(2008) Down Where My Love Lives (26 page)

Amos looked at me through two glassy eyes that kept rolling back behind his eyelids.

"Hey, buddy," I said, tapping his face, "stay with me."

Like his face, Amos's uniform was splattered with blood, and the gray sweatshirt had begun to spot red. To make matters worse, I was starting to notice the cold, and my fingers were getting pretty numb and close to useless.

I grabbed the radio off Amos's shoulder and punched the talk button. "Anybody ... HQ ... anybody ... this is Dylan Styles." I closed my eyes to think. "I'm at the railroad tracks at Johnson's Pasture. Amos had a wreck."

What road is this? Come on, Dylan, think.

"County Road 27. We need an ambulance! Now." I dropped the radio and grabbed Amos's head with my left hand. "Come on, buddy, focus."

The dispatch crackled. "Come again, Dylan. This is Shireen. Come back, Dylan."

I grabbed the mike again and mashed the transmit button. This time I shouted, "Shireen, send an ambulance. Amos is hurt bad. So is Amanda Lovett. Railroad tracks on 27. Shireen, get an ambulance."

Shireen said something, but I couldn't hear it because I was too busy pulling on the passenger door. It was jammed. I gently patted Amanda's cheek. "Amanda." I patted harder this time. "Amanda, help's coming. Hang in there. Help's coming."

There was no response. Reaching for her throat again, I felt for a pulse. Still there, but no improvement.

The snow was still falling heavily. By the looks of the car, they had flipped over several times. I needed leverage to get Amanda out, so I checked the trunk, which was dangling open. I yanked out the tire tool, shoved it into the door crack, and leaned hard against it. The door still wouldn't budge, but the car did. It slid another inch or two into the water. I leaned harder and Amanda rocked in her seat belt, waving her hands back and forth in the air below her head.

"Come on! Open!" I leaned into it with everything I had. "Please don't do this to me." The door creaked and moved another inch and stopped. As I pushed, the car slid a foot farther downhill, pulling me down into the water with it, where once again the cold took my breath away. When I stood, water was covering Amanda's hands and was mid-thigh on me. I dropped the crowbar on the bank, placed one foot on the side of the car, and pulled against the door handle.

Nothing.

Growing frantic, I started banging on the door with Amos's crowbar. My fingers were frozen, my footing was had, and I was running low on options and time. I began swinging the tire tool as hard as I could. On about the sixth whack, it slipped out of my hands, ricocheted off the frame, and spun through the darkness. Splashing in the water a few feet away, it was gone. I was now almost waist-deep in water with nothing to pull on, no footing, and I was losing control over my muscles.

Looking back inside the car, I could see Amanda's hands covered in water that was bubbling up against the top of her head. I don't know if it was the sight of Amos, cut and bloody; the sight of Amanda, blue, limp and unconscious; the thought of my wife, lying in that bed for four months; the thought of my son, lying in a cold, dark box; or the thought of me living in the middle of it all, but somewhere in there, I came apart.

It began low and guttural. Pretty soon it was angry, violent, and all I had. The snow had been beating against my back, so I turned to face it.

"Where are You?" Swinging at the snow, I fell chest-deep into the ice and water. "Huh? Where? You may be in that river watching over a baptism, and You may be hanging on the wall and watching when those numb people walk down and eat and drink You in every steeple-topped, vine-encrusted, pigeon-drop palace around here, but where are You now? For six days You left Amanda stripped and tied to a tree, You left me alone in a puddle on the delivery room floor, and You aren't here now!"

I kicked the water and screamed as loudly as I could. "Why won't You answer me?"

The wind picked up, and the snow fell harder. "Don't You hang up on me! Nuh-huh. Not now, when I've got Your attention. You want my attention? You want my belief? Is that what You want? Not until You get in this ditch!"

I stood up in the water. My clothes were stiff, wet, and covered in ice. I leaned my head against the car, breathing heavily, and closed my eyes. The snowfall had stopped and the moon appeared over my shoulder, casting my shadow on the water below me. Listening to my own wheezing, I stood weakly, close to broken, and hanging by a thread. "Lord," I whispered, "I need You in this ditch."

The car gave way, slid another foot, and partially submerged Amanda's head. I opened my eyes. "That's not helping me."

