Jeanie snuffled quietly as she held on tight to Lexi’s limp hand. Her young friend continued to stare into space. She rarely blinked, and Jeanie’s worry ratcheted up like the first climb of a roller coaster. Click, click, click.

“–never get a crane in here.”

Jeanie frowned as she caught the end of the sentence. Two men walked toward her, locked in intense conversation. One strode tall and toothpick-thin, while the other looked almost spherical by comparison.

“What if people are alive in there?” Short Man asked, pointing a finger toward the rubble.

“What if 100 mph winds tear us all off the beach, Phil?” Tall Man scoffed. “It can’t be done. Not on this time frame.”

“Okay, helicopter then.”

“Are you an idiot? That’s worse!”

“They’re using a crane on the Jameson building down the street. I’ll call–”

The duo passed Jeanie at that moment, so she didn’t catch the rest through the strengthening wind.

She returned her attention to Lexi, whose hand still lay listless against hers.

Lexi couldn’t acknowledge the kind attention of her neighbor: her semi-conscious mind floated into another memory.

In this recollection, she sat on a hospital bed and panted. Hunched and tense, she fought for control.

“Don’t pass out on me, kid. You’re doing great.”

Lexi searched for the speaker and found a middle-aged woman in scrubs smirking at her.

“Keep up that huffing and puffing, and you’ll go down.”

“I don’t give two shits,” Lexi gasped, which made the nurse guffaw.

A scream rent the air like a guided missile. The feral sounds flew from her mouth against her will. Extreme pressure pulsed between her legs, angry and demanding. I’m going to split in half.

“WHERE IS HE?” Lexi’s roar turned into another guttural scream.

“Who, the daddy?” the nurse asked. Jean. That was her name–Jean. Other medical people in scrubs flustered around her, but Lexi focused on her nurse.

Lexi’s howl undulated with the nodding of her head.

“Sorry, sweet pea. No news.” Jean had the decency to look sympathetic. But Lexi didn’t want pity. She wanted Brad. He hadn’t picked up the phone all day. Had returned no texts.

A sudden squeal of unoiled door hinges announced a new arrival. Lexi’s head shot up hopefully, but her relief extinguished like a small flame in a stiff wind.

“Don’ worry, durlin’. Momma’s here.”

Lexi’s mother, Shawna, weaved into the room. A red mini-dress attempted to cling to her bony frame. A purple faux-velvet clutch purse hung from a metal chain on her shoulder.

“Ma’am, are you drunk?” Jean asked as a stern mask lowered over her gentle face.

Shawna screeched with jarring laughter. “Can’t I celebrate my first grandbaby? C’mon hunny. Don’ be a spoilsport.”

“If you’re under the influence, you can’t stay here.”

“Mama, just go,” Lexi spat.

“Oh, bubs, chill ouuuut.” Shawna stumbled toward the bed, a wide grin under half-lidded eyes.

“Get OUUUU–!” Lexi’s command morphed into another scream as her body took over. Her shoulders pulled forward and her stomach muscles clenched. Each cell of her body followed built-in choreography, pushing a new life into the world. As she yelled, she vaguely registered Jean bullying her mother out the door.

As her breath ran out, a hot slippery mass tumbled out of her and the pressure evaporated. Lexi sobbed with relief and flopped back onto the scratchy hospital sheets.

“You have a little boy, sweet pea!” Jean held up a slimy purple baby doll with scrunched features, and Lexi grimaced. Her nurse guffawed at the expression.

“Don’t worry, sis. That’s how they all look, fresh out of the oven!” Jean rubbed the baby’s head and body with a baby blanket as she walked to the head of the bed, which elicited loud newborn squalls. Then, without ceremony, Jean unsnapped her patient’s hospital gown and plopped the baby face-down onto her naked chest.

Lexi gasped and looked down in surprise. She reached up with both hands and placed them on her baby’s back.

“Hi,” she said, smiling. Her boy continued to wail as she stroked his pink skin. Soon, his head moved back and forth. Lexi laughed.

“Is he rubbing his nose?” she asked Jean.

Her nurse glanced over from a computer and quirked a grin. “Nope. He’s wantin’ the boob.”

“Oh,” Lexi said. She frowned. “How do I…?”

