The Book of the Unnamed Midwife (8 page)

No cure in sight and the lab crew thinned out. Hospital staff died and disappeared as panic overtook them and mayhem took the city. Dead nurses lined the halls with dead patients and after a while, nobody was hauling them out anymore. She remembered staying so busy that she didn’t see what was happening until she couldn’t open a door.
 
When she finally got sick there was nobody to look after her. Only Jack had come, and she believed he had come to say goodbye.

She could not get the memory to come clear. Her heart pounded and she could relive the terror, but she couldn’t tell the memory of one day in chaos from another. She could not sequence the events, or understand how something this sudden and final had come to be. She was sorry every time she looked back. She set herself up with tasks and focused on the present. Examining the timeline in any direction away from now profited her nothing.

September

Found a motorcycle. Really small, but in good shape. Boathouse=huge drum of gas. Covered it up with tarps. Hope it’s still there when ready to leave. Had one of those shitty multipacks of cheap fireworks for the 4th of July. Took it with me, but bet most are duds by now. Hiss boom fuck you.

* * * * *

The party of men arrived on the lake one day before sunset.

They were startlingly loud in the continuous quiet. She crept to the window to see how many. She counted ten for sure, but they weren’t still or close or easy to see. They settled into a house on the opposite side of the lake and fell to fishing and drinking. She knew they’d begin raiding the surrounding houses, just as she had done. She worried about possibilities in order: they would find her motorcycle, they would find her.
 

Two days passed and she watched the men ceaselessly, unable to sleep. Their constant drinking kept them slow and unambitious. Late on the third day, they finally started to venture around the lake. She had created a sniper’s perch where she could see out and shoot straight but would be difficult to spot from the ground.
 

When they came around to her house, they tried the door and couldn’t budge it. One of them picked up a rock to break a window and she took a deep breath and fired through her tiny slit in the window. She shot the ground beside him, but she could see his jeans darken where he pissed himself.

“This one’s taken,” she yelled down to them, gruffly. “We’re armed, and we’ll defend it. Fuck off.”

Get calm. Panic sounds like panic and any dog can hear it. Breathe deep. Remember you have the advantage. No one has seen you.

A few of them stepped back. All their eyes looked up. It wasn’t the whole party. She swept them in her sights. A few held weapons, one or two was swaying drunk.

One bearded face yelled up at her, she cringed at the sound of it. His voice was rough and low and slightly amused. “What have you got in there? Girls?”

She tried to change her voice to sound like another guy. “No girls. Just heroin. Lots of heroin. Fuck off.” Shit, that sounded really stupid. I suck at this.

A couple of them laughed. “Fucking junkie.”

The same one yelled up again. “We don’t want your drugs, man. We’re just looking for food and good stuff.”

“You’re not looking for it here,” she yelled back down. “Looks like we have guns and you don’t. We suggest you leave this lake.”

They talked to each other, low. They didn’t move off.

Please go please please please go and leave me alone.

She moved to the other window she had rigged and lit one of the strings of firecrackers she had found in the boathouse, praying that they were live. She tossed them overhand toward the men. They were live and utterly unexpected on the ground. Men jumped and flailed when the tiny crackers went off.
 
A few ran back toward their camp, others took a long last look before following. She caught more than a few looking back and up at her. She took one more shot after them, just as a warning. Exhausted, she laid on the floor and slept until it was dark.

She woke up in perfect stillness and ate a jar of baby food bananas. She did some pushups and went back to her lookouts. There was no one outside. Across the lake, a fire burned in a pit. They had retreated but they had not left.

For a moment, she considered starting a fire in her own fireplace. She wasn’t hiding anymore; they knew she was in there.
 
Dismay set in as she realized that their smoke would draw more people to the lake.

She nodded back off during the night. After a few bleary minutes, before she heard scraping sounds downstairs. She stumbled up and fell over herself trying to run. She got back up holding her guns, shaking.

Through the dark, she wove down to the window where the noise was coming from. She could hear someone on the other side, pulling at the boards. Then the scrape of a metal tool, prying.

“Get the fuck back!” She brought both guns up and waited. The prying sound stopped.

She stood for a minute, breathing hard. She thought they might have gone, but she couldn’t hear anything over her heart pounding. It was an hour before she sat down, but she fell asleep almost immediately when she did.

She slept for hours but it felt like an instant. She awoke to the sound of the kitchen windows being broken. The shattered glass fell into the stainless steel sink and she came to with a high, short scream. She scrambled up and ran toward the kitchen.

A tall man with a blond beard was halfway into the window. He had reached forward to grab the edge of the sink with both hands and pull himself forward, squeezing through. She brought up the gun. He was stuck. He looked up and she could see in his eyes that he knew it.

