The Book of the Unnamed Midwife (7 page)

She nodded, looking down.

Rob showed them her hands again. “Like I said, just looking for trade. No harm done.”

They had drunk a little of their booze, but not too much. She watched them pack up with her back leaning against the brick front of the clinic. There wasn’t anything to say in summation. No information to exchange. No reason to say a warm goodbye or thanks. Slowly they moved off and she wiggled back into the building.

* * * * *

Barely slept since then. Hate that they know where to find me. Hate that. Hate that. Should have tried to get her away. Sooner or later, though, one of them is going to kill the other to get Jenna alone. Should keep them busy.

Should have saved her. Me, Curtis, Jenna. Running together. Coulda shoulda woulda saved them both. Coward.

Have to move on. Keep moving.

Way he put his hand on the back of her neck. Way he smelled her while looking at me. Disregard, control. Shrug up a little, make shoulders bigger. Pluck at crotch of my jeans. Hard eye contact. Remember. Practice in front of a mirror. Find a mirror.

July

Hot as shit here. Somewhere near Sacramento, though I haven’t gone into the capital. Heard gunshots from that direction, and it’s lit up at night. No way. Nope nope nope.

July

Little Urgent Care that’s been almost completely cleaned out. Somebody spray painted NO SUPPLIES out front- thanks. Exit in back and it’s in a strip mall. Raiding here sucks. Convenience food mostly. All the jerky was gone when I got here. So sick of chips I could die. So salty all the time.

Started to head for the 5 freeway but 1: sure there are people on it 2: there’s no water and no food along it hardly at all. Remember driving before, and even in an air conditioned car it seemed like a wasteland. Just gas stations and nothing. Roads east lead into the Nevada desert. No way not doing that this time of year. Hook north through Oregon and then Idaho, but it’s all mountain passes. Take me forever, especially the back roads. No good plan.
 

Where the fuck am I going?

August

Haven’t seen hardly anyone since Jenna. Haven’t heard voices but some very distant sounds of others. Garbage along the road and old fires. That’s it. Nobody no bodies.

August

Getting close to Oregon border? Found tiny lake = beautiful vacation houses lined up around it. Staked out for a day until thunderstorm hit. Just broke into one = gun in hand. Nobody.

First two had nothing, not even furniture. Third was fully stocked for a family with a lot of kids. Shut the flue, blocked most of the doors made a camp on the sofa backed up against the fireplace. Must have been a winter lodge for them. Closets are full of down comforters and parkas and big coats. Can outfit myself for heading north here.

Been here two weeks. There’s a huge stash of baby food and I almost cried when I saw the strained peas. Fruits and vegetables. Been too long. Lot of canned soup with meat in it and plenty of dry goods. Putting some weight back on. Working out every day = build muscle = pass time. Full bookshelves. Classics popular novels some nonfiction. Some stuff I had on my list from way back but never had time. Like vacation, like a retreat. Could stay here forever. Boarded the windows with furniture pieces. Not great = better than nothing. Glass.

Rub jawline. Don’t look down. Stand in front of the mirror. Have a dick. Great big dick. Fear me. Always right. Kick your ass. No right to stand in my way. Who’s gonna stop me? Like that, bitch? Yeah.

No candles except a bag of tea lights in a bathroom. Made do. Resisted the urge to start a fire and boil water for a bath in one of the huge tubs. Too easy for the smoke to get spotted. Too risky to be caught naked. Basic hygiene = water from the lake warmed up over a can of Sterno. That’s it.

Debated how long I can stay here. Enough food for me to get through the winter, maybe. Sleeping pretty well here = keep my back to the wall and my gun in my hand. Maintain maintain find a spot and hold it make a stand.

August maybe September?

Still here. Thunderstorms are intense. Reinforced the windows with the bed slats from upstairs, but left slits to see through. Clouds slide over the lake and sink there like water pooling before a drain. Rains and rains and rains and rains, never hear anyone coming. Thinking about finding some bells or something and setting up trip wires, just to hear someone coming. Haven’t seen or heard anyone in ages, though.

Not quite true. Raided one of the houses on the far side of the lake yesterday that turned out to be full of the dead. Must have fled the cities and died here. Maybe fifteen people, too decomposed for me to really tell but long hair = maybe women. Mostly died in bed. Place stays wet and the summer was warm = smell the stink from outside. Door was unlocked. Tied a bandana around my face and went in. Opened the curtains for light. Two of them were laid out on sofas, faces covered. Must have gone first. Loaded pack with the soup and canned fish from their cabinets, trying not to breathe through my nose.

