Free Web NovelChapter 240: Chapter 240 - Is She Carrying?
Iyisha counted the cans twice.
There were eleven cans of sardines, six cans of corned beef, three cans of mushrooms, and two cans without labels. One had rust eating along the rim. She pushed that one aside.
Marybeth sat across from her on the floor with a dull knife in one hand and a torn cardboard box between her knees. She sorted the water bottles by weight, shaking each one close to her ear before putting it with the others.
"Sixteen good bottles," Marybeth said. "Three half full. One smells musty."
Marybeth twisted the cap back on and set it near the door.
"But we can still use it for washing."
Iyisha nodded and marked the count on the back of an old flyer. Her fingers felt stiff. Malcolm and the others had dragged everything back in torn bags, pillowcases, and one cracked plastic bin they found under a desk.
It was not enough.
It was still more than they had yesterday.
She wrote the number down and reached for another box. The cardboard softened under her hand. It had been taped shut, then taped again by someone who had probably planned to come back for it.
No one had.
She pulled the flap open.
Marybeth leaned forward. "What is it?"
Iyisha looked inside. "Tampons. You still need them?"
Marybeth gave a short laugh, but there was no humor in it.
"I’m done. That box is late."
She reached in and touched the sealed packs like they were something expensive.
"I used rags and hated every second of it."
Iyisha swallowed. "I did that too."
Marybeth looked up.
"The first month on the road," Iyisha said. "I didn’t know where to get anything. I had one small pack, then nothing. I used strips from an old shirt."
Marybeth nodded slowly. "Yeah."
Iyisha looked back into the box. There were maybe twenty left. Still clean. Still wrapped. Safe in plastic.
"I still have some in the car," she said.
The car.
The box in the car.
She had been holding on to that box since before The Route. She remembered shoving it under the passenger seat with the wipes, a bottle of painkillers, and a spare shirt. She remembered thinking she would need it soon.
Her thumb pressed into the cardboard.
When did she last need it?
The room seemed to narrow around the lantern light.
She stared at the tampons.
The Ambush.
The Route.
The road.
The Motherhold.
The Whitewater.
Her stomach pulled tight.
Marybeth stopped sorting.
Iyisha felt her looking before she raised her head.
Marybeth’s eyes had narrowed. Not much. Just enough.
"Iyisha."
Iyisha put the pack back inside the box. "What?"
Marybeth sat back on her heels. "When was your last cycle?"
Iyisha’s throat closed.
She looked at the cans. Then the flyer. Then the knife near Marybeth’s knee.
"I don’t know."
Marybeth did not move.
Iyisha forced herself to breathe.
"Before The Route."
Marybeth’s face changed.
Only a little.
That made it worse.
"No," Iyisha whispered.
Marybeth’s mouth parted, then closed.
"No." Iyisha shook her head once. "No, it can’t be."
Marybeth glanced at the door.
The hallway was quiet. The men were still outside, dividing what they had dragged from the third floor. Malcolm’s voice passed once, low and rough, then faded.
Iyisha’s fingers curled around the edge of the box.
"I have an IUD," she said.
Marybeth looked back at her.
"I have one," Iyisha repeated. Her voice came out sharper. "And Malcolm had a vasectomy when he was eighteen."
Marybeth’s brows pulled together. "Eighteen?"
"That’s what he said."
Marybeth rubbed both hands over her face and lowered them slowly. "Vasectomies can fail."
"Not like that."
"They can."
"Not his." Iyisha’s voice cracked. She hated it. She tightened her jaw and looked away. "And not with an IUD too."
Marybeth said nothing.
That silence crawled under Iyisha’s skin.
"No," Iyisha whispered again.
Her hand went to her stomach before she could stop it.
She snatched it away.
Marybeth saw.
Iyisha hated that too.
"How long?" Marybeth asked.
Iyisha shook her head. "I said I don’t know."
"Think."
"I am thinking."
"Before The Route," Marybeth said quietly. "How long before?"
Iyisha pressed her knuckles against her mouth.
She remembered blood.
She remembered folding toilet paper thick because she had used the last pad.
She remembered sitting in the bathroom in their room at the Heart Community. She had been glad it was over before they got back on the road.
Her eyes widened.
Marybeth leaned closer. "What?"
Iyisha’s voice dropped. "That was way before we met you."
Marybeth went still.
The room stayed quiet around them.
Iyisha tried to count backward, but the days would not stay in order. Everything after The Route had turned into running, hiding, bleeding, fighting, sleeping in broken places, and waking to Malcolm’s hand over her mouth because something was outside.
Her cycle should have come.
It should have come on the road.
Then at the Motherhold.
