access hatch and watched as Emily had taken apart her favorite rifle, oiled it, and put it back together. After doing this she had returned to keeping an eye on the street, but it seemed as though she were really only doing half a job of it, and was seemingly as bored as Mark felt. After a while she turned to him, her dreamy eyes seeming to take everything about him in through one lazy sweep.
“So, you and Olivia,” she said, her voice vague. Mark nodded, unsure of what she meant by this. When he didn’t reply, she cracked a small smile and kept talking.
“You guys obviously have a history together,” she said. “I mean, she is pregnant with your kid, and all”.
“Uh, yeah,” he replied nervously. He was always nervous around her, for no reason that he could easily discern. “We met at work. She eventually got a job doing what she actually wanted to do, and I, uh, didn’t”.
Emily nodded easily, as if she had expected nothing else. She let her eyes drift out over to the street again.
“She seems pretty insistent on her own independence,” she continued after awhile. “Determined that she’s going to do it on her own. I admire that, but I also have to wonder. If you two are expecting, why is she so insistent that the two of you aren’t an, uh, item? I mean, I admire the independent streak but there’s obviously more to the story than case-study feminism”.
He stole a glance at her and saw that the introverted haze had vanished. She was looking at him very sharply, as though trying hard to figure something important out with regards to him. He swallowed and chose his words carefully.
“There, uh, was another woman,” he replied. “She, uh, worked in production, for Astral, on that one outdoor network”.
Emily’s smile turned a trifle hard.
“I see…well, that would do it,” she said flatly. “Was she worth it?” The venom in her voice surprised Mark, who found himself caught flat-footed.
“Well, uh, no, I suppose she wasn’t. I mean, she was pretty…”
“Pretty?”
“Uh, yes, pretty. Blonde, knockout figure, pretty face…”
“The usual,” she said, her tone dripping with contempt.
“Uh, I guess. Anyway, she would come in to work a lot, looking for stuff to upgrade their systems, we would get to talking, and, uh, one thing kind of lead to another”.
“It always does”
Her flippant disgust was beginning to piss him off. This was the largest exchange they’d ever had, and she was simply casting judgment on him. He clenched his jaw.
“Yeah, I guess it does, when you’ve got a girlfriend who doesn’t respect you and treats you like a jerk after she gets pregnant then yeah, I guess one thing leads to another”.
She smiled at him but Mark didn’t see any compassion or humor in it. She put a long, ragged-nailed finger to her lips.
“Aww, you poor man,” she cooed. “Knocked your girl up and thought she would act like you were the conquering hero crossing the Rubicon to claim the city. Maybe you thought that after she got out of the bathroom, after she pissed on that stick and it told her the truth, she’d come crawling and throw flowers at your feet?”
Now Mark was angry.
“It wasn’t anything like that!” he yelled. “I just wanted to be treated like I was a competent person with the same needs for care and consideration that she had!”
“Absolutely, because you had a child growing in you as well”.
“Fuck OFF!” he screamed. “You have no idea! You don’t know what our relationship was like, what it is like, you’re just looking to score fucking points off of me!”
“Keep your voice down!” she hissed. “It will carry for miles from up here!”
“Then stop fucking baiting me,” he grated, making a concerted effort to lower his volume. She pursed her lips and seemed to think about it.
“I’m not really baiting you,” she replied, slowly. “I’m just trying to understand”.
“Understand what?” he asked, throwing up his hands in frustration.
“Why you’re still here when she very obviously wants little to do with you?”
Mark stopped, searching for a reply and unable to give one. He eventually settled for shrugging sheepishly.
“I love her,” he said simply. It seemed enough, although Emily thought it was quite funny.
“Ah, and that is enough, is it?” she said, holding back a laugh.
“Of course,” Mark replied indignantly. “I’m going to stick by her no matter what”.
Emily nodded exaggeratedly, obviously mocking him. Mark nearly went off yelling again and stopped himself at the last minute. He glared at her instead, not trusting himself to speak.
“Very noble of you,” she said, her tone seeming more an attempt to soothe than an attempt to bait. “I suppose I shouldn’t mock you for trying to ‘do the right thing’, after all, but it seems odd to me. She’s given you every indication that she doesn’t need you around, she bites your head off whenever she has an opportunity, so why bother? You could have been long gone, safe and secure anywhere else”.
Mark looked down at his feet for a long moment.
“I love her,” he repeated, holding it to his heart like a talisman. “I love her and I have a responsibility to do right by her. That’s half my child stewing in there, and I need to do what I can to keep them both safe”.
He looked up and saw that Emily had come over to stand immediately next to him. Her soft brown hair floated about her face and her usually miles-away eyes were still sharp, probing.
