I hear him take a deep sigh.
“I don’t apologize for my actions. They are always well thought out. With expected outcomes. But this was not what I intended. This is a dire loss for all of us.”
“Stop,” I warn him. “I don’t care to hear your words.”
“Andromeda, I’m truly sorry. I think... I never should have sent you to unite the Districts. I should have waited. Colonel Waters was a great asset to our District, irreplaceable. Your pairing still needs to be completed, so we have decided Ian is yours.”
“I don’t want anyone,” I tell him. “I just want to be alone, with my children. I just want peace from this.”
“You no longer get a choice. Fate has decided for you this time.”
I turn my eyes to the white ceiling tiles, focusing on the tiny holes, trying to blink back the tears, but it’s no use. One escapes, sliding down my cheek.
“I’m truly sorry, Andie.”
“Don’t call me Andie,” I tell him. That’s a nickname reserved for family and friends. Not for him. “Go away, Crane,” I tell him as calmly as I can manage without screaming at him.
The door opens again. I hear Dr Akiyama’s quiet footsteps. I watch him as he twists a syringe onto my IV port. “This is your sedation, for the c-section,” he tells me.
“But you said the baby’s too small. It’s too early,” I say.
“You’ve must’ve lost track of time. You’re about thirty-six weeks now.”
I look down at my stomach. It does look bigger. Only slightly though. It seems he might be telling me the truth. It doesn’t matter. I’m done trusting all of them. I let the warmth of sedative envelope me in a dark cocoon. My eyelids become heavy and after a few moments I can no longer keep them open. I let them close on their own, anticipating the numbness, welcoming it.
“Is she asleep?” I hear Crane ask.
“Yes. What do you want to do with the baby?” Dr Akiyama asks.
“Give it to her.”
“Are we aborting the original plan?”
“Yes, I think we’ve put her through enough. She’s done what we’ve asked, and there is still much more that needs to be done,” Crane replies. “If the child is even half as resourceful as its father, we can use it. Give her the child. We can have no more heartache for this one. Or she will be of no future use to us. Failure is not an option.”
--
I wake to find that my heart does not ache. Not for the loss of Adam, or hearing the words that passed between Crane and the doctor as the sedative was oozing through my veins. Ache is not an accurate description. It burns. It burns with an overwhelming sadness and sense of betrayal and need for revenge.
“Mommy?” I hear Lina and instantly lose that feeling.
Sam enters the room carrying something in his arms. “How are you feeling?” he asks me.
“Better,” I lie to him, trying to ignore the pain from both my body and my heart.
“Congratulations.” He walks towards me, holding out the bundle in his arms for me to take. I look down at my body noticing that my abdomen is deflated. “He’s two weeks old,” Sam tells me. I flash him a look of confusion. “When you didn’t wake up, they let me and Lina stay in the room next door and take care of the baby.”
“Where’s your shadow, Astrid?” I ask.
“She’s with Blithe until we go home.”
Sam places the bundled baby in my arms. I settle the bundle in my lap, pulling my knees up so the baby and I are face to face. He’s small. His skin not as pale as mine or Lina’s. I push his blue knit hat up revealing a head full of thick, black hair. His eyes flutter open in a dreamy infant motion. They are blue, light blue. There’s no arguing, this is Adam’s child, it looks just like him. I don’t even see a speck of myself. But he is my baby. The bond between us is already strong. Suddenly all those horrible things I did over the past few weeks are tucked into the back of my memory. I can’t even think of them right now. I hold him to my chest, kissing his soft cheeks, letting the tears flow out of my eyes.
“Isn’t he cute, mom?” Lina asks.
“He’s beautiful,” I tell her, wiping my face with the blanket covering my bed.
“What are you going to name him?” Lina asks.
I realize I never chose a name. I asked Adam on our way to Alaska but he never told me. I do the one thing that only seems right not having him here.
“What do you think we should name him?” I ask Lina.
I look up to see Sam smiling at us.
She holds her index finger to her chin, deep in thought. “I think his name should be Raven.”
“Why did you choose that name?” I ask her.
“Because Ms. Black says Ravens are smart. Smarter than most people. He’s already a smart baby. I can tell.”
I look down to the baby who seems to smile as Lina talks.
“I think that’s a good choice, Lina.” I kiss them both.
“Welcome, baby Raven,” Sam says as he reaches forward, tugging on Lina’s long braided hair.
CHAPTER twenty-six
I get the feeling that someone felt very sorry for me as I look around my bedroom at the Pasture. I had nothing for this baby. But now a hospital bassinet is in my bedroom, along with stacks of cloth diapers, piles of hospital blankets, and small infant gowns. I feel like the appropriate response would be to cry in thanks. But I can’t seem to produce any tears.
I hear the creak of floorboards behind me. And when I turn Lina is there doing her best to tip toe into the room. “I didn’t want to wake him,” she whispers to me.
I sit in the rocking chair that has been moved to my room. Setting the baby in one arm I reach out and pull her onto my lap. “I love you, my little Catalina,” I tell her, kissing her forehead.
