Flashes of time. I'm gripping the wool blanket. I am on my hands and knees. I'm trying not to scream, but my throat has a life of its own. It opens and births noise, then closes again. Something soft wipes at my brow, mopping sweat. A sweet voice, singing, then coaxing. Ceres?
I am trying to breathe, but it is getting harder. The pains come every few seconds. There is no time for me to rest between them anymore. I can't do this very much longer. I am being ripped in half from the inside out. Something breaks inside me, something wet gushes out from between my legs. Can't they see? Can't they see I'm dying?
A woman is screaming. What are they doing to her? Oh, no, no. Not a woman. It's me.
Incredible pressure down below. Needles everywhere, all through me. Heat, as I've never felt heat before. Pain, everything is red, hot pain.
A terrifying, relieving sense of something slipping, something moving down, down, down. Something wet and warm sliding out from between my legs. Something warm and solid.
"V-Vikki! Vikki, it's th-the...baby!"
I sink down, roll on my side. Ceres is beside me, laughing, crying, holding something wet and squalling; it is so loud. Its lusty wailing echoes around the stone room; it is proclaiming proudly that is alive, it is alive. It says, I am here, you will hear me.
It is my baby. I take it from Ceres, I hold it against me, looking at its muddy brown eyes in wonder. Already, I can see it has Shale's chin, his nose.
This is our baby, I think in wonder. This is our son.
◊ ◊ ◊
It is amazing to me how naturally it comes, feeding the baby, making sure his needs are cared for. I never thought of myself as particularly maternal, and yet, when he cries, I slip my arm out of the sleeve of my dress, and put my breast in his mouth. He quiets immediately, his eyes open, seeking out mine. I stare at him, lost in his shortsighted gaze, transfixed by the trust and—already—the love I see in there. It is as if to him, there is no universe. There is only me.
Ceres chuckles and strokes his downy head. "H-he’s hungry."
I smile at her hand on his hair, at the absolute wonder that this moment has happened. My sister and my baby, both happy—in this moment, both safe.
"Wh-what will you...name him?" she asks, her smile lighting up the dim room.
"I don't know." I blink past sudden tears. Shale and I had this conversation, I remember. I'd promised him that he could name the baby, that he'd have a say. "I think I'll wait to name him." I look at Ceres. "Until we find Shale. He's his father; he should have input, too."
She nods and looks down at the baby, falling asleep as he suckles. "Un-until then, I-I'll call...him Little Love."
I open my mouth to answer, but we're interrupted by voices at the door. Elara and the three women are back. Zelia's face peers from behind the slats on the door, peers straight down at my child. I shield him with my hand and turn, but the door opens and they walk in, their shoes scuffling and tapping across the floor.
Fear, thick and cold, drips down my spine. I clutch the baby's warm body against me, knowing that if they want to rip him from me, there isn't much I can do. There are four of them, and only one of me. One adult to protect one young girl and a newborn baby. It's not a fair fight and they know it. I decide, in that moment, that I will give them anything they want. Anything, if it means they won't take him. I am secretly glad that I don’t know where Shale is. I’m not sure that I wouldn’t give away information about him if it meant our son wouldn’t be ripped from my arms. And I know Shale would want me to do that, too, to protect the baby first and foremost. It is a parent’s burden, to always make that choice, no matter the consequences.
They sit in their chairs again and face me. Octavia's sharp nose looks sharper; Zelia looks taller; Pryor doesn't seem baby-faced anymore, just sly. I am seeing them through terror-colored glasses. Elara's eyes don't leave the baby's profile. It is as if she has forgotten where she is. I try to will her to look at me, to see the plea in my eyes.
"I see there's been quite some progress," Zelia says, staring pointedly at the baby.
"Are you ready to tell us the truth now?" Octavia asks. "They say a mother's love is so strong it trumps everything. Even romantic love."