Both her hands shook. The shot was less than ten feet and she blew it anyway, putting a hole into the bowl of the sink. He jerked and screamed and tried to push backward.

Her nerves were shattered and she could feel herself tearing up. She widened her eyes, forcing them to focus and tried to breathe deep and steady herself.

The blond man came free with a jerk and she saw the two others outside who had hauled him back. Two dark-haired men, also bearded. They goggled at her.

She cleared her throat. “I told you fuckers this place was mine.” Her voice broke and she shook all over. They knew her then. It was all over their faces with shock and hunger, and one of the dark-bearded ones made to try his luck with the window.

Dead now for sure. Dead.

She opened fire, both guns blazing, not caring how many rounds she lost. She didn’t hit any of them, but they ran. She stood in the kitchen, waiting. She was making a high, keening sound. She wasn’t conscious of it and when she heard it she didn’t know where it was coming from.

After a few minutes, she quieted down. She didn’t have anything to block the kitchen windows. She closed the door and blocked it with the china hutch. The heavy unit scraped the wood floor as she shoved it in front. When it was there, she went and sat on the couch in front of the fireplace. She waited.

She nodded off, but woke every time her chin came down. She began to feel as if she were hallucinating. Dark shapes darted in her peripheral vision. She woke up swearing, she fell asleep muttering.

Just before sunset, someone slid into the kitchen. In an instant she was awake. She thought she heard two sets of boots hit the floor, but it had been three. The door she had blocked was the only way from the kitchen into the rest of the house.

They pushed against the door, but the hutch was heavy. A long, sustained push might have moved it, but the man on the other side rammed it with his shoulder. The hutch rocked.

She couldn’t get her eyes to focus. Terror fought exhaustion and she was ready to kill.

The door thudded against the hutch again. The hutch rocked. The banging grew louder as she assumed the other one had joined him. One became four became five in her frenzied imagination and she checked her clip. She had enough to kill ten, if she could hit them. She tried to steady herself.

I can still get out. I can still get out.

A few seconds of silence.

A splintering crash as the hutch fell facedown into the living room. The base of it was inches from the door. Hands worked their way into the opening and she could hear them straining. The top of the hutch was wedged against the corner of the staircase. She knew it wouldn’t move.

She waited. The straining stopped.

One of them spoke into the crack, his mouth pressed into the opening. “We’ll be back, sweetheart. All of us. Get ready to come along. There’s no other choice.”

Bullshit. Let me show you some choices. I’ve got a clip full of choices.

She heard them scrape through the window to leave her. She went upstairs to the window where she could see their place. She sat on the floor with her chin on the windowsill, watching as they went back into their house.

They waited for morning. She watched.

When the sun rose, she could pick out the shapes of a couple of them standing around their fire pit. They had knives and pipes and other improvised weapons. She knelt on the floor looking at the two guns, deciding. In the end, she chose the new one. She thought it was slightly more accurate at a distance. The shot was a hundred feet, easy. She lined it up slow, breathing deeply. She took the shot. She did not know to account for the drop as gravity acted on the bullet. She had been aiming for his torso, but she could see his kneecap explode when the bullet hit. The morning was still; she could definitely hear the screaming. It scattered the rest of them, and she took three more, wildly, heart pounding too hard to aim. One man dropped outright, and she assumed she had killed him. The other bent over, holding on to himself and screaming.

She got down below the window and waited for return fire, for the sound of someone breaking in downstairs. After a few minutes had passed, she was sure that there were no guns among them. She waited. No sound. When she dared to look again, they were leaving. They left the dead one where he lay.

It wasn’t the first time she had killed someone. Threatening close and threatening far away felt different. She sat there with her back pressed to the wall, thinking about that. Knowing she would kill again, deciding what that would change in her. She flashed for one moment on the man dead in her bed, pulling the sheet up over his face.

She didn’t look out the window again.

Chapter Three

October

Fucking cold. Started trying on the winter gear I found. Got good wool socks and boots, a couple of sweaters and a ski parka filled with down. Nixed the one that fit me better- it was pink. Pink = girl. Any kindergartner knows that. Everything is baggy except the boots. Was so relieved that they fit I haven’t had them off in days. Had to strip off my compression vest and wash it. Standing there, topless and scrubbing this thing felt so strange. Me = not me. My breasts for the first time in ages. Washed them up with my hands and got lost in the sensuousness of it. My tattoo. Like returning to an old lover I left years ago. Can’t feel like myself. Finally put it back on when it dried. Felt better dressed. Not me = me. Me not now me then me new. Trimmed my hair again, not shaving it in this cold. Combed it and looked in the mirror. Too clean. Thought about it. Tried to stick some of the hair clippings to my face = doesn’t work at all. Used some makeup I found in one of the bathrooms with a sponge to give myself a 5 o’clock shadow. Not gonna fool anyone up close. Distance + hat = maybe?

