Tumbledown

by Cari Hunter

  “Little girl,” Syd whispered.

  Sarah had the cord freed and cut now, but the baby still wasn’t moving. When she placed a hand on the small chest, there was no sign of breathing.

  “Why isn’t she crying?” Jo had her eyes closed, as if afraid to look.

  Sarah rubbed the baby vigorously with a towel, holding her tilted downward to allow her airway to drain clear. A foul green-black fluid trickled from her mouth.

  “Come on,” Sarah muttered. “Come on.”

  She could feel a slow pulse at the crook of the baby’s elbow. In desperation, she closed her mouth around the baby’s nose and mouth and gave five quick breaths. The pulse beneath her fingertips quickened and she breathed for the baby again, watching her chest rise and fall rapidly in response. This time, when Sarah lowered her, her chest continued to move. Then she twitched her fists before letting out a wail that almost made Sarah’s knees give way. Jo started to sob uncontrollably and Syd leaned forward, his hands covering his face. The baby’s skin color slowly changed from dusky blue to a far healthier pink.

  “There you are,” Sarah whispered. She lifted the baby onto Jo’s naked chest. “Say hello to your mum, little one.”

  “Is she okay?” Jo systematically counted fingers and toes as the baby’s wailing subsided into hiccups and she settled into Jo’s warmth.

  “I think she’ll be fine.” Sarah sat shakily on the edge of the bed and clapped Syd on the back, just to make sure he hadn’t fainted with his eyes open. He looked up and beamed at her, tears streaming down his cheeks.

  “She’s beautiful,” he said.

  Jo was shivering, the speed and intensity of the birth beginning to hit her. She leaned forward with Syd’s help and closed her eyes gratefully as Sarah wrapped a thick robe around her.

  “Thank you,” she murmured. “Thank you so much.”

  Sarah smiled and stroked her finger along the baby’s downy cheek.

  “I think you two did most of the hard work,” she said.

  *

  “Seven pounds, two ounces,” the midwife announced, handling the baby as if she were a sack of potatoes instead of a tiny, breakable thing. By the time the midwife had arrived, all that remained for her to do was provide an official birth weight, give the baby a shot of vitamin K, and, for some reason Sarah had yet to figure out, measure the circumference of the baby’s head.

  More than happy to relinquish control to a professional, Sarah sat on a chair in the corner of the bedroom, drinking hot tea and reveling in the sense of tranquility that had settled over the new family.

  “Do you have a name for her?” The midwife passed the baby to Syd, who looked terrified and had to sit on the bed for fear of dropping her.

  “Abigail,” Jo said.

  “That’s lovely.” The midwife had one of those soothing voices that instantly made Sarah feel sleepy. “The ambulance should be here any time now. Everything’s just fine, but I think monitoring Abigail for a day or two in Cary would be safest.” As she began to pack away her equipment, Syd stood up.

  “Would you mind?” He beckoned Sarah over and handed her the baby. “Would you mind getting a shot of us all?” he asked the midwife.

  “No, of course not.”

  Perching around Jo on the edge of the bed, they formed a makeshift tableau, smiling for the camera.

  “Say cheese!” the midwife said, and the baby let out a wail as the flash of the camera startled her.

  *

  Sarah unlocked the back door and almost fell into the kitchen. It wasn’t even that late, but after the adrenaline rush of the birth had come the inevitable crash, and she barely had the energy to put one foot in front of the other. She had left Jo and Syd at the same time as the midwife, blushing at their profuse thanks and promising to bring Alex around for a visit.

  Not wanting to wake up properly, knowing that that would only start her thinking about what Alex might be doing, she washed herself and brushed her teeth with her eyes closed. She left her clothes where they fell and didn’t bother with pajamas. She was asleep within seconds.