I breathe in and out, steadily. I want them to see I am being honest. I want them to see I am willing to cooperate. "I want to give you anything you want," I say quietly. I wonder if the baby can hear my sped-up heart, if he can smell my fear. "But, please, you have to believe me." I look each of them in the eye. "I don't know where Shale is."
"She's...t-telling the truth," Ceres puts in, covering my hand, where it lays on the baby’s head, with hers. Now we are both shielding the baby.
Zelia shakes her head slowly, as if she is sad that I am still so unwilling to cooperate. I have a feeling she’s going to tell one of them to take the baby. I can’t let that happen; I simply cannot.
“Wait.” I say this quickly, tripping over the word as if it is a stone in the road. My heart threatens to plow through my chest. “I can’t give you Shale, but...” My eyes slip to Elara’s. I want to tell her I’m sorry for this betrayal, that I have no choice. She sheltered us, but the sense of loyalty I feel toward her for that is nothing compared to the fierce protectiveness I feel for my son. “Th—”
Elara stands abruptly, interrupting me as her chair scrapes back. The other women look at her. "Well. Then, since you aren't ready to speak, we must show you how willing we are to keep our promises." She comes over to where I sit. I shrink back in terror, speechless, covering the baby with my upper body. But she doesn't take the baby. She grabs Ceres by the arm and drags her to her feet.
"No!" I get up too, but she is already racing to the door, my sister with her, screaming my name. "Wait! Ceres!" But then the door slams and locks behind them. I hear Ceres wailing, and I sob, turning to the women, the baby beginning to stir in my arms. I understand why Elara has done this. She knew what I was about to say, that I wanted to betray her. She is threatening me. If I give her up, I must also be willing to give up Ceres. "Please. Please don't hurt her. She doesn't know anything! She's innocent; she’s only a child!" I turn back and peer through the slats. "Don't hurt her, Elara! Please!"
But there is only silence. After a long moment, Ceres screams and then all is quiet again.
I turn back to the women. "I'll tell you anything, but I don't know where Shale is. I really don't. Please don't hurt my sister!"
The door opens and Elara strides in then. "Sit down," she says sharply. Something hidden glints in her eyes.
I do as she asks, my heart brimming with so much hate, I didn't even know I had the capacity to hold it inside me. The baby begins to fuss, so I help him latch on to my nipple again. He is quiet as he eats, his eyes closing, soft eyelashes settling against his round cheeks.
There is a knock on the door. We all look toward it, and I see familiar eyes, though they are behind a mask, standing behind the slats of the door. Pryor opens the door, and Marisa steps in, pushing a small cart. It is laden with drinks and powders. She keeps her eyes averted, though I stare at her.
"What you asked for," she says to Elara. "The best. Just arrived from Beijing today."
Elara smiles almost lasciviously. "Ah, excellent. Ladies, let's take a moment to refresh, shall we? And then we can continue the questioning in more comfortable circumstances. Well, more comfortable for us, anyway."
Octavia laughs, eagerly reaching her hand out for the cup of alcohol Elara proffers. The sharp, bitter smell stings my nose even from this distance.
Zelia wears a moue of uncertainty. "What is this?"
"Scotch whiskey. It hasn't been available in New Amana since the War, and it is in limited supply here. This here is about a hundred years old. And this "—Elara lifts a small bowl of light pink powder—" is rosie, a much purer version of candy glass. Quicker acting, too, with no after effects. Marisa was able to procure it at a great price for us. Keeps you sharp and on your feet for hours. I think it'll come in handy tonight." She looks at Marisa. "You can go. Thank you."
Marisa bows low and turns to leave. She tilts her face to the side, just a sliver, so I can see the look of what—friendship? Concern?—she gives me. Then she’s gone.
Zelia relaxes as she takes a small pinch of the powder. She snorts it and blinks, as if she’s trying to focus. "Mm. Good idea, Elara."
Pryor and Octavia don't waste any time snorting the powder, lining it up on a small mirror that Elara passes from the tray table. They close their eyes, letting the feeling of the drug overtake them.
