Only a few more days of school remained after I took my vows. The littler kids were already done, and the bigger kids like me were taking exams. During the final exam in Mr. Caine's class, a little girl came into the classroom and ran up to Mr. Caine. They whispered, and then Mr. Caine called me to the front of the class.

    "Zoey," he whispered, "leave your exam on your desk. I'll pick it up and keep it for you for later. You have to help your mother with a delivery. Go and meet her at the street corner. Good luck."

    I nodded and left the school building. I went to the street corner, and Mom came running.

    "Who is it?" I asked her as we started to walk, almost at a jog. "Who's in labor?"

    "It's Rachel," Mom said. "Ms. Dresden."

    That's what I had thought. I knew it was almost her time.

    "Zoey, remember what I've said. Rachel has had a hard time. We're not here to judge. She needs our help."

    "I know, Mom."

    I had always found Ms. Dresden a fascinating, if somewhat troubled, presence in our community. She was a young woman, only nineteen or twenty. She was extremely pretty, I had always thought-short, a little stout, but muscular and well-built, with full hips and breasts, perfect teeth and skin, a sprinkling of freckles across the tops of her cheeks, and remarkably red hair the color of some fall leaves-vibrant, undulating, and free. She kept her hair longer than most women, just down to her shoulders, but not as long as my mom did hers. She smiled and laughed often, though she seemed more impish and sardonic than cheerful, I thought later. Her parents had both been killed in the initial onslaught of the dead, twelve years ago. Rachel had managed to hide until she saw the people in the museum; she had scrambled over the wall to safety with them.

    As with many people her age, she'd had difficulty adjusting to our way of life, more difficulty than most people who were either older or younger. When I was little, she was the wild girl parents warned their children about-smoking cornsilk cigarettes (or even marijuana, I had heard people accuse), wearing suggestive clothing and garish makeup, staying out late with boys her own age or older. Hanging around boys and men all the time, she'd learned to operate heavy machinery-loaders, forklifts, excavators-and she spent much of her time going past the fence to haul lumber or other supplies back to our city. Of course, hanging around men all the time inevitably led to the situation my mom and I had to help with this day.

    Even though my parents encouraged me to be more circumspect in my own behavior, they kept the blame and ostracism of Rachel to a minimum; they said she was so hurt and alone by what had happened that she compensated by taking risks and behaving in unacceptable ways. The important thing, they always insisted, was that she never hurt or lied to anyone, and therefore her behavior was not immoral in any substantive, important way. I of all people knew about ostracism, so I did not want to ridicule or criticize her.

    My mom told me Rachel had not-or, the gossips confidently asserted, could not-name her baby's father, but this made no difference to us that day. She was alone and in pain, and all we needed to think about was how to help her.

    Ms. Dresden's house wasn't far from the school. We went right in. There were old rock posters on the walls, dead flowers in a vase, and lace and bead curtains in each window and doorway. A large pistol sat on the end table next to the couch, and leaning on the wall between the end table and couch there was a shotgun. She'd stuck a big, plastic flower in the barrel of that. On the mantle she had a rifle, a box of ammo, and a bunch of partly burnt candles, all under a picture of Jimi Hendrix superimposed on a marijuana leaf. I thought it was the most delightfully scandalous room I had ever seen.

    We followed her grunts to her bedroom. Ms. Dresden was on her bed, panting and sweating, her belly impossibly huge. She didn't greet us, just sort of nodded as she breathed, puffing her cheeks out with air. She threw her head back, grimaced, and let out a howl of animal agony.

    Mom took a towel out of her bag and unrolled it on a chest at the foot of the bed, revealing a row of medical instruments. She pulled on her rubber gloves, then handed me a pair; I put them on.

    "Easy, Rachel," Mom said as she pushed the woman's knees up and back, then pushed the big gown or t-shirt up around Rachel's waist. The sheets under her were wet; her water had broken. Rachel gave another howl. The contractions were really close together. This would be done pretty soon.

    "Thanks for coming so fast, Sarah," Rachel managed to pant in response, before another contraction wracked her body. "I appreciate it."

    "Of course. You knew I would." Mom kept her eyes on Rachel's as she reached inside. "You're not dilated enough, so try not to push. I know it's hard."

    Rachel went through another contraction, this time with her mouth open but silent, trying to work the uncooperative muscles and fight the urge to push. All the drugs used to induce or inhibit labor had long since expired. So had the ones for pain. Sometimes the woman would bite something, like a strap or a rolled up towel. Mom would usually run the generator to power an ultrasound machine twice during a pregnancy, but other than that, births took their course with little interference from technology. Mom just had to keep encouraging her and checking how dilated she was.

