Lena

We tear at the wall until our backs ache and our hands bleed. We rip it apart piece by piece, until there is almost nothing left, until we can no longer put off the inevitable. It is time to count our dead.

By the time the sun comes to perch on the trees beyond what remains of the wall, most of our group has assembled. Grace and I, Hunter, Bram, Coral, Alex and Julian. Pippa and Beast, as well as Max, Cap, and Colin, stay close to the border, helping to organize the surviving members of the resistance in addition to the young crowd of uncureds who joined us in the city streets. I expect my mother to join them, but she comes to stand just behind me.

"Where to, Lena?" she asks.

"The cove," I say.

We move together quietly, aware now of how few we are. Triumphant chatter can still be heard amongst the rebels at the wall, but as we near the beach, we come across more groups like ours: the ones whose victory is muted by fatigue and grief.

At the end of the cove, directly inland from the buoy where Alex told me who he really was so long ago, I spot two familiar, tangled shapes.

Tack.

And Raven.

At first, I think it's her corpse that he is rocking, ever so gently, pausing at intervals to push the tendrils of dark hair away from her face. Then, I see her whole body shudder and her lips contort in a grimace.

"Raven!"

I sprint towards them, hope for a moment lending me speed. When Tack looks up at the sound of my voice and gives a tiny shake of his head, though, my feet stop so quickly that the rest of my body doesn't react in time and I tumble to my knees. I crawl the rest of the way to them through the sand and sea grass.

It's not until I am close enough to touch her that I see how bad it is. Tack's hand clamped tightly just under her right breast conceals a ragged wound. The wet, sucking sound of her breathing tells me that the bullet has punctured her lung and lodged itself somewhere in her chest cavity. Her clothing is so soaked in blood and sweat that it looks as if she has just risen out of the sea. It's a miracle she has managed to hang on so long.

As I stare, helpless, she grimaces again and her hand comes up ever so slightly to cup the delicate swell of her stomach, so evident now that her shirt clings to her wasted body.

The horrible realization slams into me like a brick. How could I not have known? Granted, she had not gained much weight. How could she, in the Wilds? She had never been sick, maybe a little over-tired, but so were the rest of us.

"She thought she had about 6,7 weeks left. Plenty of time, she said," Tack whispers.

"Time for what?" I ask.

"To find somewhere safe."

Surely, life in the Wilds had taught her that nowhere was ever truly safe.

"I tried to talk her out of it," Tack murmurs. "We fought last night, after everyone else was asleep. She said I was being stupid. That she hadn't come this far to chicken out, not when we were so close. That if she didn't do everything in her power to see this through, she'd never forgive herself. It was her way of making it up to all the people we lost."

I remember before we left Rochester, how determined she'd sounded when she insisted that we wouldn't lose anyone.

Grandma. Grandpa. Squirrel. Miyako.

Blue.

"After we made it over the wall, after they..." he swallows roughly, "I brought her down here, as far away from the fighting as I could get. She talked a little at first, so I thought she would be okay. I got the bleeding stopped for the most part, but she can't breathe. I didn't know what to do."

His voice breaks, and I feel the same tears coursing down his cheeks begin to make their way down mine. I can sense the others behind us, but no one else seems to know what to do either, until my mother kneels in the sand by Raven's feet and places a hand gently over hers.

"Raven, if you can understand me, I think I can help. I think I can save your baby."

Surprisingly, Raven cracks open an eyelid. My heart soars for a moment, and I think "She's ok!"

But then she hiccups painfully as the air catches in her chest without ever reaching her lungs and her face turns purple from strain and oxygen deprivation.

"I think the shock of being shot has forced her body into an early labor," my mother looks intently at Raven while she addresses Tack. "She doesn't have enough strength left to push on her own, but I think..." He nods.

My mother pulls a knife from her belt and slits Raven's pants from her ankle to her hip. I can feel the others melting away, going quietly to whatever small tasks might be necessary.

Alex, leading Grace by the hand, goes in search of fresh water.

Julian begins building a lean-to out of driftwood and an old shower curtain he must have scrounged from one of the abandoned homes in the Highlands.

Hunter and Bram dig a fire pit and gather kindling.

Coral moves down the shoreline, asking for any clean linens people might be able to spare.

I help my mother tug the tattered pants out from under Raven as Tack lifts her gently and situates her back against his chest with her knees slightly bent. She lets out the softest hum when he presses his face into her neck, the tiniest of smiles hovering at the corner of her mouth, and that's when I know.

Raven is a deeply private person. It was months before I even suspected that she and Tack were together. She is savoring his affection now, openly, because it is the last chance she will ever have. She is as good as gone.

"What can I do?" I ask my mother, who is peering between Raven's legs with a look of fierce concentration.

"She is more dilated than I would have expected, considering the trauma her body has been through. In a normal situation she would have given birth already, but she's so weak..." She shakes her head. "The next time she has a contraction, push on her belly, in and down, firmly but not..."

Before she can finish her sentence, Raven shudders again and her stomach pulses with movement. My mother nods quickly. I place both hands on the smooth slope of Raven's stomach and push, as if I too am in labor. Raven's lip pinch together, but she doesn't make a sound. Tack's head stays bent, whispering into her ear. I think he is praying, but I can't be sure. I watch slack-jawed as my mother slides her small hand inside Raven, tugging gently. When Raven goes limp again, she removes her hand and wipes it neatly on an old tea cloth handed to her by Coral, who has appeared on her other side.

"Once more should do it," she says.

I relax for a moment, sliding my hands over Raven's skin and picking up her hand, which is curled loosely on her chest. Her lips move hesitantly, as if each word is a tremendous effort. I have to lean close to hear them.

"Not...Like...Blue," she pants. I shake my head. No, never, I think. "It's safe now," I whisper. She squeezes my hand as her body begins to convulse a final time. I put my hands back on her stomach and push. Raven gasps as a tiny bloody body slips soundlessly into my mother's waiting hands. "You have a daughter, Raven."

Her last words, however, are for Tack. "Love...You."