Нора Робертс - Year One

He rolled down his sleeve, put on his jacket. He didn’t want to go back through the ER, through all that death, but knew it would help him follow through on the decision he’d made.

He ignored the screaming, the retching, the terrible racking coughs, and stepped out into the air. He’d thought to finish this inside. If he had the balls, he’d have gone to the morgue to end it. Make it easy on everyone. But he just couldn’t face that.

Right here, he considered, at the doors of the ER? But hell, they had enough to do. In his ambulance? That seemed like good closure.

Behind the wheel, or in the back? Behind the wheel, or in the back? Why was it so hard to decide?

The act itself? No problem. He’d handled enough suicides and attempted suicides to know the best way. His grandfather’s old .32. Barrel in the mouth, pull the trigger. Done.

He just couldn’t live seeing death all around him. Hopeless, inevitable death. He couldn’t keep looking at the faces of neighbors, coworkers, friends, family, and seeing death in them.

He couldn’t keep locking himself in the dark to stop seeing it. Couldn’t keep hearing the screams, the gunfire, the pleas for help, the mad laughter.

Eventually his depression and despair would turn to madness. And he feared, actively feared, that the madness would turn him into one of the vicious who hunted others and caused more death.

Better to end it, just end it and go into the quiet.

He reached into his coat pocket, felt the reassuring shape of the gun. He started toward the ambulance, glad he’d had the chance to see Rachel, to help her, to say good-bye. He wondered what Healy would find in his blood. Something tainted with this horrible ability?

Cursed blood.

He turned at the blast of a horn, but kept walking even as the minivan squealed up, bumped onto the curb. More death for the death house, he thought, hunching his shoulders at the call for help.

No help for it.

“Please, please. Help me.”

No more death, he vowed. He wasn’t going to look at any more death.

“The babies are coming! I need help.”

He couldn’t stop himself from looking back again, and watched the woman drag herself out of the bright red van, cradling her pregnant belly.

“I need a doctor. I’m in labor. They’re coming.”

He didn’t see death, but life. Three lives. Three bright sparks.

Comforting himself that he could kill himself later, he went to her.

“How many weeks?”

“Thirty-four weeks, five days. Twins. I’m having twins.”

“That’s good baking time for a two-pack.” He got an arm around her.

“Are you a doctor?”

“No. Paramedic. I’m not taking you through the ER. It’s full of the infected.”

“I think I’m immune. Everyone else … But the babies. They’re alive. They’re not sick.”

Hearing the fear in her voice, he tuned his own to easy reassurance. “Okay, it’s going to be okay. We’re going to go in that door up there. I’ll get you to Maternity. We’ll get you a doctor.”

“I— Contraction!” She grabbed on to him, digging her fingers in like claws, breathing in hisses.

“Slow it down.”

“You slow it down,” she snapped, hissing her way through it. “Sorry.”

“No problem. How far apart?”

“I couldn’t time them once I started driving. About three minutes when I left. It took me, I don’t know. Ten minutes to get here. I didn’t know what else to do.”

He got her inside, steered her toward the elevators. “What’s your name?”

“Katie.”

“I’m Jonah. You ready for twins, Katie?”

She looked up at him, huge green eyes, then dropped her head on his chest and wept.

“It’s okay, it’s okay. It’s all going to be all right.”

Bringing babies into this dark, deadly world? He hadn’t thought of it. Told himself not to think beyond getting her to Maternity.

“Did your water break?”

She shook her head.

The elevator doors opened onto an empty reception area. That same echoing silence made him realize he might find no help for her there.

He led her back—empty rooms, unmanned desk. Didn’t anyone have babies anymore?

He steered her into one of the birthing suites. “Prime digs,” he said, working to keep cheer in his voice. “Let’s get your coat off, get you in bed. Who’s your OB?”

“He’s dead. It doesn’t matter, he’s dead.”

“Let’s get your shoes off.” He pressed the nurse’s call button before he crouched down, pulled off her shoes.

They wouldn’t bother with a gown. He didn’t know where to find one, didn’t want to waste time looking. She was wearing a dress anyway.

“Here you go.” He helped her into bed, stopping when she dug her fingers into his arm again. Pushed the call button again.

“Are they all dead?” she asked when the contraction passed. “The doctors, the nurses?”

“No. I was just talking to a doctor downstairs, a friend of mine, before I walked out and you drove up. I’m going to see if I can find one of the OB nurses.”

“Oh God, don’t leave me.”

“I won’t. I swear, I won’t. I’m going to see if I can find a nurse, and I’m going to get a couple of warming trays for the babies. Good baking time,” he said again, “but they’re preemies.”

“I tried to get to thirty-six weeks. I tried, but—”

“Hey.” Taking her hand, he waited until her teary eyes met his. “You’re right on the edge of thirty-five. Damn good job. Give me two minutes, all right? Don’t push, Katie. Breathe through it if you have another before I get back. Don’t push.”

“Hurry. Please.”

“Promise.”

He stepped out, then ran.

He didn’t know this wing, had only been in it a handful of times, and only as far as the desk. He tried to take heart when he saw three infants behind the glass in their nursery cribs. Somebody had to be on the floor. Somebody had to be caring for the babies.

He hit a pair of double doors, stepped into an OR. A doctor—he hoped—gowned, gloved, holding a scalpel. A nurse, and a pregnant woman on the table, eyes closed.

“I’ve got a woman in labor with twins. I—”

“And I’m trying to save the life of this woman and fetus. Get out!”

“I need— She needs a doctor.”

“I said get out! I’m it. I’m what’s left, and I’m fucking busy here. Nurse!”

“Go!” She ordered as the doctor made the incision.

“Page Dr. Hopman. Just do that. Page her.”

Jonah rushed out, grabbed two warming trays, pushed them back to the room where Katie panted through a contraction.

“Keep breathing, keep breathing. I’m going to set these up so they’ll be ready.”

“Doctor,” she managed.

He turned on the trays, shed his coat, rolled up his sleeves. “It’s going to be you, me, and the twins. We’re going to be fine.”

“Oh God. Oh God. Have you ever delivered a baby?”

“Yeah, a few times.”

“Would you say that even if you hadn’t?”

“No. I’ve even delivered a preemie. It’s my first multiple, but hey, if you can do one, you can do two. I’m going to wash my hands, get gloved. Then we’ll see where we’re at, okay?”

“I’m out of choices.” She stared up at the ceiling, as she’d done when her mother had been dying. “If it goes wrong for me, promise me you’ll take care of them. You’ll take care of my babies.”

“It’s not going to go wrong, and I’m going to take care of them. And you. Solemn oath.” He crossed his heart, stepped into the bath to scrub his hands.

“What are you naming them?” he called out.

“The girl’s Antonia. My husband … he wanted a girl especially. Before we knew we were having twins, he hoped for a girl. The boy’s Duncan for my father’s father.”