Cynthia’s inner battle continued the day after she found out about Vita’s pregnancy. A guilty conscious marred her sleep. She knew that as a former nurse, she had the qualifications and the experience to bring Vita’s baby into this awful world. But the responsibility of child's delivery, without a support team or proper facilities? She shuddered just at the thought.

Homes filled with the blood of the former population and the memories of a massacre would rock that child to grisly slumber. Her own family remained neglected. She had been attempting to find them when the discovery of Peyton and Vita set her back. Would she be choosing one over the other?

Sitting down in the kitchen, she cradled her head in her calloused hands. Her thoughts raced. Pele had managed to drag up an old oak table and chairs from the basement a few days ago. Her eyes traced the contours of past dents and chips. Soon she heard footsteps and the splash of water against a glass. Her dry throat began to itch.

“Hola Cyn-tia,” Pele greeted in a gentle tone.

“Hola Pele,” she said, lifting her head. He slid her a metal cup full of water. Apparently, the shortage was not as dire as Peyton had stated yesterday. Vita’s wide eyes and sailor’s mouth from yesterday flashed back at her like a flashy TV ad.

“What troubles you, pretty woman?” The wrinkles in his tanned skin scrunched together like yarn.

“The young girl, Vita.”

“Oh, little gringo,” he said with a hint of distaste.

“Yes, she’s having a child.”

“Esta nina?” Pele exclaimed with wide eyes. Cynthia’s indifferent face forced him back to the less familiar world of English. “She is child and now she have child?”

She used her hand to indicate a half-moon over her abdomen. Pele shook his head with a frown, but she could tell he understood. “Pregnant.”

“Dios mio. This is no world for a baby. No world for anyone.”

Cynthia nodded as she watched him stand up and shake his head again. He left out the side door, which rested on two hinges after some of Peyton’s handiwork. Pele probably went to check on the projects he kept hidden and secret in the shed or his sacred garden. Her heart weighed heavy as his words stuck with her. This world had no means to support the future generations. How could a safe and clean childbirth even occur? She would have to talk to Vita about her options.

When the mother to be finally awoke from the living room couch and made her way to the kitchen, she was equally drained of life. Her eyes were red and puffy from the tears she had shed this morning. She played with the ends of her sleeves as she approached Cynthia.

“I can’t do this,” she said quietly, eyes fixed on the floor. “I’m not a mother.”

“No, you’re not, yet.”

“I can’t have this baby. I wouldn’t even know what to do with one if things were still normal. Is there any way I can,” her eyes met Cynthia’s for a brief moment, “you know?”

Cynthia took in a quick breath that remained trapped in her lungs. As a Christian, she had been taught to value all life. It couldn’t end with the wishes of a regretful teen. Her mind raced back to the motherless boy who she had left with that scheming thief. To what hands would Vita’s child fall victim to in the future?

“What happens to a baby in this world? It’ll starve or get killed. I’m sure.” Vita thought aloud as she pulled at the fraying strings of the shirt. “Why bother? I wouldn’t even be alive if you guys didn’t help me. Add a baby to that and we’ll both end up dead.”

“You don’t know that for sure.” Cynthia had to admit that the odds played heavily against the unborn child.

“How long do you really expect any of us to live out here?”

“If we can find a way to live off of the old resources and renewable ones-“

“Truth is, my chances of living go up substantially without this child.” Vita’s confidence had returned as she dared to look Cynthia in the eyes. Haunting clarity shone through her irises and contrasted the soft, swollen skin around them.

Cynthia didn’t want to consider that point. Could Vita really be so selfish as to end her unborn child’s life to save her own? The egos of the youth continued to shock her every day. She liked to believe that her son would have defied those stereotypes. He came from a good, stable home after all. What if he was still out there? Was her delay in finding him just as selfish as Vita looking out for herself?

“I bet Pele would know a natural way I can take care of this,” Vita said and looked towards the door. Cynthia knew she served no more use to the girl as she wouldn’t help advance her agenda.

Pele was notorious for spending his days in the dilapidated garden, overrun by new and old invasive species. He would rush into the house with their roots and seeds each day, ranting and raving in Spanish. They all thought that he was going a little mad. He hadn’t been out there long enough today for his excited outbursts to fill the kitchen.

Cynthia had a few words left that she would try. “Vita, you need to keep this child. Every life is sacred.”

“Is it?” she asked. “If it was so sacred, how could so many people die? How could any kind of God let this happen to its people?”

“It’s surely a test of faith,” Cynthia thought aloud. They were here on earth for a reason. They had to be.

Vita continued on her rant, “My parents and my best friend are gone, but do you know what holy figures were left? A raging psychopath who tried to burn us both alive and his sadistic friend. We weren’t spared. We were left here, and I plan on improving my odds of sticking around. Based on this situation, there’s no one out there looking out for me.” Vita stormed off into the other room with energy Cynthia hadn’t seen her use yet.

Cynthia sighed and her mind slowly reached a verdict with the issue of going after her family. This girl would live out her life how she pleased regardless of right and wrong. Cynthia hadn’t bothered to interfere with the lives of the other survivors she encountered, and she wondered why she felt compelled to do so in this case. She squashed those thoughts. Finishing the water, she devised a new plan. She would leave by nightfall and continue on her path to her family.

She left the house and went through the nearby warehouses looking for anything that could serve to protect her along the way or potentially a vehicle. The odds were unlikely, but she remained optimistic. She crossed into a desolate parking lot of an enormous gray panelled warehouse. She shook the handle of the service door with vigour, but the steel beast remained immobile. A medium sized rock lay next to the parking lot, which attracted her attention. She used gravity and the weight to dislodge the door knob, effectively severing its locking function. She slid it open and stepped inside the dark building with a ceiling at least two stories high.

After her shoes crunched on the gravel atop the cement flooring, she paused to see if there would be any reactionary noises. Ten seconds went by and the warehouse remained silent. She drew out a scented candle she had pocketed at Pele’s and struck a match. The light shone around her and illuminated the large parts to her left. A giant cylindrical metal casing lay on the ground, empty. She had seen something this size before and that shiny white colour. She walked onward, propellers jumped out at her from their mounted positions on the walls. Their sharp blades reminded her of the long swords one of the youth had held during the first week she spent scavenging. The week that convinced her to rely solely on her own humanity. Young people were at it again, this time killing unborn children instead of each other.

She had run out of the hospital with so many others. Even though she had spent her life working with those knocking on death’s door, nothing prepared her for the magnitude of the storm or its victims. She had been called in to help with the high number of weather incident coming into the ER. She kissed her husband John and her dear Winston goodbye before she ran out the door for what would be the last time.

“Be careful, mom!” Winston had called out with a wave.

“Love you, baby,” Cynthia said and blew him a kiss that he claimed he was too old to receive.

The roads overrun with abandoned cars or injured people, slowed her drive considerably. When she caught sight of two young men, one with a sharp wood projectile through his upper shoulder, she pulled over and offered them a ride. John would have a fit with all the blood in the upholstery, but she couldn’t leave the boys to be stranded. What if it had been Winston in this boy’s place?

“Thanks, lady. It’s crazy out there,” said the young uninjured man with dark eyes.

“What happened?” Cynthia asked.

“You didn’t see it?” the dark eyed man asked.

“Didn’t see what?”

“The tornado,” answered the injured friend who she assumed had passed out by his hunched form.

As if on cue, the sky darkened even more, and a crack of thunder rang out. The sky began to cry on New Mexico for the first time all summer, big wet sloppy tears that lasted for five straight days. To wash away the mess.