  Chapter Four

  Scott Emerson drove carefully, his every maneuver by the book, as if he were daring Alex to find fault with something. The air conditioner kept the car tolerably cool, but his sideburns were damp and she could smell the sweat that his deodorant and cologne weren’t quite able to mask. She said little, leaving Tobin to fill the silence with aimless chatter until he too seemed to succumb to the tension and pushed back into his seat, his expression subdued. Alex wondered why Quinn had partnered her with Emerson, who had never made a secret of his dislike for her. Perhaps that was Quinn’s reasoning, though: throw them together in a situation where they would have no choice but to watch each other’s back, and force them to come out smiling on the other side. She admired his optimism, but she had a feeling that things wouldn’t be quite so straightforward.

  As they neared the warehouse district, the streets became noticeably emptier. Sickly orange pools of light from sparse streetlights gave Alex only fleeting glimpses of boarded-up storefronts and kids speeding away from street corners on pushbikes. Ruby was more densely populated than Avery, but it was largely prosperous and the vast majority of its crime seemed to originate from this one quarter mile of industrial lockups and tangled, darkened streets. On occasion, Alex saw small groups of the destitute or desperate congregating around the gaudy neon of cheap liquor stores, but they seemed to sense that the unmarked navy blue sedan had the potential to bring trouble, and they flitted back into the shadows as Emerson drove past.

  “Hang a left, then second right,” she said.

  Emerson grunted in acknowledgment. His name had never appeared on any of the surveillance schedules, and the rear entrance of the warehouse would have been difficult to find even if he had been familiar with the area. He extinguished the headlights as he made the right turn, and then he parked in a well concealed spot behind a large Dumpster. In Alex’s earpiece, Quinn tersely announced that he was ten minutes out and that they were all to hold their positions until he gave the word.

  A click and a snap made her glance across at Emerson. He had pulled his Glock from its holster and its clip was in his hand. He slid it back into place, but not before she had spotted the slight tremor making his fingers twitch. She quickly looked away, not wanting to make him self-conscious. He was nervous, probably scared, and for the first time she considered how young he was. Although she knew next to nothing about him, she figured he had most likely been a small-town cop for his entire career. Her own heart was pounding double-time, but at least she had a good idea what to expect, having participated in countless armed raids while in LA. That, coupled with what she and Sarah had survived in the mountains, made her surprisingly sanguine about what was to come. Emerson, on the other hand, appeared to be on the verge of throwing up.

  The warehouse loomed not thirty feet away, dark and seemingly deserted, but with a solitary white van in the parking lot. Alex nodded toward the vehicle.

  “Soon as the shit hits the fan, that’s what they’ll be trying to reach,” she said. “Be a shame if someone had tampered with it.”

  Emerson ran his tongue across his lips before he answered her. “Be my guest.”

  She allowed herself a small smile. “Just keep an eye on the warehouse. I get shot in the ass, you and Tobin are all alone out here for another five minutes before Quinn can come save you.”

  For a second, she thought she caught a flicker of amusement on Emerson’s face, but he buried it beneath a scowl and turned his attention to the rear entrance of the warehouse. Alex opened her door soundlessly and dropped to a crouch on the asphalt, her Glock clasped in her hand. She had forgotten how warm the night was; perspiration prickled at her hairline and made her shirt cling to her back. Without giving herself time to hesitate, she ran across the parking lot, aiming for the far side of the van. Its engine was still ticking as it cooled; it hadn’t been parked for long.

  The first tire let ou
t a painfully loud hiss as she stuck her pocketknife into it. She closed her eyes, counting the seconds, waiting for someone to come find her, but the warehouse door remained firmly sealed as the tire deflated. She had seen too many idiotic criminals careening around city streets on the rim of one blown tire, so she stuck her knife into a second, making sure it was completely ruined before she scurried back to the sedan.

  “Done?” Emerson asked curtly.

  “Done.” She let out a short laugh as Tobin gave a muted whoop from the rear seat.

  Emerson was not amused. “Quinn’s in position,” he said.

  “Okay then.” Alex’s unplanned solo mission had settled her, burning off the excess adrenaline to leave her clearheaded and focused. “Lead the way.”