Jean pushed the keyboard back and strode to the bedside. She took the back of the baby’s head in one hand and Lexi’s breast in her other. “You’ve gotta line ‘im up, then make sure he gets a deep latch.”

“What’s a latch?” Lexi felt panicked. I don’t even know how to feed my baby.

“I’ll have a lactation consultant come in here and show you the ropes,” said Jean. “They know their stuff.”

Lexi watched her son’s jaw work as he tried to get a few drops of milk. Her heart swelled and her ribs felt like they might burst open. She traced his features with a finger, memorizing his forehead, his eyes, his tiny round nose… Lexi couldn’t remember a happier moment.

That flash of joy withered as she stayed up all night with her newborn for the next several weeks. Her mother never returned, and Brad disappeared completely. After a week of no sleep and no help, Lexi had trouble concentrating. She found she couldn’t sleep even when her baby boy did. He was always hungry for breastmilk and Lexi knew she should eat to keep up her milk supply, but she never felt hungry.

Jeanie checked on her after a while and said she might have postpartum depression. Lexi hadn’t known or cared what that meant, but Jeanie had stuck around for a long time after that, despite the new mother’s protestations.

Blinking, Lexi returned to the present. She met Jeanie’s eyes, still close to hers.

“I’m a terrible mother,” she croaked, then gave in to her grief.

***

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Esme blinked away the rain water, determined to keep her eyes open against the new threat. Tammy had died five minutes ago. Drowned. Her panicked cries had grown steadily in intensity, echoing around the other survivors. Shrieks turned to gurgling, coughing, and finally, silence.

The stillness was fleeting. New wails from the kids began not long after Tammy’s ceased. Matty kept calling out for Esme, but she couldn’t yell back loud enough to pierce through the chaos. The rain splattering on her face mingled with her tears as they ran down her skin and pooled in her ears.

“Carol? Mike?” Esme called.

“We’re here,” Mike yelled over the noise.

“Can you see them? Will you try to talk to them? They can’t hear me.”

“You got it,” Mike answered, then called out, “Kids? Matty? Hey, guys!”

Matty quieted first. “Yeah, Mr. Mike?” he answered.

“Are you hurt?”

“Is Miss Tammy dead?”

Mike hesitated. “I don’t know for sure, buddy,” he hedged. Simon and the baby continued to wail. “Your mom’s been wanting to talk to you, but she couldn’t get your attention. You want to try now?”

Matty sniffed. “Yeah.”

Esme wasted no time. “Mijo?”

“Mama, I’m scared. I want to snuggle you.”

“I want that so badly, mi amor,” Esme sobbed. “But right now, I need you to help your sister and Simon. They’re scared too.”

“Are we going to die like Miss Tammy?”

Every cell in Esme’s body reacted to the question. She used every piece of self-control she had not to release a raging scream into the darkness.

“Do you remember that movie we saw a few months ago? About the boys trapped in that cave when it flooded?” Esme asked.

“Oh, yeah!”

Esme and the Matty had watched a dramatization of the boys’ soccer team trapped in a cave system in Thailand after a flash flood.

“They didn’t know help was coming until that diver stuck his head up into their section of the cave, did they?”

“No! They were stuck in the dark, just like us!” Matty replied with excitement.

“We always have hope, mijo.”

Full of new excitement, Matty described the boys in the cave to Isabella. While she probably understood little of the story, the sound of her brother’s voice eased her tears. After a few moments, Simon also settled.

The newly quiet space amplified the plops of raindrops and rushing of miniature streams through the rubble. Esme hoped the kids didn’t notice. But their time was running out, faster and faster.

“Esme!”

She started at the sound of her name. “Mike?”

“Wasn’t me,” Mike answered.

“Me, either,” added Carol.

Esme’s heart pounded in her ears as she strained to distinguish any sound beyond the water moving past her.

“ESME!”

Marcus? It couldn’t be.

“Matty? Bella?” the voice called again.

“Marcus! We’re here!” Esme felt a spark of hope ignite in her core.

“Who’s that?” Carol asked.

“My husband,” Esme said, and this time her tears painted a picture of relief and joy.

Then a deep rumble shuddered through the ruins of the Paradise.