Upstairs, found a little jar of Vicks and smeared it on my bandana for the smell. Went into my pocket never know when you might need Vicks=breathing. One bedroom, a dead guy in a flannel jacket sat propped up next to a dead woman in bed. Fancy nightgown and her jaw was wide open. Rosary beads in bed with her. Turned to the guy and gloved up. I searched his pockets and found a wad of cash, threw it on the floor. ID said he was from Las Vegas. Tried not to look at his name or his age. Didn’t matter. Waistband=gun=jackpot=small semi-automatic pistol all but glued to what was left of his hand. Ripped it off and the sound was like tearing through the skin on a roast turkey. Got over that, found the box of bullets in his jacket pocket. Raid was worth it. Could make a huge difference.

Another room had three dead children. Two little boys and one older girl. Stood in the doorway long enough to name them.

 
John.

Michael.

Wendy.

 
Shut it. Nothing nothing and nothing in there I want.

Another long-haired corpse in a dry bathtub. Two more in another big bed, together. Ornate jewelry box in the corner and looked. Good stuff. Fingered the diamonds shinybright. Anyone trade for them? Decided no. Left it open full of treasure.

Last bedroom kept me for a while. Empty but= looked tossed and lived-in. Bed unmade drawers half empty.
 
Completely empty box of chocolates sat on the floor, a good pair of heels. Searched the whole thing=nothing of value. On the bureau a letter in a sealed envelope next to pair of emerald earrings. Addressed to Tamara. Opened it.

LETTER FROM ANDREA TO TAMARA

THE YEAR OF THE DYING

AS SCRIBED BY THE UNNAMED MIDWIFE

Dear Tam,

I’m taking off. I feel so much better and I know I’ll be ok. I tried to pack up everything useful, but who knows what I forgot. I am so sorry about the children, and about you and Dick. I really thought getting us out of Vegas was the answer. I guess I was wrong.

Please forgive me for not burying any of you. When Maryanne and Lucia died, we debated it. Ryan said he would help but in the end none of us could face it. I can’t face it alone, I know that. We don’t even have a shovel. I thought about burning the house down to take care of everybody, but it might take the whole lake and the woods. I’m going to leave you all as you are. I’m sorry.

You know I slept with Dick. It was years ago and we were so drunk and so stupid. I swear it never meant anything, it just happened. I’m so sorry I hurt you, and I hope you two are in heaven together and that you can forgive him. You might be able to forgive me soon, too.

I’m going to head south toward Mexico. Before the news stopped, they were saying it was better down there. I’ll head straight down the 5, maybe steal a car. Wish me luck.

I don’t know why I’m writing this. I had to say something. I was so sick that when I woke up I didn’t know where I was. I found you dead and there was nothing I could do. I’m sorry.

Please forgive me. I love you both. I’ll see you when I get to where you are.

Always,

Andrea

Balled it up and threw it on the floor. Andrea had gotten out. Wished her well.

Brought everything I found back here. Think I know how to use this gun. Found the safety and I can load the clip. Good to have another one. Wish I could practice with it.

* * * * *

On a clear day, she climbed the tallest hill to get a better sense of where she was. She saw Mt. Shasta in the distance and thought she could identify it on the map. She was close to Oregon, then. She could see small fires south of her, probably campfires. She heard nothing.

 
She took two practice shots with the new gun, aiming at a tree at a distance from the house. The gun popped like a toy and there was almost no recoil. Compared to her revolver, it barely felt real. It was light and accurate. She liked it, and fingered it constantly.

She came down on the other side of the hill to circle around to the lake. There was a bait and tackle store, she decided to check it out. She raided some chewing tobacco and gum. Signs hung askew and the cash register had been emptied. There was not much left inside but the bugs that had lived through it all, skittering over everything when the light fell upon them. She shivered, but looked anyway.

They had a couple of newspapers from last year. She glanced over the stories of “Lymphatic Fever” and “Women’s Plague.” There were awful pictures of hospitals in New York and Paris overflowing with the dead and dying. No cure in sight, ran one lede. Men recovering at ten times the rate of women, ran another. Nothing she didn’t know, but she stared.

How did it get so out of hand? How did it spread so fast? Why did I recover?

Her hospital in San Francisco had a great lab. Everyone who had any lab tech experience had been locked up in there, looking at this thing under a microscope. She wasn’t one of them, she worked in labor and delivery, trying to bring fevers down and watching women birth dead and dying babies. She recalled the pandemonium, when she tried to call it up and reason it out. She had never attended a stillbirth before. The first couple were solemn and chastened doctors struggled to explain dead babies patiently, compassionately. After a solid week of them and one hundred percent infant mortality, there was quarantine protocol and screaming, wailing, demanding answers. Parents and doctors alike were unhinged. She remembered putting a baby girl on a Japanese woman’s chest. The child lived long enough to curl her hand around her mother’s finger, and then she was gone. Limp and turning blue. They resuscitated, they injected, wheeled crash carts to every room. The girl’s mother died that day, on fire with a fever they couldn’t touch. Within hours, the baby’s father disappeared.