Page 7 of Blizzard Babies (Alaska Blizzard #6.5)

Charli

This isn’t good.

We were in the middle of a blizzard, essentially in the middle of nowhere, and Laurel is in labor.

She’s doing her best to pretend it’s no big deal, that it will probably be tomorrow before the baby comes, but we all know that isn’t true.

Her water broke, and the contractions are less than eight minutes apart.

Things progressed quickly, and we don’t even have a bottle of water between us.

“Women in the old days did this all the time,” Laurel says, leaning back in the seat, her face beaded in sweat.

I’m not going to point out the infant mortality rate in those days.

“I can walk to get help,” I say for the fourth or fifth time.

“We don’t know how far it is,” Sara protests. “I think it’s more dangerous for you to go than to stay.”

“Laurel needs help,” I say. “I don’t think we have a choice anymore.”

“This baby’s coming,” Laurel says after a moment. “I’m trying to stay calm and keep things from progressing, but they are. One way or another, she’s coming.”

“Which is why I have to go.” I calmly put on my gloves and hat.

“I don’t want you to get lost in this storm,” Laurel whispers softly. “Please don’t go out in this. You have to think about your baby too.”

“I’m thinking about all of us,” I say firmly. “I know approximately where we are. We were about half a mile from the next exit and we’re not that far from the access road. No more than a quarter of a mile.”

“But what direction?” Whitney asks.

“I don’t know,” I admit. “I’m hoping once I’m out there I’m going to see something familiar. Maybe even a house. We aren’t in the wilderness. We’re just a few miles from the shopping plaza where the spa was, and we’re in the Anchorage city limits. I can’t believe it’s that far to get help.”

No one says anything, and after a moment, I open the car door.

“Please be careful,” Laurel whispers.

“I will.” I close the door behind me and look around.

As I predicted, the heat of the engine melted some of the snow directly around us, so I have room to walk. The problem is that it’s practically snowing sideways. The wind is brutal, and though I’m not cold yet, it’s going to be extremely difficult to go in the direction I need to go.

There’s no way to get back up to the highway.

Even if I could see, I’m not currently in good enough shape to make it back up a hill that steep in these conditions.

The only option I have is to head in the direction I hope is the next exit.

We aren’t in an overly hilly area, so even though it’s too much of an incline for me to climb in this weather, it won’t be too far to civilization.

At least that’s what I keep telling myself.

It’s slow going because of the wind. I have to keep my head down, and pushing through snow drifts is exhausting. Luckily, the adrenaline kicked in again and the nausea abated.

Hopefully, the baby growing inside of me is being rocked to sleep by my movement and blissfully unaware of how stressed I am. Ironically, I’m not particularly worried for myself. I’m dressed for the weather and believe help is close, so it isn’t about me.

I’m far more concerned that Laurel is in labor four weeks early. She’s being brave about how scared she is, but there’s no doubt she’s terrified.

We all are.

That’s why I’m out here braving the elements.

Yes, we all know that historically women gave birth in much less convenient environments than a warm car with friends who are at least somewhat educated in what to do.

Other than Sara, we don’t have much medical knowledge, but Laurel and I have both been through childbirth, and we all watched and read all kinds of pertinent information.

We’ll figure it out.

The issue, of course, is the possibility of complications. If anything at all goes wrong, none of us are prepared. Hell, I’m fairly certain we don’t even have a way to cut the cord, so while we’ll do whatever is necessary, so many things can go wrong.

As someone who’s given birth in a hospital with all the care I needed, I can’t imagine going through it in a car without any kind of medical assistance. And I don’t want that for Laurel either.

I’m also plagued with a bit of guilt because it was my idea to go out to breakfast in the first place. We probably should have stayed home knowing there was a bad storm coming.

I was also the one driving, and there’s a part of me that isn’t sure I did everything I could to avoid the accident. It wasn’t my fault, but there were probably better ways to handle it other than just jerking the wheel. I don’t know what else I could have done, but I still feel responsible.

Ahead, in the distance, I suddenly see light.

Whatever it is, it calls to me like a beacon, and I move a little faster, hoping there’s someone there. If not, I have to consider doing something illegal. I can’t imagine I’ll get more than a fine if I break a window of a home or business so I can use the phone to get help.

Right?

The thought of going to jail is a little daunting, but I’ll figure it out. Miikka will hire me a great lawyer. Surely, they’ll understand as long as we pay for the damage.

I let my thoughts run wild, imagining what I’ll look like, six months pregnant in prison stripes or something equally ridiculous.

I almost laugh.

It takes a lot longer than I hoped, but that damn light is getting closer and it looks like a house.

Please please please let someone be home .

Where else would they be in a storm like this?

I pick up my pace and get to the yard of a small house. Now that I’m here, I can see other houses, and relief washes over me. Someone will be home in one of them. Hopefully, none contain serial killers.

I knock on the door loudly, pounding repeatedly.

Then I hear footsteps.

Thank goodness.

“Oh my!” A startled looking man of about sixty stares at me. “Are you all right, miss?”

“We were in a car accident,” I whisper, taking a breath. “Can I use your phone?”