    Ms. Dresden let out a string of expletives with most of the contractions, cursing the world and herself, but it was pretty normal by birthing standards. This went on for a while, but not nearly as long as some of the more difficult births I'd been to. In less than an hour, Rachel was fully dilated and could push. Mom guided the baby and coached Rachel, and I got ready to catch it with a clean towel. But after it had crowned, I could see there was a problem. Its shoulder caught a little, and the baby was a pale blue. Mom kept working, but she looked to me. A stillbirth was an extremely traumatic and dangerous procedure and I'd never been with Mom during one-until then.

    "What's going on?" Ms. Dresden demanded, picking up on the change in our demeanor. "What's wrong?"

    Mom was working to maneuver the tiny corpse out of her. "Your baby's not alive, Rachel. I'm so sorry. But we have to work quickly. You know that. Keep pushing. Zoey, get ready to cut the cord."

    I grabbed a pair of shears from the tools Mom had brought. Gleaming, stainless steel-I never liked handling medical instruments. I found the oily, black sheen of guns far preferable; they seemed more human somehow, while such shiny, pristine utensils as these looked alien and otherworldly, taken from out of science fiction and dropped down onto our simple, dirty, broken planet.

    Ms. Dresden let out another howl as she pushed, and this one was followed by two small sobs. The tiny body finally slipped out of her. Mom held up the cord for me. I cut through it, surprised again at how tough and gristly the flesh seemed, like a chicken neck. Mom handed the body to me and I wrapped it in the towel, trying to keep my back to Ms. Dresden so she couldn't see it. I made the wrapping as tight as I could, covering its face, and set it on the floor where I thought Ms. Dresden wouldn't be able to see it. I turned back to Mom, who was working to get the afterbirth out. "Keep pushing, Rachel." Mom was sniffling too, I could see, and she bent her head down to wipe her eye on her sleeve. "We've got to get everything out. We don't want infection. And you know we have to do it quickly now."

    Ms. Dresden's sobs crescendoed to the most perfect, keenest wail that cut down from my head to my abdomen and resonated there, making my diaphragm spasm into choked, restrained sobs. She took a wheezing gasp and then cried, "Who the hell cares? Just leave me alone!" She let out another string of expletives, then started thrashing her legs, kicking at us. I grabbed her right leg and held it as best I could so Mom could finish.

    After she had done everything she could, Mom balled up a towel with all the fluids and tissue and shoved it to the side. "Okay, Rachel, okay, we're done." She looked down at the bundle I had put on the floor. She nudged it with her foot. It slid just a little, then started to move on its own, the towel pushing out in one spot, then another. Mom scooped up the bundle and her bag. "Zoey, stay with Rachel. I need to take care of this."

    Ms. Dresden sat up as Mom hurried from the room. I tried to sit next to her, to comfort her, but she was already thrashing and pushing me away. I got her around the shoulders, but she was strong.

    "Get off of me, you bald, little freak!"

    She wrenched her body away and tried to follow my mom. I thrust my left arm over her shoulder and across her chest, then snaked my right arm under and around hers to press my hand on the back of her head-a half nelson, my dad had called it. It was a better hold, as I didn't think she could shake me off as easily, but I didn't have as much purchase with my legs. I could feel her well-muscled back and shoulders; with the adrenaline pushing her, she could probably stand up with me still clinging to her. I braced my right foot on the floor and twisted my body to keep her from standing.

    "I said get off me, you little, zombie, freak girl!" She elbowed the side of my head, but I held on. I was crying because I was fighting this poor woman, not because of the pain.

    "Sarah, you bring my baby back in here!" she bellowed as she got one foot on the floor and started to turn. "You got no right to do anything with it!"

    "I have to take care of it, Rachel!" Mom shouted from the other room. "You know that!" I could hear a small moaning-plaintive and angry-and then repeated tearing sounds.

    I leaned back as hard as I could, but Ms. Dresden was getting her other foot around to stand.

    "You leave my baby alone! And you and your little freak girl leave me alone, too! You always think you're so high and mighty, Sarah, 'cause you're married to the big, boss man of this little shit hole! Screw you!"

    Now she had both feet on the floor. I grabbed the headboard of the bed with my left hand as I twisted and wrapped my right leg around her waist. She slid a little and lost her balance and we were wrestling on the bed again as she screamed more at my mom. "Yeah, the big man! Piss off, Sarah! Maybe it was him that knocked my ass up! Maybe hubby's been screwing me 'cause you're such a cold, heartless bitch, and now you want to take it out on my poor baby! Is that it, Sarah, you sick cunt?"

    "Rachel, stop it," Mom said in loud but measured tones. "I know you're devastated, but stop it. Zoey doesn't need to hear that." There was a thud from the other room, and Ms. Dresden went slack and slumped back on me.

    I slipped my arm and leg from around her. "Mom?" I croaked, my voice sticking in me. "You're going to bring Ms. Dresden's baby back in here, aren't you?"