“Isn’t it great, mom?”
“What’s that?” I ask.
“We’re all together again. You and me, the baby, and Daddy.”
“What do you mean Daddy?”
“He moved in yesterday, before you came home. He’s at the barn with Elvis. He’s just like he was before those people came, remember when I was a little kid?”
“Show me,” I tell her, trying to ignore the fluttering of my heart and the tingling of fear in my fingers. I’m not sure why I feel scared of Ian. I should be happy. But it’s been two years, two years without him knowing us, and now he’s back, and I’ve just had a child, another man’s child.
I stand and set the sleeping baby in the bassinet, covering him with an extra blanket. Lina takes my hand leading me to the room that used to be my office. Now there is a single bed, a dresser with a small framed picture. When I get closer I see it is one of our family pictures from years ago with Ian, me, and Catalina when she was three.
She takes me out to the porch, where I stop. She doesn’t need to take me any farther. I can see him from here. Ian, tall and pale. His blonde hair is sticking out from under his winter cap. Elvis is talking to him, pointing at the barns and the fields. He must be giving him a tour of the Pasture. I see Ian notice us standing on the porch. Even though he is far across the lawn I can see it clear as day when he winks at me.
--
I don’t know what Crane is planning with this move. But until Morris dies I have no other choice than to play along. I have to follow orders. The orders of the Entities, until I become one.
I am sick to death of this game.
I sit here rocking Adam’s child, listening to Lina sing to him, knowing that I will never see Adam again. I know that he is dead. Now I must go on with Ian. After all, he was given back to me. Crane still doesn’t seem to understand that people aren’t so easily replaceable.
I have no choice but to play along if I ever intend to get control over my life again. Maybe if I take Morris’s position as an Entity, I might be able to change something and stop all of this.
What happens outside the
Phoenix District walls,
Stays outside the
Phoenix District walls.
<
br /> epilogue
Adam
We have guns, twenty Volker, and Crane. I can’t think of a worse mix for a mission outside the walls. At least the Volker will listen to me. I’m hoping no one will listen to him.
He stares at my back. He’s been staring for hours. I would like to suggest he go to one of the sleeping cars. But the train is packed. The cars weren’t designed to hold twenty men. We left the cargo cars back in Phoenix. Alexander suggested that, so we could go faster. Now my men sit on the floor and the beds of the sleeping car.
He looks almost normal today. Like a normal person. He’s not wearing a suit or a tie. He’s wearing Volker training uniform, black boots, black cargo pants, black undershirt, knit cap, and black coat. His orange hair is hidden under the cap. He looks eerily normal.
“First stop is a pharmacy outside of Fort Wayne, Indiana,” Crane tells me.
“A hospital pharmacy?”
“No. Pharmaceutical company.”
“Thought we were sticking to hospitals?”
“There’s a few we might try. But everyone goes to the hospitals for supplies, they don’t think of the pharmaceutical companies.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“I just know.”
He stands and moves next to me.
“You didn’t have to come,” I tell him. “I could have handled this mission myself.”
“I needed to come.”
I stare straight ahead. The Volker speak quietly to themselves. This is the first time outside the walls for all of them and for Crane.
Miles pass. The day carries on. Crane stands next to me. He’s still. So still I’m concerned that he may be sleeping on his feet. The sun reaches directly over us as we reach the frozen flats of Ohio.
Crane turns to me. And in his quietest voice he asks, “What would you do if she died?”
I try not to stiffen at the question. “She’s not going to die.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because I will find what she needs. I’ll search the entire country for the magnesium and bring it to Hanford and back to her.”
“Women die in childbirth all the time. They died before modern medicine. They died with modern medicine. You might run out of time. So what will you do if she dies, Colonel Waters?”
“She’s not going to die.”
He smiles. That same smile he gives Andie. The one she hates. I hate.
--
Fort Wayne was a bust. The pharmacy was located on the outskirts of the city and it was trashed. It seems the city was a target for one of the missiles, just like most cities were. During the two-mile trek we ran into a few Survivors. Not as many as in Tonopah. Just a few. And they hid from us. I wasn’t expecting to find many Survivors but like that plumber, Garrett, told us in Wolf Creek, they are out here. Gangs and swarms trying to survive.
It seems the winter has sent the Survivors to the South. Where it’s warm. It’s cold as hell here.
I have five men on Crane. I tried to get him to stay with the train but he was adamant about going with us. He did surprisingly well. He was quiet, took orders, kept out of trouble. He said he knew how to use the Volker issued pistols. I didn’t want to give him one, but I had to, just in case.
“Have you decided what you will do if she dies?” Crane asks me as I start the train and head for the next stop.
“She’s not going to die.”
“We haven’t found the medicine that she needs.”
“There are more stops.”
“Yes, there are. There’s a hospital in Normal, Indiana.”
“How are you choosing these locations?”
“I have my ways.”
He pulls a phone out of his pocket. The touch screen lights up with the image of a map.
“Thought those were a thing of the past?” I ask him.
“We can’t very well send society into the dark ages. And we need to communicate with Hanford.”
