Chapter 7 - The Bridge is Out
The contraction lasted sixty terrifying seconds. When her abdominal muscles finally relaxed, Claire slumped against my chest, her skin clammy and burning with a sudden fever.
""How far apart are they?"" I asked, panic surging through my veins like ice water.
""Fifteen minutes,"" she breathed, resting her forehead against my collarbone. ""Then twelve. This last one was eight. Ryan... she's only thirty-two weeks. Her lungs aren't developed enough. If she's born here, without the surgical team... she won't survive.""
I didn't hesitate. ""We're leaving. Right now.""
""We can't,"" she said, gesturing toward the rattling windows. ""The power is out. The storm—""
""I don't care about the storm. I have my truck at the end of the trail. I'm carrying you there.""
I didn't wait for her permission. I grabbed the thickest down comforter from the bed, wrapped her securely from head to toe, and lifted her into my arms. She felt impossibly light, the curve of her pregnant belly pressing against my ribs.
I kicked open the heavy cottage door and stepped back out into the maelstrom.
The blizzard had reached its peak. The wind screamed off the bluffs, driving needles of ice horizontally into our faces. I turned my back to the gale, shielding Claire's head with my body as I began the agonizing trek back along the coastal cliff trail.
My knees ached from the earlier fall, and my frozen feet felt like blocks of wood, but adrenaline surged through my bloodstream with electric fury. Every time Claire groaned in pain against my neck, I pushed forward through another waist-deep drift.
One step. Two steps. Keep moving.
When we finally reached the clearing where my truck was parked, my vision was swimming with black spots. I opened the passenger door, laid Claire gently across the heated leather seat, and bundled the blankets around her. I climbed into the driver's side, turned the key, and the heavy engine roared to life.
I engaged four-wheel drive and slammed the transmission into reverse, tearing through the drifts until we hit Route 127.
The roads were an apocalyptic wasteland of fallen branches and abandoned vehicles. I drove down the center of the road, ignoring every speed limit, blowing through flashing red lights at deserted intersections. Claire lay beside me, breathing heavily, counting down the minutes between contractions.
""Five minutes,"" she whispered, her hand reaching out blindly in the dark cab.
I grabbed her hand, squeezing it with everything I had left. ""Hold on, Claire. We're almost to the bridge into Beverly. Just hold on to me.""
Twenty minutes later, my headlights illuminated a nightmare.
The old steel-truss bridge over the Danvers River was blocked by a massive, crushed utility transformer that had collapsed from a high-voltage tower. Two state emergency vehicles were parked on the approach, their sirens wailing uselessly into the night.
I slammed on the brakes, the truck skidding to a halt on the slushy asphalt. I jumped out into the freezing rain and ran toward the lead officer, who was waving me back with an orange flare.
""Bridge is structurally compromised!"" the officer yelled. ""Live high-voltage lines in the water! Nobody crosses!""
""My wife is in active labor with a fatal fetal anomaly!"" I screamed, grabbing the officer’s lapels with frantic strength. ""We have to reach Boston Children’s Hospital! If she delivers in this truck, our daughter will die!""
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The officer looked at my wild, desperate eyes, then glanced past me at the passenger window of the truck, where Claire’s pale face was visible against the glass.
He pulled his radio to his mouth, keying the mic. ""Dispatch, this is Unit 412! I have a code red maternal emergency at the Danvers crossing. Clear the commuter rail bridge access road on the western approach immediately! We’re running an escort through the maintenance corridor!""