  Keeping low, they ran toward the warehouse door as Quinn started a countdown from ten. The earsplitting smashes of the battering ram wielded by the team at the front door were more than enough to cover the noise of Emerson prizing open the back. Alex could hear distant shouts, the thump of booted feet across concrete floors, doors slamming in rapid succession. In stark contrast, the corridor her team entered was quiet and dimly lit. Emerson had taken point, moving steadily toward a left-handed corner around which the offices were located. The air smelled stale: body odor, the chemical stink of an overused toilet, and oily fast food. Behind Alex, Tobin had dropped back, his panting breaths loud in the enclosed space. She slowed her pace to fall into step with him.

  “You okay?” she whispered.

  The whites of his eyes gleamed in the beam of her flashlight. He nodded, sweat dripping from his nose. When she glanced back toward the corner, Emerson was nowhere to be seen.

  “Damn.” She activated her radio. “Emerson?”

  “Third office,” he answered impatiently. “First two are clear. Sounds like Quinn’s team has them pinned down.” He sounded disappointed, as if he were suddenly spoiling for a fight now that there wasn’t going to be one.

  “Copy that.” Alex turned to Tobin. “Stick with me,” she said. “There were only five offices, so we’re almost through.”

  He seemed to relax a little at that, squaring his shoulders and indicating that she should carry on. She led the way around the corner, trying to listen to the reports in her earpiece and simultaneously reconcile the memorized blueprints with the layout of the corridor onto which they had turned. Glass windows and doors, one of each per office, interrupted the continuity of the right-hand wall, while shuttered blinds concealed the rooms’ contents from view. The first two offices were close together, the remaining three farther down and a greater distance apart. She had stopped, intending to radio Emerson for his position, when she saw a flash of light behind the blinds of the second window.

  “Fuck.” Instinct made the hairs stand up on the back of her neck.

  With no time to think, she pushed Tobin back toward the corner as the door of the second office was flung open. A man large enough to fill the doorway launched himself into the corridor and slashed out wildly with a knife.

  “Police!” Alex yelled. She already had her Glock raised, but a sudden, sharp pain along the length of her forearm made her hand numb and she couldn’t prevent the gun’s weight from pulling her arm down. She kicked out at the back of the man’s knee, causing his leg to buckle. The unexpected pain made him pause, and when he turned toward her, she used her left arm to deliver a backhand that had as much effect as swatting an elephant with a feather. The punch he threw in retaliation smashed into her cheek and slammed her against the wall. Sliding slowly to the floor, she heard the rapid approach of footsteps and Emerson screaming something that ended with “Now, motherfucker!”

  She saw Tobin creeping back around the corner as the knife clattered onto the concrete, and she allowed her eyes to close, figuring that she had earned the right to just sit still and let the others sort it all out.

  *

  “Don’t worry, ’m fine,” Alex had said on the phone, but her words had slurred together into a drowsy mess and that was the point at which Sarah had really gotten scared.

  At three in the morning, the roads were empty. Sarah pushed hard on the gas, creeping beyond the legal speed limit and having to force herself to slow down again. Quinn had called first, the noise of the phone bringing her out of a restless sleep and making her feel sick with panic. Although he tried to explain about the raid, about a man with a knife and why Alex was currently en route to the hospital in Cary, she had been too busy throwing her clothes on to listen to him properly, and she had dropped the receiver as she reached for her pants. When the phone rang for a second time, Alex was on the other end, telling her it was only a little cut and probably wouldn’t even need stitches. “Stay in bed,” she had insisted, but Sarah was already halfway out the door.

  The emergency department was quiet; an elderly couple sitting close together with a shared air of resignation and a disheveled man muttering to himself were the only people waiting on the hard plastic seats. Sarah gave Alex’s name at the desk just as she heard someone call her own. When she looked around, she saw Bill Quinn raising his hand, and the clerk buzzed her through.

  “She’s fine. She’s in X-ray,” Quinn said. He didn’t know Sarah well and seemed keen to preempt any hysterics on her part. With a hand on her arm, he led her through to a small cubicle. Bloodstains on the white tiled floor indicated where Alex’s bed had been.

  “What the hell happened?” Sarah asked. There wasn’t a lot of blood, but the sight of it still made her stomach churn.