Bitch I am a man. Females. Talk too much. Quit crying. So emotional. Be a man. Man up. Nut up. Jumpshot gunshot cumshot moneyshot. Posing but not to be sexy. Scare me. Lean a little forward. Invade my space. Quit crying. Give you something to cry about.

Back to the map again today. Have to look seriously at staying here for the winter. Don’t want to try and fight my way through snow, but that’s a long time from now. Part of the problem = don’t know where I’m going. Or what the point is of going anywhere. Going north seems very safe, but only because of the exodus to the south. Colder still and up against the snow = keeps people away. Growing food if I ever get past raiding = all but impossible. Expiration date of body > expiration date of canned tuna. Know when I get there. Maybe just stay here.

December

Christmas used to be the best time. Didn’t celebrate it, but it cheered almost everyone up. People wore Christmas scrubs and the whole hospital was decorated- almost as much as the stores. Miss Christmas movies and the baked goods. Shit. Baked goods. Fudge and cookies and Christmas cake. Chocolate everything. Rice krispie treats. Nuts and rum balls and brittle and cinnamon rolls in the morning. Donuts. Lonely lonesome only solo alone.

Food holding out just fine, but it sure isn’t Christmas. Kill for two hours with a DVD player and a slice of cake. Five minutes of the internet. Boredom is the killing thing. Haven’t read all the books here yet, but the day will come. Need more candles. Or a lantern. Something. These tea lights are almost gone. Don’t want to raid in the cold, but there’s no other way. Need more light.

Three days later and found = shit. 0 lanterns, 0 candles 0 boxes of matches. Went as far as the house where the men were camped out. Lots of porn and food and good knives. Nothing for light, though. Exhausted cold desperately want a fire. A few of the houses = good wood piles.

December almost January winter solstice? Days so short

Broke down and started lighting fires. Put out at dawn BUT burn all night = make a difference to my sense of well-being that cannot be overrated. Light from fire = incredible to read by, sound of the crackle = voice. Sleeping in front of it like an old dog. Last lighter is holding out, but have to find a replacement soon.

Place feels almost like home. Got everything set up for me. Putting the garbage out back and pissing outside. Way those guys trashed that house they can’t have been meaning to stay.

At least they had each other.
       

Lone wolf. Lone ranger. Cowboy. Work alone. Great savior. Magic man. Got your magic right here. Don’t need anybody. Fine by me. Fine.

2 January

Somewhere around the first of the year. New Year’s, if anyone is keeping track. Clock calendar bullshit bullshit time. Punch the clock. Time to think about things.

Haven’t seen a live dog or cat since the city. Remember seeing cats eating the dead. No dogs. Everyone in the city had a stupid little pug or poodle or designer cross-breed. Saw none at all. Maybe they got the fever, too? Cats 1 Dogs 0.

Seen no deer. This seems like the kind of place that would have deer, but there’s no trace of them. Seen birds though. Thousands of birds. If I see geese when it warms up, going to try and shoot some. Fish in the lake. Coming this way = valley = should have seen cows, or smelled them. Didn’t, but maybe I just missed them? Raids = 0 rats. Bugs of all kinds no rodents. Maybe plague = most mammals?

Probably twenty five live men since the hospital. Mostly in groups. Three live women: that woman with her daughter in the city, and Jenna. Also me. News said women and children were much more susceptible to the disease, saw that with my own eyes. Didn’t put a number on it, but from the hospital = probably ten to one. Saw no children recover. Saw maybe one (?) woman get better before I got sick = Dr. Godey. Government started evacuating the ones that did get better. No live children born to women with the disease + children of uninfected women died within hours of birth=0 kids. Lot of talk about that with the lab crowd.

Have to face the possibility that almost everyone in this country died. Haven’t seen military, police, or any aircraft in more than a year. No law = no government anywhere. No power no water. Went to sleep and the world was dying >>> woke up and it was dead and gone. Remember turning on my phone when I came to. Told me there was no network, no hospital Wi-Fi, and its battery was almost dead. Had about a thousand text messages. Scrolled through looking for one from my family, from Jack, but most of them made no sense. Questions = can’t answer. Last few texts from Twitter were awful. Suicide tweets >>> broad accusations = conspiracy and germ warfare. Fucking civil defense message system notified = martial law in effect = stay indoors. White House tweeted: everyone should remain calm that help is on the way. My battery dead.

Still have it. Carrying a square chunk of glass and plastic = literally good for 00000. Don’t know why. Can’t leave it behind.

Remember living in San Francisco, the carnival feeling of FUCKING STOP FUCKING STOP THIS IS WORTHLESS.

