Page 63 of Chaos

She sighs thoughtfully. “I feel confident that I can deliver a baby under relatively routine circumstances. I did it during my residency. And I helped Alice deliver Sella. I’m less confident if something unexpected happens. Twins—” I shudder, and she smiles faintly at that reaction. “A Cesarean, breach, an illness or event, a preexisting condition could make it more challenging.”

“You’re not exactly filling me with confidence.”

“I’m being realistic. I’m not going to lie and say there’s no risk, but people did this for hundreds of thousands of years before we had OBs and hospitals.”

“And a lot of them died.”

“Some.” She hesitates, like she’s reconsidering speaking. Guilt stabs through me that I’m forcing her to talk about this, knowing she lost a newborn when the plague came. “Our risks have changed but the rewards haven’t. All I can promise is that I will do everything I possibly can to keep you and the baby safe if you choose to keep it. And if you don’t, we have options there too.”

Options.

Could I take those options?

There’s a knock on the door, and I gesture at Sheila to go. In her absence, I lean back on the exam table, the box in my hands, resting my head against the leathery material.

I lie there for a long time.

Do I want this maybe-baby?

Every time I think of it, terror claws at my chest, eating at the air in my lungs.

My eyes settle on the bookshelf across the room. Not at the top where Sheila got the antibiotics and syringe. Down lower, at her books, a section on herbal poisons that I saw when I sat here with Shane after Ben smashed his hand. Letters emblazoned on a green spine readPOISONS IN YOUR OWN BACKYARD.

Something about the sight of it has me shuddering and wanting to get away.

In my room, a few minutes later, I chug two glasses of water, and pee on that fateful stick, telling myself maybe the water will dilute it, maybe it won’t show up, maybe I can pretend it isn’t true.

But within seconds, it’s clear as day.

Two bold purple lines.

No false positives.

No take backs.

I am officially with child.

It’s too much.

That night, when Yorke and I are finally in bed together, his bandage freshly changed, I thought it was time to tell him, I even started to say the words—but when I turned his way, he was already passed out cold.

So I bury the fear and all the worries away somewhere deep, and instead of talking, I climb on top of him and use our bodies to make myself forget.

14 |Didn’t take you for a smoker

EPHIE

INEED TO PEE.Badly.

But I don’t know how they do that now. The out pipes used to work—I swear Nando told me before he died that it was because we were up high, and gravity pulled whatever you flushed down, but that was a long time ago, before the power went out and came back on, and I don’t want to get caught being the girl who pees in an unflushable toilet.

I wipe sleep from my eyes and crane my ears, listening for someone on the other side. I slept like ass, constantly ripping from a dream certain that someone was outside the door, but no one ever was.

Normally, I keep a mirror on me to check under the door, but they took all my shit, so I have to make do with nothing but my ears.

After a long minute in which I hear nothing at all, I open the door slowly, and immediately see Shane.

He’s leaning against the wall, facing my supply-closet-turned bedroom, long legs kicked out, massive boots splayed wide, a parka spread over his lap like a blanket, unslung arm on the floor by his side.

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