Days' End (27 page)

Nysa sat by Jacqueline’s bed offering any comfort she could think of, or that was asked of her. She had been rubbing the small of Jacqueline’s back and feeding her ice chips for the last couple of minutes.

“Now, can you rub my legs,” Jacqueline asked, turning from her side onto her back. “They’re driving me nuts.”

“Absolutely.” Nysa began massaging her legs, first the right then the left, working her way from Jacqueline’s thigh down to her foot. “Better?”

The doctor stepped forward. “Let’s get this baby delivered, shall we?” Jacqueline nodded in response. The nurses moved to various parts of the room and began their preparations. “Very good,” he continued. “During the next contraction I need you to push for a count of ten. Can you do that?”

“Yes,” answered Jacqueline.

With the next contraction, Jacqueline took and deep breath and pushed.

Nysa counted “One, two, three…” At ten, Jacqueline let out her breath and collapsed back onto the bed.

“Very good,” the doctor said. “The baby’s head crowned. Now I need you to do the same thing again with the next contraction.”

Jacqueline’s nails dug into Nysa’s hand as she took another deep breath and pushed.

“Great, great,” coached the doctor. “You’ve got him moving now. I want you to push his head out with your next contraction, okay? You need to push as hard as you can.”

Jacqueline collapsed back onto the bed, trying to catch her breath as the contraction ended.

“You’re doing wonderfully,” Nysa told her. “One more time, okay?”

December 24, 8:02 PM

Alastair slowly made his way up the ladder inside the elevator shaft. While the four guards ran around the lower floors and the other two sat in the lobby, Alastair would be able to climb to level B-4, pry open the doors as he had on the lower level, and find Nysa.

The trip was slow and methodical. He couldn’t afford a misstep now. He was eight floors above the bottom of the shaft. One slip could leave him dead. Hand over hand and foot over foot he proceeded. Occasionally he paused to wipe the sweat from his brow and hands.

At level B-6, he took his last break. The gun slipped out of his pocket. He watched in horror as it disappeared into the blackness below. It discharged at impact and the sound was deafening.

The two guards in the lobby immediately turned to the source of the sound. Stepping into the elevator one of the guards took out a flashlight and shined it down between the elevator and floor.

“Holy shit! There he is! The mother fucker’s in the shaft!” The guard took his rifle and shoved it down into the gap in the floor and opened fire.

Alastair could feel and hear the bullets whizzing past him and careening off the walls and ladder. Thankfully, the narrowness of the gap between the elevator and the building did not allow the guard much room to maneuver and aim. The guards were spraying bullets down the elevator shaft in the hopes of hitting him.

His only hope was up. Scrambling up the ladder, Alastair prayed to God he’d make it. He was so close now. One floor away. He kept climbing. An excruciating pain filled his hand. As he reached for the next rung he saw only four fingers on his right hand. One of the bullets had found its mark and blown off his pinkie.

He kept climbing. Alastair was beyond caring at this point. He could see the release lever on the inside of the door. He reached out for it, grasping the bar with what remained of his right hand and pulled. He slipped and almost lost his grip with his left hand.

His lost his footing, leaving him dangling by one hand sixteen floors above the elevator basement. Focusing to keep himself from panicking, Alastair found the rung, first with his right foot, then his left. Bracing himself and trying to ignore the hailstorm of gunfire from above, he pulled once more. This time it gave.

Stepping quickly from the ladder into the cover of the door, Alastair slid the door closed behind him. He had no time to lose. They might not know which floor he’d entered, but it wouldn’t be long before they figured it out. He was sure of that. There was nobody around.

He moved carefully from room to room until he heard noise coming from a room at the end of the hall. Grabbing a gauze pad from a medical cart as he made his way down the hall, Alastair quickly wrapped his injured right hand. The sounds were clearer now. It was a woman yelling and voices talking. He jogged quickly to the doorway and looked in.

There was Nysa! She was standing at the side of the hospital bed, bent over and talking to the woman on the bed who, from the looks of things, was about to give birth. Alastair entered the room.

Nysa looked up. “Alastair?”

The others looked over at him.

“How…? What are you doing here?” she asked.

Alastair stepped further into the room and stopped next to Nysa. “I had to come for you. Whatever it is you’re doing here, you have to stop. Stop and come home, there’s not much time.”

“I can’t stop,” Nysa replied. “It’s done.”

Jacqueline took a deep breath and pushed, screaming with exertion as she tried to bring her son into the world.

“What’s done?” he asked.

The baby’s head slid gently out of the birth canal. How odd that a baby so young should have such a look of sadness on his face, Alastair thought.

“He is,” Nysa replied, a pure expression of love shining on her face.

Alastair looked down at the child being born. “Jesus Chri—”

About the Author

Born and raised in southern California, Scott and his family recently relocated to Colorado. He resides just south of Denver with his beautiful wife and two energetic boys. This is his debut novel and he is currently working another, which will be the first in a series of four. Please visit his website www.scottlcollins.com.