Close to four weeks have passed since the foray on Ziriri, and fortunately, no tragedy of such magnitude has occurred again since then.
Although, there are reports of nearby villages, markets, religious sites, and security posts being raided, followed by death, anguish and nightmares.
But people in Ziriri still have to move on, rebuilding amid the ruins left behind by the deaths of innocents, searching for those still missing,
and caring for the injured and unsheltered.
Since the creations' choice of evil, it has always been here, spreading like a plague.
Yet she has never truly endured such a flare-up until the ordeal aboard the cruise.
During the first week of the onslaught on Ziriri, the village had been partially deserted, and people rarely left their safe dwellings.
For a short period of time, security forces established a presence throughout the area, while the able-bodied men of Ziriri continued to patrol according to a scheduled rotation of volunteers.
Her husband has been excused from duty, as she is in the late stages of pregnancy, and her labour could begin at any moment.
He barely leaves her side anymore, except when he has to attend to urgent matters at the workshop.
He had worried he wouldn't be by her side when she went into labour, and today had happened to yield the very reason that required him to drop by the workshop. Funny, how his absence should coincide with the very moment she'd finally gone into labour.
Neva grips the edge of the kitchen table as another contraction hits, one hand cradling her swollen belly as she breathes in slowly through her nose.
She had thought it was only another bout of Braxton Hicks when she woke that morning with a mild cramp. The contractions had become more noticeable by noon, but by then, he was already gone, having been assured by her that she was fine.
She hadn't expected labour to begin quite so soon, as she's only thirty-eight weeks along today, but it seems her baby has other plans.
Only a few minutes ago, she'd finally called him to tell him she was in labour. He must be on his way now.
After the painful tightening passes, she straightens slightly, then her phone beeps with an incoming call.
Hubby, the caller ID reads.
A faint smile touches her lips.
He must be panicking now. That's three calls from him since she told him.
She picks it up, then gathers the yarn, the nearly finished pair of tiny white-and-blue booties, and the needles into her knitting kit.
"Angel, is it worsening?" His voice comes through the phone, taut with worry. "Are you alright? Why are you so quiet—"
"I'm fine," she cuts him off. "And what did I tell you about talking on the phone while driving?"
He lets out a deep, audible sigh as she brings the phone closer to her ear and carefully lowers herself into the chair.
"Just stay with me, alright?" he says. "I'm almost there."
"Fine," she says. "But drive carefully."
"I will," he says. "I've already called the midwife. Mrs. Barlowe should be on her way, too."
She doesn't respond, can't... as a warm gush of liquid suddenly spills down her legs.
A wavering breath escapes her just as another painful tightening grips her abdomen.
"Angel?" His voice comes again. "What's happening?"
"My... my water broke," she whispers, breathless as the tightening builds, spreading across her belly until she has to close her eyes.
"Oh, gosh," he murmurs, just as the doorbell rings.
She grips the edge of her chair as the painful tightening consumes all her senses, before slowly loosening again.
"Angel?" A hint of franticness threads through his voice.
"I'm okay," she murmurs, carefully rising to her feet before glancing down at the pool of clear liquid beneath her.
"I think Mrs. Barlowe is here," she says. "Just come soon. I'm going to hang up."
Before he can respond,
she accidentally hangs up, but she doesn't bother calling him back as the doorbell chimes again.
She slowly makes her way toward the door, a whispered prayer helping to keep her anxious thoughts at bay, before finally pulling it open.
Mrs. Barlowe breathes a sigh of relief at the sight of her, already dressed warmly to stay the night if Neva needs her to.
"How are you feeling, dear?" Mrs. Barlowe asks, her brown eyes studying Neva with concern.
"Not very good," Neva replies. "My water just broke."
"Oh dear," Mrs. Barlowe says, glancing down at her soaked dress.
"Come in." Neva steps back as the chilly autumn wind brushes against her bare arms,
her gaze briefly drifting toward the yellowing leaves beyond the porch.
The distant grumble of engine draws closer, and expecting her husband she keeps the door open after Mrs. Barlowe walks in.
"It's warm in here, Mrs. Barlowe," Neva says, gesturing toward the coat rack beside the door. "I can hang your sweater there if you'd like."
"Oh, yes, dear, thank you." Mrs. Barlowe slips off her sweater and hands it to her.
Neva smiles before neatly hanging it on the coat rack.
The familiar car comes into view down the road,
its maroon-cherry paint glinting through gaps in the bushes that gird their yard like a fence.
"Shall I get things ready, dear?" Mrs. Barlowe asks.
"Sure," Neva replies. "And thank you so much for coming."
Mrs. Barlowe smiles. "I should be most delighted to help, dear."
"Angel," her husband calls, and she glances toward him just as he hurries over.
She smiles gently as he scrutinizes her from head to toe, then gasps, gripping the doorframe as another painful tightening grips her abdomen.
He reaches for her, worry shadowing his features before she takes his arm, squeezing it tightly.
He rubs her lower back in slow, steady circles as she leans against him,
her breath shaking as she exhales slowly.
A soft cry escapes her as the contraction peaks,
the pain intense enough to make her almost regret her decision to have a natural, unmedicated birth.
As the pain eases, she takes a deep breath, her body relaxing against him,
and his arms immediately wrap around her.
"You're doing so well, Angel." He presses a kiss to the crown of her head. "...You're doing so well."
"They last so much longer now," she murmurs, simply wanting to stay like that for a while. "And they hurt so much."
"We can go to the hospital if you want," he says. "You don't have to endure this pain."
She shakes her head against him. "No. I want a home birth. We've already talked it over enough."
He presses another kiss to her hair. "As you wish."
Neva leans back, meeting Rhett's eyes, soft, yet laced with worry.
"Soon we'll meet our baby," she whispers.
He smiles, then leans in to kiss her.