I lifted her head forward and gently pulled her shoulders toward me. Her eyes flickered. I pulled on her arms, but she didn't move, and I couldn't reach up across her stomach to unbuckle the seat belt. I reached into my back pocket, pulled out Papa's knife, fumbled to open the blade, and then cut the seat belt across her chest. The lap belt held, so I reached up, hooked under it, and pulled. I knew I was taking a chance, but I didn't have many others. Amanda's limp body fell forward, and she groaned. I pulled her arms and head out the driver's side window, but her stomach was too big. I cradled her in my arms and rested my face against hers.

"Amanda? Help's coming. Help's coming."

Her eyes opened and closed.

"Amanda? Amanda?" I gently slapped her face, and her eyes opened, but her pupils were everywhere. "I can't pull on you. You got to kick yourself out of this car. Move your legs. Come on. Help me get you out." I cradled her tighter and tugged until she groaned. "Help me, Amanda. Please help me."

I slapped her face again. Harder this time. She groaned, tried to move her legs, groaned again, and then her eyes closed and she let out a deep breath.

"Nuh-huh. Not you too! Don't you breathe out on me like that's your last breath." I dug my feet into the muck below and pulled as hard as I could. I placed my mouth against her ear. "Amanda, you do not have my permission to die in this ditch. You hear me? I know you're in there. You do not have my permission."

I pulled again.

"Amanda, open your eyes. D'you hear me? Talk to me. Please don't let this happen."

Amanda hung limp in my arms. Losing my grip, and slipping further in the ditch, I bear-hugged her head and shoulders and rocked her back and forth in the car. Her hips slid, and something gave way.

"That's right. That's right."

Amanda's petite frame slid through the window up to her stomach. She groaned, and it was then that I realized that her stomach was rock hard.

"Amanda," I whispered in her ear again, "I'm going to turn you and slide you out this window."

She groaned, but I turned her anyway. Her sweater caught on some glass, ripped, and exposed her stomach. I dipped down into the water and lifted her shoulders and head up. Her eyes flickered again. I lifted, pushed, pulled one more time, and she slipped out of the car and into the water.

Sliding out, all of Amanda's weight drove me down into the water. My feet lost their grip, and the water rose around my shoulders and my neck and then wrapped its cold fingers around my face and head. Pulling at me, it swallowed my head and ears. My head submerged, and I shouted under water. It was an eerie, muted explosion of anguish. I heard the swish of the water above me, felt the weight of Amanda's limp body on my outstretched arms, but my left hand told me that Amanda's head was out of the water. For an eternity, I fought the ice and water to hold her above my head, while struggling to get my feet under me. In fear, and involuntarily, I sucked in a lungful of water.

I kicked my feet into the muck below and caught something solid. Maybe a rock or a root. My legs shot us out of the water, and we landed on the bank. I was coughing, gasping, screaming for air, and Amanda lay on the ground, limp, lifeless, and without expression.

I tried to drag her up the ditch, but she was too heavy. I took off my coat and feebly wrapped it around her, but she wasn't shivering.

Resting my arm underneath her head, I leaned down and placed my face close to hers. Through the moonlight, I saw that she was open-eyed and crystal-clear focused on me. Her eyes startled me.

"Professor?" she whispered.

"Yeah ... yeah. Hey, I'm here. Right here."

"My son."

"Don't talk. We got to get you to the hospital. The ambulance is coming." I looked back up the bank for those headlights.

"Professor ... my son." Amanda gritted her teeth. "He's coming."

I looked down, placed my hand on Amanda's stomach, and felt the contraction hit. She groaned.

"What, right here?"

Above me, coming around the back of the car, I heard movement. Expecting Blue, I looked up, but it was Amos crawling to me with the sweatshirt still wrapped around his head. "Amos! Get to the road! Stop the ambulance!"

"Not coming," Amos whispered. "Road's too iced over. Sending a four-wheel drive, but it'll be twenty minutes 'fore he gets here."

"But she's having this baby now!"

Amos looked at me, leaning against the bank and breathing heavily, and said, "I know." He had regained his focus. "We were sitting in church when her water broke. We were on our way to the hospital when we hit the tracks." He tossed his head in the direction of the road. "Guess we're delivering that boy right here."

Amos closed his eyes and breathed as Amanda's stomach went soft again. She opened her eyes, they rolled back, and her head fell limp to one side. The left side of her head was cut, swelling, and bleeding a lot.