Then after Whitewater.
It had not.
Her skin went cold.
Marybeth reached for her wrist. "Hey."
Iyisha pulled back too fast.
"I’m not pregnant."
"I didn’t say you were."
"You looked like it."
Marybeth’s lips pressed together.
Iyisha stood. The box tipped against her knee, and the tampons spilled across the floor. Wrapped plastic scattered under the lantern light.
She stared down at them.
Her breath came too fast.
Marybeth rose slowly. "Iyisha."
"I can’t be." Iyisha stepped back. "That’s impossible."
Almost impossible.
The thought came before she could stop it.
Iyisha’s stomach turned.
The door opened.
Both of them turned.
Malcolm stood in the doorway with a sack over one shoulder. Dust clung to his shirt. Dried blood marked his knuckles. His eyes moved from Marybeth to Iyisha, then to the tampons scattered across the floor.
His grip tightened on the sack.
"What happened?"
Iyisha could not move.
Marybeth picked up one of the water bottles and shoved it into the crate like the room had not just cracked open.
"Nothing," Iyisha said.
Malcolm did not believe her.
His eyes stayed on her face.
Iyisha bent down and grabbed the spilled packs with shaking hands. She shoved them back into the box too fast and crushed one corner.
"Just counting supplies."
Pregnant.
The word hit the back of her skull and stayed there.
She was not sure. She was not even close to sure. It could be stress. Hunger. Exhaustion. The road had broken everyone’s body in some way.
But what if it was not that?
Her hand tightened around the box.
Could she tell Malcolm with nothing but fear in her hands? Could she say it when he had made sure this would never happen? When he had chosen that at eighteen because he knew the world had no place for children?
Malcolm stepped inside.
The room felt smaller with him in it.
Marybeth looked at Iyisha once, then lowered her eyes.
Malcolm set the sack down. Metal clinked inside.
"You’re pale."
"I’m just tired."
He watched her.
Iyisha forced herself to meet his eyes. She had stared down hunters. She had pulled him back from death. She could do this.
Her eyes still wavered.
Malcolm saw it.
His jaw moved once.
"Iyisha."
"Don’t."
The word came out too fast.
Malcolm went still.
Marybeth’s gaze snapped to her.
Iyisha swallowed. "I mean, not now."
Malcolm’s eyes sharpened. "Not now for what?"
Her fingers dug into the box. The plastic wrappers crinkled inside.
Pregnant.
Future.
Child.
Malcolm looking at a baby and seeing only another thing the world could take from him.
Her chest tightened so hard she almost bent over.
"Malcolm!" Aljun shouted from outside.
Malcolm did not turn.
"Go," Iyisha said. "They need you."
He stayed there another second. Then he looked at Marybeth.
Marybeth said nothing.
That made his eyes harden.
Iyisha hugged the box against her chest.
"Malcolm."
His gaze returned to her.
"Go."
He left slowly.
The door remained half open behind him.
Iyisha listened to his footsteps until they faded.
Then her knees weakened.
Marybeth caught her before she hit the floor.
"Iyisha."
Iyisha gripped Marybeth’s arm hard enough to hurt.
"No," she whispered. "Please. I don’t want to talk about it."
Marybeth held her up.
The cans sat in neat rows beside the wall. The water bottles rolled softly against one another as Iyisha tried to breathe.
"You might need to tell Malcolm."
Iyisha shook her head.
She knew that.
God, she knew that.
But how could she tell him when she did not even know if it was real? How could she give the fear a voice and watch it land on him?
He did not want children. He had vasectomy as soon as he can.
Her hand pressed against her stomach again. freewebnσvel.cѳm
This time, she did not pull it away fast enough.
Marybeth saw.
Iyisha shut her eyes.
Voices rose outside.
Not normal voices.
Sharp ones.
Running steps hit the hallway.
Marybeth let go of Iyisha and grabbed the dull knife from the floor.
Iyisha wiped her face with the back of her hand and followed her out.
The hall was already crowded.
Arnulf came through last, breathing hard, one hand pressed to the wall to keep himself upright.
Iyisha’s chest loosened.
He was alive.
Two others stumbled in after him and dropped to the floor. Their clothes were soaked through with sweat. Dried human blood streaked their arms, their faces, their shirts. One of them dragged in air with his mouth open. The other kept staring back at the stairwell.
Only two.
Five had run.
Arnulf had brought two back.
Relief hit Iyisha hard enough that she almost missed the fear on his face.
Malcolm stepped in behind them with his gun up.
"What happened?" Marybeth asked.
The man on the floor lifted one shaking hand and pointed toward the front of the building.
"There’s a monster."
The hall went still.
