Page 98 of Evan and the Alpha

By the time Nomantru rises in the south, I’ve opened up to seven centimeters. I think that’s what Min tells me, anyway. The world’s spinning. Nothing makes sense. I close my eyes and dream about fourth grade, getting pushed in the puddle. I dream about my first kinda boyfriend, I dream I never left Earth, I’m still in school, I’m naked in front of the class because I was late and forgot all my clothes and everyone’s laughing, laughing, laughing.

“Eight centimeters,” Min says at some point. Is this all some weird fever dream? Did I maybe get bitten by a poisonous snake or a scorpion or something while I was lying on the riverbank waiting for Darwin and I’ve dreamed all this up?

“You’re almost there,” Min says to me, and yeah, I can fucking feel that. There’s pressure everywhere in my pelvis. It feels like someone’s trying to force a bowling ball through my fucking pubic bone. Not that I have any frame of reference for that—how would anyone even try that?

Whatever. Doesn’t matter. Bowling ball is slamming into my pubic bone, which feels like it might shatter. Except the bowling ball is softer. It gives; it slides under the bone. I throw up and almost choke on it, it feels that fucking weird and disgusting. It hurts but it doesn’t. I claw at the sand and puke again. I’m pretty sure I shit myself at some point a while back and I think that’s bad, but I can’t remember now.

My hole’s burning, burning like someone tried to put a massive dragon dildo in me or some fucking thing, like that one weirdo I kinda sorta halfway dated in college, he tried to do that with no prep, and oh fucking God, that hurt, I bled everywhere, I limped, but I didn’t go to the hospital, but I probably should have. I probably should have broken up with him too, but I didn’t—not at first anyway, we stuck together for another couple of weeks until it became really apparent I was never, ever gonna be able to have sex with him again. I cringed every time he even brought it up, because all I could think about was that goddamn dildo.

Okay—nope, this hurts worse, a lot fucking worse, it’s bigger—a lot bigger, and I can only stare at the horizon and pant for a second or two, before Ge-Ro wraps both his hands around mine and I screw my eyes shut and scream and scream and scream, like someone is murdering me.

I want to throw up again, but I’ve got nothing left. I go slack in Ge-Ro’s arms; he holds me tight. I tremble and sway back and forth; I think I might pass out. My vision goes patchy, then totally black. Then I get more static and I can see again.

Ge-Ro lays me down gently, on my back. I cling to his arms; I don’t want to let go. My knees are still bent. My legs are shaking, but I don’t think I can move. I feel like if I move, all my entrails are just going to spill right out of me. I feel like I don’t have a lower half left, just a hole and chewed up nerves where flesh used to be and my body’s registering we’re in pain, a lot of pain, because a good chunk of us just got fucking obliterated.

I can finally focus enough to look up into Ge-Ro’s eyes. He looks scared as hell. I close my eyes and exhale, long and deep. Everything still hurts a lot. I don’t think it will ever stop hurting—how could it?

Min’s taken off her shirt; she’s just in bra and shorts now, and she’s smeared with blood. She’s got her tee wrapped around—

Around …

I start to cry again. Min looks over at me. “He’s dead, isn’t he?” I wail. “He’s dead, my baby’s dead, he’s dead, he’s—”

I stop talking. I can’t talk. I don’t have enough air.

Min crouches over me, one bloody hand on my shoulder, the other clutching my baby—my dead baby, my poor—to her chest. “Evan,” she says, her dark eyes searching my face, “Evan, breathe. Calm down. Breathe.”

How am I supposed to breathe when my baby’s dead?!

“The baby’s not dead,” she whispers urgently, squeezing my shoulder painfully. I stare at her in disbelief. She shakes her head. “The baby’s premature—cold and small and not breathing super well. But alive.”

I stare at her for what feels like a full minute, then start bawling again. Min moves away from me and Ge-Ro grabs my hands, squeezes them.

Min turns back around and crouches down. She’s pulled her t-shirt down, and now I can see the baby—like she said, small and thin and shivering, oh my God, shaking so hard.

I reach for that tiny body. I wish I could put it back inside me, back where he was warm and safe.

Min lets me take him in my arms after Ge-Ro helps me sit up. I still feel raw, like my guts are hanging out of me, spilling everywhere. Doesn’t matter. I clutch my baby in my arms, drag him in tight to my chest. I wrap him up tighter in Min’s bloody t-shirt.

Ge-Ro hands me my own, and Min holds the baby again while I wrestle into it. I slide the baby under my shirt, trap him against my chest. I hold him tight. I have to keep him warm.

He’s breathing, but it doesn’t sound like it’s easy. Every little breath sounds like a rattling gasp. I rock him, rock myself, unable to do anything else against the overwhelming fear. He’s struggling; he was born too soon; he’s not gonna make it. I’m a bad mother. I fucked up enormously, and now my baby’s gonna die.

He clings to me and finally, finally stops shivering. I almost cry out when he stops shaking so hard—he must have died—but I can still feel the rise and fall of his back. He curls his tiny fists.

I look at Min. She looks really worried. “We need to get back,” she says, “as soon as we can. You’re still bleeding; you need medical attention. I’ve got nothing to stop the bleeding or even stitch you up.”

“We need food and shelter,” Ge-Ro says. “We don’t have enough to keep us all warm.

“But Evan’s hardly in a position to be moved,” Min murmurs.

Their voices fade into the background. All I can think about is keeping my baby safe and warm—and alive.