Nineteen

We walk through the woods until the light starts to break. Grey streaks in a blue sky, lit by the rising sun. We are in the middle of nowhere, fields and stands of trees all around. The sound of birdsong is the only noise. As dawn comes on we cross yet another field and see in the distance the grey swathe of a road.

By this time we are both freezing cold and shivering uncontrollably. My hands have gone numb and it feels like there are knives stuck into my fingers. I’m worried about what cold this severe might do to the baby. I’m worried about Lisa; she keeps up, but I can tell that the weight is hurting her terribly. We hold hands as we walk, then stagger along shoulder to shoulder, and then I put an arm around her back and hold her whenever she stumbles. Her skin is frozen.

We cross the fields, crawl under fences, lurch through puddles that drench my feet in icy water. By the time we reach the road Lisa’s lips are tinged with blue and I realise that we could die out here, from this cold. Of all the ways I thought I might die . . . I can feel it inside my bones–a long, starving ache. There is a small train of cars stopped by the side of the road. We stumble over.

We climb inside the first car we come to. No keys in the ignition. I check the glove compartment, behind the sun visor and then underneath the seats. Nothing. Shivering, I get out and check the boot. A spare tire, a bundle of blankets, and a first aid kit, but still no keys. While I search Lisa is sitting uncomfortably in the back, huddled, rubbing her hands together. She’s so pale. I go to her and wrap the blankets around her shoulders.

“Thanks,” she says. “I just need to rest for a minute. The baby. . . I’ll be okay.”

“Lisa, listen . . .” I can barely get the words out I’m so cold. “I’m going to go on and find a car that we can drive, then I’m going to come back.”

“No. I’ll come with you.” She struggles to stand.

“You can’t.”

“I can. I’m coming with you.”

“You’ll damage the baby.”

She nods. “But you’re exhausted. We both are.”

“I’ll manage. Just stay here. Hide. Keep warm.” I reach out and touch her hair, smooth it away from her face. I want to give up right now. Climb into the car beside her and go to sleep forever. But the baby . . . “I’ll be back soon, okay?”

She holds my hand against the side of her face. “Don’t get hurt.”

“I won’t.”

I leave her and walk out onto the road and start to jog to keep warm. My legs scream in protest and the wind bites at my exposed skin. After a minute I realise that I am alone on the empty motorway and the urge to turn back is almost overwhelming. Everything I care about in this entire lifeless planet is sitting in that car back there at the side of the empty road.