  “Uh…” He wrapped a hand around the back of his neck and massaged the muscles there. “We’re looking into it,” he said evasively, which suggested to Sarah that someone had fucked up, royally. “Alex took a knock to the head and she has a cut on her arm. Doc says it’s nothing serious.”

  She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

  “She did good, Sarah.”

  That made her look up at him. “So it wasn’t Alex who fucked up, then?”

  The question appeared to catch him off guard, but he was too honest a man to leave it unanswered. “No,” he said. “No, it wasn’t Alex.” He sighed. “You be okay to take her home when they’re through with her?”

  “Of course.” She realized then that he had important tasks he needed to be doing, tasks he was neglecting in order to stay with his officer. “Thanks for looking out for her,” she said softly.

  He smiled, but his expression remained troubled. “I’ll need to debrief her sometime tomorrow. Ask her to give me a call when she’s ready.”

  “I will.”

  He laid a hand on her shoulder for a moment and then left her sitting alone, staring at the blood on the floor.

  *

  Alex’s bed was returned without ceremony by an orderly with a sour face and a ridiculous but determined comb-over. He grunted at Sarah and pulled the drapes closed as he departed. She barely noticed him leave; her attention was fixed on Alex, who was lying curled on her side, apparently asleep. Someone had exchanged her uniform for a gown, and blood had started to ooze through the bandage that covered her right forearm from wrist to elbow. The upper half of her face was swollen, with bruises darkening across her cheekbone and beginning to gather purposefully just beneath her eye.

  Sarah clamped her mouth shut, trying not to make a noise, trying not to cry, but it was too much like the last time, and tears filled her eyes regardless. Bending low and brushing aside a strand of Alex’s hair, she found a patch of skin that wasn’t bruised and kissed it gently.

  Alex stirred at the touch, a frown crinkling her brow.

  “Quinn?” The name came out in a barely coherent mumble.

  “Since when has Bill Quinn been giving you kisses?”

  The sound of Sarah’s voice brought a lazy smile to Alex’s lips and she opened her eyes, blinking like a creature emerging from hibernation into bright sunlight. She reached toward Sarah’s cheek, wafting the air repeatedly until Sarah took her hand and guided it into place. Her smile broadened into
a grin, and Sarah allowed herself to relax slightly as it became apparent that Alex was not so much concussed as drugged up to the eyeballs.

  “Told you not to worry,” Alex said, tripping over her words and failing utterly in her attempt to sound stern. “And here y’are, all worried and stuff.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Sarah brushed her fingers across Alex’s forehead. “So, dare I ask what the other guy looks like?” It was a standard joke, but Alex didn’t seem capable of anything but the most literal interpretation.

  “Pretty fuckin’ big,” she said, her eyes widening as far as the bruising would permit. “Huge.” She held her hands apart, trying to give an impression of the man’s size, but she couldn’t coordinate the movement and ended up looking like an angler who’d caught quite a small fish. “And mean,” she added as an afterthought.

  Sarah touched the bandage lightly. “What happened here?”

  “He cut me with a knife.” Alex made the admission with obvious reluctance. She took hold of Sarah’s finger and gripped onto it tightly, to Sarah’s relief. The wound to her arm was still bleeding through its dressing, but she seemed to have a good range of movement, so any serious damage to the nerves or other underlying structures was unlikely.

  “It went a bit numb at first, but it’s okay now,” she said, as if reading Sarah’s mind. She wriggled her fingers when Sarah stroked each of them in turn. “And that tickles.”

  Sarah shook her head. “I wish you’d learn to bloody duck.” She tried to keep her expression serious, but Alex looked so remorseful that she had to smile.

  The start of a heartfelt apology was interrupted by a doctor hurrying into the cubicle.

  “Officer…”―he checked the paperwork in his hand―“Hayes. Sorry for the delay. A frequent flier of ours decided that tonight would be a good night for self-immolation.” Halfway through snapping on a clean pair of gloves, he paused thoughtfully. “Messy business. I absolutely do not recommend it.” He rolled a small equipment table toward the bed. “You must be Sarah,” he said, seeming to notice her for the first time.