Zelia lifts her glass of scotch to her mouth, then pauses to look at Elara. "You haven't touched yours."
Elara smiles. I think I see a flash of something in her eyes—uncertainty? Apprehension? "It's probably best if one of us keeps our head."
"Hm." Zelia looks at Elara for a long moment, and then lowers her scotch, untouched, to the table. “Even better if two of us do, then."
Elara's smile freezes on her face. "You don't have to, on my account—"
"I insist. I won't if you won't."
I stare at them, wondering what is going on. There's something...something off about the way Elara's acting. And it's as if Zelia senses it, too.
Elara breathes in and out, deeply. " Well, if it makes you feel better, then I will." Her gaze alights on me and then the baby. There’s something unreadable in it, glinting in her eyes like gemstones in rock. Then, in one quick, smooth motion, Elara gulps down her drink. She winces, as if it hurts, and then snorts the rosie.
Zelia grins and picks up her scotch again. "Excellent." Then she follows in Elara's shoes.
The four of them are heavy-lidded and extremely intoxicated within minutes. Zelia makes a show of dangling the key to the door in front of my face and snatching it away. Pryor giggles drunkenly. I don’t understand what’s happening, but I keep my face a blank mask. Why would they get this intoxicated so willingly when they’re trying to find out where Shale is? And didn’t Elara say the rosie was supposed to keep them sharp? They look anything but to me.
Octavia sighs and leans back, her head lolling. "I say we just kill the three of them," she slurs. "What's the point? She isn't going to tell you anything anyway."
Pryor blinks. "I don't think she knows anything about Shale Underwood, really." She stares at me as if I am not in the room with her, able to listen to and understand every word she says. To her, we are as good as the stone beneath her feet—inanimate, unworthy of compassion. She sips at her second glass of scotch.
Zelia cocks her head, considering. "I suppose you're right. But you know...what I'd really like to know is where she was for the three or four months after she disappeared from the compound." She smiles at me, her shadowed, glazed eyes giving her a decidedly predatory appearance from behind her mask. "Who took you in, Vika?"
Elara, even in her drugged state, stiffens, her eyes widening as she looks at me.
Time is a string, pulled taut, plucked by a careless finger. The entire room hums. "We were in the wilderness."
Zelia continues to stare at me. I can feel the eyes of the others on me as well, but I don't dare move my eyes from Zelia's. I'm afraid that if I do, she'll make a move so fast, so quick that I won't see it coming.
Finally, in a quiet voice that slurs just the slightest bit, she says, "Pryor. Please take the baby."
I clutch him to my chest and slide backward toward the far wall, my body aching from the ordeal it just went through to bring this life into the world. "No." My back hits the wall too soon; there's not enough room to move, to get away. "No, please. I'm telling you the truth."
Pryor's shadow falls across me.
"Please," I whisper to the baby-cheeked woman, searching for the smallest inkling of compassion. "Don't take him."
"If you're telling the truth," Octavia slurs from behind Pryor. "Then how did you get the masks and dresses for today? And don't say you found them again. You know as well as we do that's a preposterous idea."
When I say nothing, Pryor comes forward and puts her hands, roughly, drunkenly, on the baby. "No!" I push her away and get to my feet. The motion upsets him; he lets out an indignant cry, his little red face scrunching up.
"Stop." Elara stands , her fists balled by her side. She looks positively sick with apprehension, but her eyes are hard. "She was with me."
I let out the softest breath. The three other women swing their heads toward Elara.
Zelia stands, too, a little unsteadily. She is so much taller than Elara. "What?"
Elara glares at the other woman. "I gave her sanctuary." She fumbles for her mask and tosses it aside. "I kept her and her family safe."
Zelia turns. "Pryor, go upstairs imme—"
Elara begins to laugh, uproarious, hearty exhalations of air. The sound stops Zelia cold.
"Don't bother, ladies," Elara says, still laughing. "You won't make it past the second flight of steps."