“Interesting,” she said, and then put a finger on his chest. “Still, there can’t be all that much love reciprocated by her. I’m sure you must get very lonely at times. Very…edgy”.
He was suddenly very aware of her proximity to him. He could feel the magnetic tension of her taut, spare body, accentuated by her usual choice in scouting clothing—tight and flexible. Her sweat filled his nostrils, and there was a sweet odor to it that was missing in everyone else; he realized that she must have availed herself of the deodorant stash. He felt his chest tighten.
“I, uh…” he stammered. Emily’s smile grew wider.
“I get lonely too, you know,” she purred. “I mean, I stay up at night sometimes, and I can hear Barry and Amber in their bedroom, doing all sorts of things to each other. They try to keep quiet, but Amber sort of has a problem with that”. The finger on Mark’s chest became a whole hand. “She
’s very appreciative of attention,” she said, her eyes dancing. “I would be very appreciative of attention too”.
The unaccustomed afternoon sunlight seemed very bright all of a sudden, and a batch of butterflies began fluttering through Mark’s stomach. He had a sudden urge to grab her, to throw her to the gritty floor and tear her clothes off. He imagined them entwined in any number of Kama Sutra-worthy positions, grinding into each other, twisting into nude, smooth human pretzels. His mouth was dry, his palms sweating. He stepped away.
“I can’t,” he replied, shaking his head, partially unable to believe what was coming out of his mouth. Emily’s eyes went wide, and then a speculative expression came over her face.
“You are very interesting, Mark. Are you for real?” The question seemed rhetorical, with Emily tapping her lips afterward, her eyes searching his face until he became very uncomfortable. She took up her rifle and left, going down the roof-access ladder with an assassin’s grace. He was left alone, with only the already-clouding blue sky to direct his unasked questions to.
After that, Mark began catching her everywhere he went in the Lounge, hovering on the periphery of his vision and always watching. This, in conjunction with Olivia’s rapidly advancing pregnancy, began making him exceedingly nervous. His days were spent chewing his lips and watching the area around him. His nights were spent restless, divided between sleepless periods of worry and week-counting, and dream periods of a frankly sexual nature that Emily’s light, mocking touch played a large part in.
Olivia was growing very close to her due date now; it seemed nerve-wracking in how close it really was. By the end of October she was starting to show the preliminary signs of labor.
It was Amber that took him aside, one dark afternoon as the rain grew colder. She had come directly from ‘bathing’ Olivia, her face masked in gloom.
“We can’t do it here,” she said slowly, looking into his eyes to make sure he understood this clearly. He swallowed hard, and tried to think of something to say. He was at an utter loss.
“She’s going to have to go to a hospital, and that hospital’s going to have to have competent medical staff, or something kind of like it. She’s turning the wrong way and someone needs to monitor her constantly”.
Mark thought frantically, trying to remember where the hospitals were located. He thought that there was one down Queen Street, although who knew what sort of depraved people were living down there now? There was another further into the downtown, near the heart of the city. He thought it might be on Dundas Street, near a coffee shop, something like that, although it seemed pitifully vague.
“Do you know where the hospital is?” he asked, realizing how absurdly tourist that question sounded. Amber took him by the arm and brought him to the bar. She sat him down on a stool and walked around to the other side. Rummaging for a moment, she came out with a map book of the city. She slammed it down on the bar counter and dust flew off the seldom-opened cover.
“I’ll show you,” she murmured, “but Emily’s going with you”.
Mark hesitated for the briefest of moments. “Alright,” he replied, tentatively. He had serious doubts as to how good of a plan that was, but he couldn’t very well spill that out right now. His focus was on Olivia. She was in danger, at least as far as he gathered from what Amber was saying, and that required his full attention. His mind refused to cooperate, though, choosing instead to wander down faint paths that his overworked neural synapses insisted on throwing out. He felt a maddening need to say something else, but his mind only spewed out jabber. He became aware that Amber was looking at him strangely. She reached across the bar like a viper and took ahold of his ears.
“You need to pay attention,” she said, pausing between each word for emphasis and putting heavy accent on every other syllable. “This is very serious. Your baby might die. Do you understand?”
Mark nodded, although he wasn’t sure if he did, entirely.
“Why, though,” he asked, “why does she have to go somewhere?”
Amber kept ahold of his ears and continued to stare directly into his eyes.
“The baby has turned, it’s starting to come. Her labor has started, but it’s coming out the wrong way. She might have to be cut open”.
Mark reared back, startled. Amber managed to let go of his ears an instant before he did so.
“She’s what?” he exclaimed, unable to control his volume. The wind gusted in the street outside and rattled the window.
“It might have to be surgery, Mark. Caesarean. The best place to go is the hospital, Toronto Western. It’s in the part of the city the Mayor controls, so there might be doctors there, or a nurse, or someone who might be able to guide her through giving birth like this. Anything is better than here. There’s no one here who can help her”.