    "Yes, Zoey, I just dropped my bag." She came through the door carrying the bundle, which she had wrapped with white cloth tape. The head was poking out, moving a little side to side and moaning. "Zoey," Mom said, "go to my bag and get a surgical mask for Rachel. Sometimes they spit."

    I nodded and went to get the mask. Once I'd put it on Ms. Dresden, Mom handed the bundle to her. "It's a boy," she announced.

    Ms. Dresden nodded a little and rocked the thing that would've been her child in a better, kinder world. Unlike a normal baby, it watched her intently, its cloudy eyes filled with that mixture of forlornness and bestial hunger that one can always imagine in the eyes of the dead.

    The tears came slow and steady now from its mother. Not the previously violent sobs of denial and rage, but the calmer bathing as her soul sank down into abiding sorrow, accepting the small comfort that comes from embracing enormous pain.

    Mom brushed Ms. Dresden's sweaty, red hair off her forehead. It was so red and glistening that for a moment it looked as though she had removed a bloody gash from there. Mom smoothed the hair back, then gently stroked her pale face, swollen but still so overwhelmingly pretty, and now so weak and vulnerable. "I'm so sorry, Rachel. I'm so, so sorry."

    Ms. Dresden looked up at my mom, and pulled the mask a little away from her mouth to speak. "I shouldn't have said those awful things, Sarah. I don't know what to say now. Please forgive me."

    "Of course, Rachel. I've heard a lot from women in labor. Don't worry about me. I've always said you were a nice girl. I know you are."

    Ms. Dresden turned to me. "You too, Zoey. I'm so sorry I said those things and hit you."

    "It's okay," I said.

    "You hold him a while, Rachel," my mom said. "You need to. It's natural. And when you need to put him down, I'll put him in the other room, so he's safe. I think Zoey should sit with you for a while, if that's okay. It's harder when you're alone."

    We both nodded.

    Mom and I sat in the living room among the guns and rock posters for what seemed like a long time while Ms. Dresden held her baby. Afterward, Mom put the baby in the bathtub and closed the bathroom door. She and I gathered the bloody towels and made a clean bed for Ms. Dresden, propping her up with fresh blankets and pillows. Mom left, and the two of us sat alone, not speaking, just sitting there, Ms. Dresden in her bed, me in a chair next to her.

    "Zoey," she said, breaking the silence, "I know it sounds funny, when so much has happened, but I can barely see straight, I'm so hungry. Someone left some stuff for me. It should be on the stairs down to the basement, where it's cooler. Please bring me something. It doesn't matter what."

    I went to the kitchen, where the door to the basement was. There was still enough daylight coming in that I could see a few steps down into the darkness. Hanging on the wall was a large haunch of smoked deer meat, and on the steps was a bag with berries in it, and another with hard, dry bread. In the kitchen, I found a knife to cut away some of the hard rind on the meat, and to slice the bread into smaller chunks. I picked through the berries to get out the moldy ones, too. I took the good parts to Ms. Dresden and we sat on her bed, chewing silently till we were full. Then she lay back. I put the food in the bags and returned it to the basement stairs. Then I sat back down on my chair next to her.

    I lit a candle when it got darker. More light might've been nice, but most of our candles were tallow, and the smell wasn't pretty.

    Ms. Dresden spoke up again. "That was gross what I said about your dad. I know your mom and dad are nice and they don't talk about me. I should've remembered that, and I also should've respected you and not tried to hurt you, especially not that way. You've always been a nice girl, too. I'm so sorry."

    "It's hard, when you're sad and in pain, to be nice. I know."

    "I guess that's right. But still, I shouldn't have." Though the candlelight made the room look slightly sinister, Rachel's face looked serene and softened. "I need to sleep." She scooted over a little on her bed. "Sit next to me if you want, if it'd be more comfortable. Or I'll be okay if you want to leave."

    I sat next to her. "It's okay. I could stay a while. Mom will come get me later."

    Protect the living. Honor the dead. I had done what I had trained to do, what was necessary for survival. Survival meant life continued, and life was hard. This was true, and I now saw how difficult truth was.

    As she finally sank into an exhausted sleep, Ms. Dresden's breathing fell into a rhythm that matched the frail wheezing from the thing in the other room as it struggled against its bonds. Though identical in rhythm, the latter had the ragged pant of desire, frustration, and restlessness, while poor Rachel's spent body was only soft, yielding, finally without struggle or pain. I leaned against her as she slept and just breathed in all her feminine, fecund, and profane scent-warm, solid, and enduring. Though there was a pain in my heart so cold and bitter I could taste it, metallic and sharp, slowly I felt my bones soften and settle onto Rachel's small but powerful frame, till I too fell asleep.