He slides the phone into his inner jacket pocket and pats his chest.
“Are you doing this for her or the baby?” he asks.
“Does it matter?”
“It always matters.”
“There’s no good answer to that question.”
“Ah, but it is a question that should be asked. Are you risking your life to save her or the child in her womb? Which do you value more? Which drives you to succeed in this mission?”
“I don’t value one more than the other.”
“So the same then.”
“Yeah, sure.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“You don’t need to believe me. You gave me a mission to complete and I’m doing it.”
He smiles.
--
There are more Survivors here. I leave three men to guard the train. Two men are on Crane as we head for the hospital. There are Survivors on the streets. They watch as we run for the Hospital. Some run away. Others huddle behind garbage cans, buildings, and abandoned cars.
The hospital, or The Regional Medical Center, in Normal is intact. A small, single-story building. I lead the men to the front door. The glass is already broken out of the frame. We enter the building in pairs, pausing, searching for signs of trouble. The building seems empty. We follow the signs to the pharmacy.
Men guard the door as we search for the magnesium. It looks like someone has been here already. Scanning the rows of medications I can see the pain pills are gone, and the antibiotics. Crane searches a refrigerator. The remaining Volker explore the room with us.
“I’ve got something,” one of the men yells.
Crane walks towards him. The Volker holds a brown glass bottle. I head towards them.
“Is is enough?” I ask trying to hide the hopefulness in my voice.
Crane holds the glass bottle up to the light that shines in the windows.
It’s less than half-full.
“It’s not enough, but we’ll take this.” He looks at me.
“Head out.” I tell the men.
On the train the men rest. Most of them are doubled up in the sleeping car rooms. A few others lay on the floor of the engine car.
It’s night.
“Have you decided what you will do if she dies?” Crane asks me in the moonlit dark.
“Would you stop asking me the same question,” I tell him.
“I need your answer.”
“I gave you one. I don’t value the baby more than Andie. Or Andie more than the baby.”
“Yes. You told me in the most appeasing manner that you don’t value one more than the other.”
“And that doesn’t satisfy you?”
“No.”
“Well it should. Why are you even here, Crane? I could have brought five less men with me. I could have risked five less lives on this mission if I didn’t have you here.”
“I needed answers.”
“I gave them to you.”
“No, you haven’t. But you will give them to me.”
“I am doing this to save them both. I don’t value one more than the other. Where’s the next stop?”
“Independence, Missouri. Hanford will meet us. There is a major compounding facility in Independence.” He pulls out the phone and types something. “So, Colonel Waters, have you decided what you will do if she dies?”
“No,” I tell him.
“You know in some cultures, when it comes down to choosing between their spouse and their children, they always choose their spouse. Do you know what their reasoning is?”
“No.”
“Because they can always make more children. But they will never be able to replace their husband or wife.”
“Sounds like bullshit.”
“It’s the truth.”
“You don’t tell many truths.”
“Would you like to hear a story?” he asks, his tone lightening.
“No.” I just want the talking to stop.
“Good. Once upon a time there was a young boy and he had pa
rents who were very poor. Now, they shouldn’t have been so poor. After all, his mother was from a wealthy family but she chose a man from the wrong side of the tracks. You know how they say that? The wrong side of the tracks. So they were happy in their poor bliss, then they had a baby, a boy. And the boy was loved and grew. It didn’t matter if he didn’t have shoes or clothes that fit well or a full stomach every night. He was loved and that was all that mattered. But one day this boy’s father became ill. And you know how the poor and proud are, they don’t seek medical treatment. So the father was ill for years. One day when the father was so sick he was unable to get out of bed the mother broke down and called the ambulance. Do you know what the dispatcher told this poor woman who was watching her husband die?”
“No.”
“She was told that due to the high volume of calls there was an hour wait. Back in their time ambulance calls were reserved for emergencies but it turned into people calling for stubbed toes, fevers, sprained ankles, all with hopes to see the doctor. Because, well, if you walked into the emergency room there was hours worth of waiting to do. But if you called the ambulance you got right in. So this mother waited, and she and her son watched the father die. The ambulance showed up to declare the death and call the hearse. Now there was a mother and a son. A mother so poor and alone that she felt she had no choice but to go back to her rich family. And so she went. After a short period of time she was introduced to an older man with a graying beard and a paunch belly. That older man had money and he needed a wife to spend it on. Not so much a child.” Crane holds his finger up. “A wife. But this young wife came with a child and sometimes that boy would get into trouble, and you know what that new father would say? ‘He’s just a bad kid, ingrained in his genes, can’t get it out.’ You know what that mother did? She agreed with her new husband. ‘To please him,’ she would say on the nights that she found her son crying in his room. Oh how she loved her son, but she had to side with the new father because he had the money, he could keep them healthy and fed and warm. He could give them a future. So she smiled for her new husband but most nights she could be found drowning her tears in a glass of wine. And that boy wasn’t really bad. He was smart and he was special and he missed his dead father.
The Phoenix Project Series: Books 1-3: The Phoenix Project, The Reformation, and Revelation Page 53