Gray (Book 3) (15 page)

“Is there something wrong?” Coral asked. It occurred to her that maybe Abigail wanted her and Benjamin to move out but was nervous about saying so. After a minute of Abigail opening and shutting her mouth, not able to get a start on what she wanted to say, Coral was about ready to ask if that was the problem and reassure her there were plenty of other places for them to sleep. When Abigail did speak, she surprised Coral.

“I think I’m pregnant,” she said. And then she began to leak slow tears. “I’m two weeks late.”

“Do you have other symptoms? Nausea? Breast tenderness?” Coral had known about pregnancy symptoms long before schooling or her stint as a hospital volunteer. She had a friend who had been pregnant at fifteen and gotten an abortion. Coral had gone along to the clinic for moral support, and during the 90-minute wait, she’d read every pamphlet in the building and left knowing more about pregnancy and birth control than most people her age.

“No. I’m crazy hungry, though. And I haven’t had my period.”

“I haven’t had one in months,” said Coral. “It’s the lack of food.”

“I hope that’s all it is,” Abigail said. “But I get this feeling like I am.”

“You’ve been having unprotected sex?”

“No, we have the condoms. You know, they must have given Benjamin his. Married men get two, single men one.”

“I—” Coral didn’t know what to say to that. Of course had she and Benjamin really been married, she would have known this. She wished he had told her. On second thought, she could see why he had not. “Did yours break, or...?”

“No. We wash them out, let them dry totally, like you’re supposed to, alternate them. I even check for little holes every morning.”

So they must have had a limited supply of condoms, found during scavenging. With no likelihood of finding more, the logical thing to do would be to reuse them, no matter that in the old world, that would have been considered a crazy risk. “You’re two weeks late, you said?”

“I can’t have a baby,” Abigail said, and her voice broke. “There isn’t food for a baby.”

She was right about that. A pregnant woman, a breast-feeding mother, should have three thousand calories or so, in ideal conditions. Soon, Abigail would be eating barely a third of that, the way things were headed.

“There’s no allowance made for that here? Like a double food ration for pregnant women?”

“No. It was agreed months ago, no new babies. Not until we have more of a handle on things.”

They were headed the wrong direction down that road, losing their grip, even if they couldn’t see it. Their walls might still be standing. People might go to their jobs in an orderly way. But when the food was halved and then ran out entirely, everything would fall to pieces here. Coral had no idea what to say to Abigail. “Do you want the baby?”

Abigail shook her head. “No. I mean, a year ago, if it had happened then, I’d have adjusted to the idea and probably gone ahead, but not now.”

The pieces finally fell into place. “You want me to give you an abortion.”

Abigail nodded. “Please.” And she buried her face in her hands and wept.

Coral crossed the room and stood behind Abigail, patting her on the shoulder, making comforting sounds, until the crying fit trailed off.

“I didn’t even want to tell you,” said Abigail, “but when I saw you operate on Julie. I knew you could do it. You keep saying you’re not really a doctor, but you are. You’re good.”

Coral squatted in front of Abigail, taking her hands. “I don’t have any experience at it,” she said. “Worse, I don’t have any equipment.” Pre-Event, there were sterilized instruments used to ease open the entrance to the uterus, and then tubing, and a vacuum device which ran on electricity. Without that, she’d be reduced to—what? Moving around some random object up there, hoping to detach the fetus without damaging Abigail?

No way. It was bad enough cutting off Julie’s toes in bright lamplight, with a sharp scalpel and three assistants. Working blind inside someone, by feel, hoping for the best? There was no chance at all that she’d be able to do that.

“You’re all there is,” said Abigail.

Maybe Edith could do it. “You might not be pregnant,” she said. “Maybe you’re late, or underfed, or stressed out.”

“I have a feeling I am. I feel...” Abigail slowly shook her head. “Different. I don’t want to sound crazy, but it’s like I know I’m inhabited. That I’m sharing space with something else. Some
one
else.”

