Chapter Ninety-Three Dottie
Chapter Ninety-Three
Dottie
Peggy’s water breaks, right here on the doorframe. A small puddle. Soaking into the dirt floor.
I reach for a towel. She grabs my arm.
“Leave it.” Her voice is ragged, exhausted.
We embrace, then she pulls the door shut and locks it. I hear the bolt slide into the lock on the far side of the door and my skin twitches.
It’s a small room. About 12 x 20 with a little table, four chairs, two cots. Daddy supplied everything we’d need to survive a nuclear disaster. Canned goods. Water. Medicine. Blankets and clothes. Even board games. But no windows. No sound.
It’s like being buried alive.
My watch says I’ve been in here for three hours. Writing while I wait, writing it all down. Has Peggy given birth? What if she dies? What if the baby dies? What if she has complications and Dickie refuses to take her to the hospital?
Nothing I can do about it now. Only wait. And try not to scream.