Begin again.

Jack .

His name was John, but he was Jack to everybody but his mother. So pretentious. So silly. So much like me. Wish he was here with me. Wish I knew he lived through it. Maybe he’s out there somewhere in Texas, treating wounds. Jack = cowboy who lives forever.

Assume that a huge percentage of the population died off, then another percentage died off right after. People who were already too sick or injured to travel, people dying of injuries, infection, untreated cuts and broken bones. Whatever women are left out there having dead babies are probably dying too, from the fever, from lack of care and infection. Killed by the men who hold them, on whatever terms. Jenna made it through though. Maybe not too many are dying, but I don’t think there are a lot of women left. Have enough injections for a thousand women. If I ever see any.

So is that the mission now? Angel of birth control, out to stop the crop of dead babies before it starts? Got the morning after pill, but I doubt I’ll get to use it on anyone. Wish I could get some RU486. Have the tools to do a D&C if I meet anyone who needs to abort. Can implant an IUD, but passed them over at the university. Too risky without being able to sterilize. Guess this is what can I do. Can make it easier. Can’t fix it. Nobody can. Not that different from what I used to do. Every day I remember what Chicken said, = nothing to do now but survive. Doing that now, but it’s not the only thing. Can’t be. Just gotten to the point where it feels too hard to keep trying. Every woman in labor says she can’t do it. Couldn’t stop what was happening, but I could make it easier. All the same.

Still a midwife. Thing being born is the world. New ugly baby world.

Mission mission mission impossible so stupid FOR WHAT? Have a purpose. Guess that is the reason to go on. Pathetic. Define me. Always did always will. I AM I AM I AM MY JOB. Punch in punch out sign your name. THUMBPRINT here. Your name your name your name. Spin straw into gold bring babies back from the dead arise from the morgue and walk but never tell never tell never tell anything nothing and I am nobody. Nemo. Nothing. A name is what you have for other people. Have nothing be nothing call my name what is the echo of silence.

Get a hold get a hold get a hold right now. Find the center and hold. Hold.

* * * * *

She gave herself the luxury of a few days of madness. They were dark and deep and held in them the wreck of the entirety of civilization. It crumbles in the individual as it does in the world. There are battles and accidents, there are collapses and plagues. There is silence only when one side wins or everyone has died.

March around Equinox

Time to go. Winter spun out forever. Ate everything in the house down to the last box of stale graham crackers. Saved a few cans of soup and baby food for my pack before only the stuff I hate was left. Read every book in that neighborhood. Put on all the weight I can, and my biceps look so developed = wish I could go sleeveless to show everyone how manly I am. Remember the first lady used to have those incredible arms. Past that. Too big, too round for a sleeveless dress. Mannish. Perfect.

Bathed and slept. Rigged up a kind of holster system out of bed sheets. Hope to do better in a place where guns were a bigger deal. Know guns are cleaned out of every store, but maybe some leather holsters are still there. Cut my hair and brushed my beard on again. Early spring = tulips already out by the lake. Got the motorcycle out, oiled it up everywhere the pieces move, filled the gas tank and strapped a gas container to the back. Out in the driveway = can see it.

Place has been great. Holds part of me, now and always. Only had to kill. Didn’t have to. Did. Can’t think about that. Glad I waited through the winter. Feel strong and ready to travel. Picked out a route that I think won’t be too hard.

May

Exhausted. Wasted. Sick. Tired. Raining = nonstop. Seen no one for months. Rode the bike until I ran out of gas and couldn’t find any anywhere. Walked for miles and miles, had to raid new shoes twice. Haven’t been dry since I left the lake house. Haven’t eaten in two days = got an upper respiratory infection, won’t die. I live you die short lifespan motherfucker I outlive you. I win.
 
In a barn now, as dry as I can get, taking antibiotics and drinking rainwater. Last entry is fucking sickening. Was so sunny side sure it was going to be a picnic out here. Hate everything. Can barely breathe. Going to sleep as long as I can and see if I can get better. Aspirin. Gun in my hand.

Don’t know how many days it’s been. Fever is gone = woke up starving and dehydrated. Drank all the water I could, but had to go raiding for something to eat. Old farmhouse next to this barn had a can of peeled tomatoes under the stairs of the cellar = delicious. Have a rash and a raging yeast infection = fucking antibiotics but bug is dead. Need a water filter. Water = probably how I got sick.

Map = I’m in Bumblefuck Nowhere, east Oregon. All scrub out here. Billion birds of prey but I don’t think they’re having a lot of luck besides lizards. Sat out in the sun for an hour, stacking up rocks like they teach boy scouts to do, except don’t know the code. She went thattaway. Tracker and tracked.