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Nola lands on her back, her head hitting the ground. I scramble to my knees. My first instinct is to go for my baby but I know there is power in light so I dive for the flashlight.
I keep the light trained on Nola as she sits up, stunned. Disoriented, she blinks into the blinding light. The beam of the flashlight glints off the bloody scalpel lying on the ground. We both dive for it at the same time and by some miracle I get there first. I clutch it in my fingers and once again focus the light on Nola.
I have the weapon but now Nola is sitting between me and my baby. With a sly smile Nola reaches for my baby and I lunge toward her, burying the blade in her shoulder. Nola screams and writhes on the floor as she tries to extract the scalpel, but her hands are covered in blood and the exposed end keeps slipping from her grasp. I scramble past her and sweep the baby up in my arms. Her shrill cries wrap themselves around me like a warm blanket.
Frantically, I grab the flashlight with one hand, my baby in the other and scan the cave floor for my cell phone. It’s not there. I am naked from the waist down but I barely feel the sting of cold. I snag my pants from their spot next to the tarp and step into them. Feeling the weight of my car keys in the front pocket, I begin limping toward the cave’s opening.
I hear the rasp of Nola pulling herself across the cave floor. “Come back, Maggie,” she calls out. “Don’t go, don’t leave me here.”
I try to move faster but I’m weak and still losing blood. And I know that I’m not done yet. I still need to deliver the placenta and need to get help as soon as possible.
When I step from the cave the sky explodes above me in a navy blue canopy and a thousand stars wink down on us. I want to drop the flashlight now that I can see what’s in front of me, but I don’t dare. It’s the only weapon I have left. I’m hoping that I injured Nola enough that she can’t come after us. In my stocking feet I move slowly but methodically through the trees, careful not to squeeze the baby too tightly. Her cries have turned to soft mewls and I worry that she might not be strong enough to survive the walk.
Finally, my car comes into view, right where I left it on the service road, hidden behind a thicket of scrub trees. The contractions are starting again. The placenta is coming. “No, no,” I whimper, sure that Nola is right behind us. I lurch to the car and wrestle the keys from the pocket of my pants. I climb into the car and relock the doors. Holding the baby to my chest, I reach for my belt radio that I had taken off before I went to the caves.
“This is Detective Maggie O’Keefe,” I say, my voice thick with exhaustion. “Please send help.”
I’m holding my baby, intently watching the rise and fall of her little chest when Nola staggers from the trees and toward my car. Panic squeezes at my chest and I lay the baby on the seat next to me and reach under my seat for my second gun. There is no way that I will let Nola get the upper hand again.
I unlock the door and step from the car and the bull-like bellow of bullfrogs thrums in my ears, masking the rapid pounding of my heart. Nola is weaving unsteadily toward me. She managed to extract the scalpel from her shoulder but must have dropped it along the way. Her shoulder and arm are drenched in blood.
“Stay where you are,” I order. “Don’t come any closer.” Nola briefly leans against a birch tree for support but then lurches forward, leaving a bloody handprint behind on the papery, white bark.
“Goddammit, Nola! Don’t make me shoot you.” I almost wish she would keep coming so I could put a bullet between her eyes but she stops.
“What would you have done?” Nola asks as the wail of approaching emergency vehicles fills the air. “You killed my sister. Eve was the only person who really ever cared about me.”
“Get down on your knees,” I command. To my surprise she complies. “Keep your hands up,” I say.
Nola stares at me with flat, dead eyes. “What would you have done, Maggie?” she asks again. “I miss her. I miss my sister.”
The dark erupts in an explosion of sirens and pulsating lights as half a dozen police cars and an ambulance appear. Behind me is the sound of car doors opening and slamming. There is shouting and the slap of approaching footfalls. “I miss her too,” I whisper as Officers Francis and Weaver rush toward Nola, pull her arms behind her back and shove her head to the ground.