Mark felt as though his head had been placed inside a large metal bell that had been subsequently rung. He put his hands on the bar to steady himself and found himself staring at the dust-encrusted map book. Rand McNally Official Map Book of the Greater Toronto Area, it proclaimed in bold font. It seemed very self-assured, a very confident portrayal of a vast cityscape in comforting, friendly colors and symbols. He put his hand out to touch it, to get some of the strength inherent in it and bring it into himself. Amber slapped his hand and he withdrew it, stung.
“Mark, please,” she insisted. “Please pay attention. You and Emily are going to take Olivia to the hospital. Try and find someone with medical training, or some kind of experience. Do what they tell you”.
Mark nodded, although his head swam.
Emily came down the stairs a moment later, leading Olivia down the stairwell step by step. Olivia looked determined, although obviously frightened. Emily led her to one of the booths and got her to sit down. She then came to meet Mark and Amber by the bar. Mark saw that she was wearing the same rifle that she’d been cleaning on that day on the roof; she had it slung over her back. Her face was set and her eyes were blazing and in focus. He felt his vision steady. He might not be able to siphon strength from the Rand McNally Official Map Book of the Greater Toronto Area, but he might be able to get it from Emily. She seemed to have it in spades.
“Alright, Mark,” she said, and her voice was curt and clipped, all business. “This is how this is going to go down”.
She took the map book and thumbed it open, settling on the close-up of the downtown core of the city. She pointed to a spot just west of the Queen and Dufferin intersection.
“You are here,” she said, a smile passing like a fleeting moment across her face. She then pointed to a spot and it seemed like a terribly long way away from where they were. She tapped it three times.
“This is where we need to be”.
“Is it even feasible to walk there?” Mark asked incredulously. “I mean, it’s positively frigid out there, it could take hours, I…” he trailed off. Emily looked at him without expression.
“It’s going to have to be feasible,” she said firmly. “It’s the only hope she has”.
Mark licked his lips and then nodded.
“Alright, well,” he said, unsure of what he really wanted—or needed—to say at that moment.
“Do you have your gun?” Emily asked.
“I do, still holstered, with my jacket”
“Good. We’re probably going to need it”.
Emily left and returned a moment later with a long knapsack. She handed the knapsack to Mark, who took it wordlessly.
“That’s BOB,” she said, pointing to it as Mark fit the straps over his shoulders. He looked at her strangely.
“Bug Out Bag,” Emily said by way of clarification. “You’re supposed to keep one on hand in case you need to leave somewhere in a hurry. Take it with you, though, I can always make another one. You’re going to need it more than me”.
Mark swallowed hard. “Has it really gotten that bad out there?” he asked, something like awe creeping into his voice. Emily shrugged.
“No, but it will,”
she said darkly. “Supplies for the independents are going to run out sooner or later. If you’re not with Taggert or the Mayor, pretty soon you’re going to be starving. People won’t hesitate to stab you if they think you have food. Rob you or…” she looked at Amber, “or eat you”. Amber scowled but said nothing.
Mark began dry-washing his hands unconsciously. “Alright,” he said after a moment, “we have to get moving, then. Every minute we spend here is another minute closer to Olivia giving birth”.
Emily nodded. “Now you’re catching on”. She turned to Amber. “Apologize to Carlos for me,” she said with a wry twist to her lips.
Amber broke out in a grin. “He’ll be very upset when he wakes up”.
Emily shrugged. “He couldn’t come along. He’d only end up getting himself killed”.
“He’s going to come after you as soon as he wakes up and gets his stuff together. We probably won’t be able to stop him”.
Emily shook her head. “The drug I gave him will last about eighteen hours. It’ll probably be the longest uninterrupted sleep of the rest of his life. I’ll probably be back before he wakes up”. She glanced at Mark. “Shall we?”
Mark nodded, and got up, although his limbs felt like a dragging weight.
Barry had scavenged a wheelchair from a doctor’s office some weeks ago and stashed it in the basement. He brought it up, now, and helped Mark bundle Olivia into it. Olivia had been given a sedative to keep her pliable; this was another part of the plan that Emily had put together. She had juggled all the necessary details with a precision that had frankly scared Mark a bit. He was ultimately glad for her assistance, though.
Emily outlined the plan she had as they got Olivia wrapped in a winter coat and blankets and strapped into the wheelchair. They would take turns pushing her, taking side streets to avoid encountering people; friendly or hostile, Emily said, didn’t matter—it was better to err on the side of caution. They would cut diagonally across Trinity-Bellwoods Park and come out five blocks from the hospital on Dundas Street, which they would traverse as quickly as they could.