Amos grabbed my arm with his right hand and jerked me down on top of him. His eyes were three inches from mine. Through clenched and bloody teeth he said, "Dylan, you got to deliver that boy right here." He winced. "D.S., this is your time, your minute. You hear me? I can't help you, but I can talk you through it."

He opened his arm toward Amanda and slid down next to her. "D.S., place her head on my chest."

I did what he said.

"In my trunk is a wool blanket. Wrap it around her."

I reached into the open trunk and grabbed the blanket. Then I slid off Amanda's underwear, the middle of which was soaked a deep red, and wrapped her, as best I could, in the blanket.

"Can you see the head?"

I shined the light. "No, not yet."

"How far apart are the contractions?"

"I don't know ... a minute. Two at the most."

Just then Amanda's stomach tightened, she grunted, and her limp legs stiffened.

Opening his eyes, Amos asked, "That one?"

"Yes."

"How 'bout now? Can you see the head?"

I looked again. "Sort of. I can see something." I shined the light again. "Yeah, I can see the top of his head."

"All right." Amos wrapped his right arm over Amanda's chest and cradled her to him. Talking in her ear, he said, "Amanda, baby, I know you can hear me. I know it hurts. I know everything in you hurts, but you the only one can do this. Can't Amos or Dylan do this for you. You got it?"

Amanda made no response.

"Good, don't talk. But when it hurts ... you push."

Amanda's stomach tightened, she groaned louder, her legs tightened, and the baby's head came through the canal.

"Head's out, Amos." I caught Amanda's son's head in my fingers, and a warm, slippery, sticky liquid coated my hands.

It was no longer cold. The moon broke through from behind a single cloud, cast a shadow on the three of us, and glistened off the snow. I didn't need the flashlight to notice the blood.

"Make sure the cord isn't wrapped around his head."

"How? What am I looking for?"

`just run your finger around his neck and tell me if you feel a cord."

Shoving the flashlight in my mouth, I looked for a cord. I held the baby's head with my left hand and felt for the cord with my right.

"No cord," I said around the flashlight.

"Good," Amos said. "All right, Amanda, one more. This boy's coming right here. This is it."

Amanda's stomach tightened, she groan-coughed, and the baby's right shoulder slipped out.

"Amos, I got a shoulder."

"Gently, Doc."

Amanda's breathing was labored, and she was moaning.

"Make room for the other shoulder. Don't be afraid to use your hand. Make room. Pull if you have to, but not on the baby. You know what I mean. You've seen this done before."

I nodded. I ran my finger along the baby's back, slid my fingers in between Amanda and the baby, pulled gently outward, and the baby slid out. A wet, gooey, warm baby landed in my hands. Pulling him to me, I saw that he was blue, limp, and silent.

"He's out."

Amanda let out a long, deep breath.

"Is he breathing?"

I stuck my ear against his face.

"No."

Amanda whimpered.

"D.S." Amos raised his head, and the veins in his neck showed in the moonlight. "Get him breathing." His tone was urgent. "Put your mouth over his nose and mouth, and breathe into him. Breathe a full breath, but don't force it."

I cradled Amanda's son in my arms, placed his mouth and nose in my mouth, and breathed.

"What's happening?" Amos asked.

Again I pulled the baby's mouth to my cheek. "Nothing."

"Do it again."

I did. "No good."

"Take three fingers and compress his chest. Think of it like you're pushing on a roll of bread and you don't want to push through. Just mash it down."

I did.

"Anything?"

"Nothing."

Amos's eyes showed fear, and he kicked the ground beneath him. "Slap him."

"What do you mean, `Slap him'? Where?"

"Slap the kid, Doc! Just slap him!"

I smacked Amanda's son on the bottom. He jerked, sucked in a deep, gargled breath, and screamed at the top of his lungs.

Bathed in the moonlight, we sat listening to Amanda's newborn son. It was, quite possibly, the most beautiful sound I had ever heard.

Amos nodded, "Nice job, Doc. Nice job." His head fell back against the bank, his eyes closed, and there, in the middle of all that, Amos smiled.

I grabbed the sweatshirt off his head and placed the baby on Amos's chest. Shining the light on the bank, I found my knife, cut the cord midway between Amanda and the baby, tied a knot, and wrapped the baby tight inside the sweats. Amos's big hand cradled the child while his right arm covered Amanda.