Coral had no response to that. She’d never been pregnant, never had a scare, even. Maybe women did have a sense of the fetus inside them. “And you’re okay with this? I mean, you don’t have religious or moral problems with terminating the pregnancy?”

“Not religious, no. I just wish it were different.” The tears started again. “I wish we weren’t in this situation. Doug and I always wanted.... Some day.” She pulled her hands free and covered her face again as she sobbed.

Coral sat on the floor and kept her hand in contact with Abigail’s leg, to let her know she wasn’t alone. Though she
was
alone, in a very profound sense. When the sobs trailed off again she said, “You haven’t told Doug?” 

“No,” said Abigail.

“Maybe you should.”

“No,” Abigail said, more forcefully. “There’s no reason to upset him, too. He’d feel bad.” She sniffed and straightened her back. “I’ll deal with it alone. If you’ll help, I can get through this.”

Coral nodded, though she wasn’t agreeing to anything, simply indicating she was listening. “I think we should wait another week and see if something else happens.”

“Why not now?”

This answer she knew, again from the abortion clinic pamphlets. “An embryo is too tiny in the first couple weeks. Even before the Event, with all the right tech in place, they were still afraid of missing it, so they wanted people to be between four and eight weeks pregnant to do an abortion.” Did that apply to miscarriages? Maybe not. “Also, if we wait a week, that’ll give me a chance to do some research.”

“About—about doing the abortion?”

“I was thinking about ways to trigger a miscarriage. It might be safer if we could nudge your body toward ending the pregnancy on its own. Before surgical abortions, women did things, I’m sure.” She patted Abigail’s knee and stood. “I want to find out what those things were, and which would be safest.”

“Oh. Okay. Will it hurt, do you think?”

Less than me accidentally tearing through your uterus with a soup spoon, I’d think.
“I don’t see any way around having cramps if you miscarry.”

“No, I guess not.”

“I wish you’d tell Doug.” When Abigail shook her head, Coral put up a hand. “I’m thinking about the books. He knows where the books are, the ones they’ve saved, and which are which. That’s where we may find the info about miscarrying.”

“He’s a great researcher.”

“So he could find this information, right?”

“Oh, please don’t tell him. I don’t want him to guess it’s me you’re asking about.”

“Maybe what I can ask,” Coral said, thinking it through as she spoke, “is for all sorts of old medical information. And I won’t ask Doug but Levi, if he’d be willing to put someone to work looking up home remedies. I’ll give him a list of conditions I’m worried about and hope to find information about. Infection, frostbite, hypothermia. Pregnancy will just be one on a list of a dozen.” She had a new thought. “Or maybe I could ask for a town hall meeting, and ask everyone if they remember any home remedies, things their grandmothers use to say or anything they’ve read in an old book.”

“That’ll take a while.”

“If you are pregnant—and we don’t know that you are for sure—we have a few days to think it through.” With these words, she was implying she’d stay, a commitment she wasn’t certain she could live up to.

“Okay. If you’re sure.”

“I’ll do my best for you, just like I’ve done my best for Julie.” That much, she could promise. Despite the new worry, the urge to yawn overcame her, and she couldn’t suppress it.

“I’m sorry. You need to sleep.”

“I do. But I’m glad you told me about yourself.” That was a lie. She’d as soon Abigail had kept it private and not put the burden on Coral’s shoulders. What was done was done, though. “If it’s okay with you, I’m going to go up and get some sleep. I need to stay up to watch over Julie again tonight.”

“Okay.”

“Are you going to work now?”

“Yes.”

“See you later, then.” She stumbled up the steps, kicked off her shoes, and fell into bed. She had dreams of a line of people, with faces she’d seen here, bleeding from heads and bellies. Some were missing legs and had crutches. Some had arms in slings. It was a parade of the people she would hurt by practicing medicine she had no right to practice. They haunted her sleep.

A banging on the bedroom door startled her awake. What—-? Coral rolled over and when she saw Parnell standing in the doorway, she came fully awake. “What’s wrong? Is it Julie?”

“You missed your appointment with Victoria.”

