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The child wriggles and writhes, very much alive, though I can hardly let myself breathe, not when I’m unsure when our child will take its last breath.
I find I don’t want to miss that moment, as much as I dread it.
And then Amity’s little voice calls out, as simply as if she were Peck himself, “It’s a baby girl,” and my entire world shatters, then mends itself right up again.
I watch in shock as Amity cuts the cord with her knife, then wipes our little girl off with a terrycloth.
Ellie is weeping, her face a strained mingling of relief and agony as she listens to the sounds of our child’s screaming, tears streaming down her face.
Ellie’s fingers writhe at the air. I can hardly speak, not with the wonder and shock closing off my throat, so I’m grateful when Marcus says quietly, “Amity, Ellie probably wants to hold her baby.”
Even Marcus’s voice is shaking, though he keeps his eyes trained on the forest.
Amity does as she’s told, swaddling the baby—our baby—in her own coat, then shuffles over to Ellie’s side and places our daughter in my beautiful wife’s arms.
Amity has to prop up Ellie’s arms because the paralytic hasn’t completely worked its way out of her system.
Ellie sobs harder, the slightest gasp escaping her lips as she tucks the small, beautiful, squirming little girl into her chest, touching our daughter’s tiny cheek with her thumb.
Our child continues to scream, and I wonder if perhaps I’d be content to listen to that sound for years on end.
Alive.
Our child is alive.
“Can you tell if she’s healthy?” I whisper, hardly able to bring myself to look at Amity. I’m terrified her face will give her away.
The look she gives me instead is more along the lines of, “Do I look like I’ve done this before?,” but she just shrugs.
“She’s screaming, so that means she’s breathing. And she’s bigger than I would have thought she’d be at this point.”
That’s hard to imagine, given how tiny she is, clearly not ready for this world, but intent on staying here anyway.
“The gestation lengths vary from pregnancy to pregnancy,” Ellie says, relief flooding down in the tears that streak paths in the grime on her face. And then Ellie is giggling, hysterically, hiccuping and coughing, and holding our child tight as she screams.
I chance a glance at the wound in Ellie’s side, but Amity is already tending to it, changing the bandages and cleaning it with the salve she had in her satchel.
“The bleeding has slowed a lot. And her blood is bright again—less paralytic.” Though Amity seems to be talking to herself, I figure it’s more for my benefit.
“Do you want to hold her?” Ellie whispers, peering up at me with those beautiful wide eyes of hers.
I brush a tear from her cheek and shake my head. “You’re the one who pushed. I just watched. I think you deserve to hold her a little while longer.”
Ellie nods, not fighting me on the notion, which brings a smile to my face.
Still, I reach out to touch our daughter all the same, her little arms flailing about, like she came out of the womb ready to fight the world.
Her tiny hand finds my finger and closes around it, and I sense my heart turn its allegiance elsewhere.
In a moment, my life, my world, changes.
It’s with a sudden urgency I realize that I will protect this child at any cost.
CHAPTER 50
BLAISE
Nox and I walk until the sound of Ellie’s screams fades, lost to the howling wind and the storm brewing overhead.