Victoria? It took her a few seconds to place the name. “Oh, the social worker. Counseling.”

“Right.”

“Is that really necessary?” she said, swinging her legs around and sitting up. “What time is it?”

“Two,” he said. “Two fifteen, by now.”

So she had gotten six hours sleep. It would have to do.

“And Levi wanted to know about last night’s surgery.”

“Edith and I agreed that we couldn’t save Julie’s toes. I decided to amputate. It went okay, I think.”

“Tell me about it, in detail.”

Coral snatched up her shoes and pushed past him to walk downstairs. She didn’t want the man in her bedroom. Doors were left unlocked—there was nothing to steal, really, and no keys for most doors in any case—but she didn’t like that he had walked in on her while she was sleeping. She took a seat and motioned for him to do the same, and then she gave him a brief report on Julie’s surgery and who had been there.

“So you tried the new drugs on her?”

“Local and antibiotic both. The local worked, to some extent. If I had to do it again, I’d use a bigger dose next time. I won’t know about the antibiotics for a couple days. Dosage on that is really a shot in the dark.”

“How much did you use?”

Coral held her fingers up to indicate what had been taken out of the bottle of lidocaine. “That much local anesthetic. Probably three times the antibiotic.”

“Is that wise, do you think? To use that much antibiotic on one patient?”

“I wasn’t going to operate on her without it. The tissue was already gangrenous. It’s better to get a jump on fighting off infection. If we allowed it to take hold, if she went septic, then we’d have a real battle on our hands to save her.”

“How much more will she need?”

“I counted that it my estimate. I was thinking, four days, two doses per day, and if there’s no danger sign, no fever, no suspicious discharge, I’d lay off for a day and see what happened.” She spread her hands, indicating how unsure she was. “I’ve told you, I’m no doctor. But even a forty-year-old GP with years of experience might be having to guess with an amputation and sheep drugs.”

“I know. Our concern isn’t your skill. Edith says you did a good job, and we trust her.”

Implying you don’t trust me? Fine, as I don’t trust you either.

“Our concern is that we’ve found this stuff, something of a miracle, and now an unreasonable portion is being used on one patient.”

“She’s the patient I have.”

“We’re wondering if it’s wise.”

“I’m sorry? We means, you and Levi? You and someone else?”

“The leadership of the town. If this Army group you mentioned suddenly shows up, what we need most is an intact militia. We need any injuries of them treated, so we can continue to defend the town.”

“Some are more equal than others, right?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Are you ordering me to quit treating Julie with antibiotics?”

Slowly, he shook his head. “I’m ord—asking you to stay aware. And to be conservative in using the drugs for non-essential personnel.”

“Maybe you’d better give me a list of preferred people, then. I don’t know this place. I have no idea what anyone’s job is. I don’t know how you rank the chef, for instance.”

“There’s no reason to be bad-tempered about it.”

“Isn’t there?” She wanted to slap the man. “If you’re ordering me to dole out drugs by the importance of the patient, then I need a list of citizens by importance. That seems logical, doesn’t it?” It seemed horrific to her, but maybe he needed to hear it coming from someone else’s mouth to realize it was.

“Fine. I’ll get that for you.” He stood. “I know Victoria is still waiting for you.”

“I’ll be there in a minute,” she said, staying seated.

He stared at her a moment longer and then left.

She felt like slapping herself to make sure she was still awake. Had that just happened? She was fairly appalled at the conversation. But then, as she thought it over, she wondered if “the leadership”—meaning Levi, she assumed—wasn’t right. If you were trying to keep three hundred people alive, or as many of them as you could, was the assistant laundress or full-time parent as important as the guard with the eagle eye? Could you cater to the needs of children, who added nothing measurable to a society?

She realized that she was living in an awful social experiment, the sort of thing that might have been an assigned discussion topic back at university, but was being played out here and now, for real. And she was part of it. Worse, she was supposed to be part of the elite that implemented these decisions. Who got the pain pill? Who deserved the antibiotics?