Chapter 1

The young woman lay on the filthy New York City sidewalk, blood pooling underneath her. Pedestrians – law-abiding citizens, all of them – walked past her without a second look. Some averted their eyes, others stared directly at her, muttering under their breath. No one stopped or called for help.

Presently, an unmarked white van pulled up to the curb. Two individuals wearing full protective gear emerged. The word "Rescue" was emblazoned in bright yellow across the back of their suits. They pulled a gurney from the back of the van and raised it to its full height, then approached the young woman. Without speaking, they approached the young woman and lifted her onto the gurney, its plastic cover rustling as they lowered her onto its surface.

A few passers-by had stopped to watch. "Praise God," one of them, a woman, murmured, "the Baby Rescue team is here."

"Pray they made it in time," a man added.

"Amen," the woman said, bowing her head.

The two team members either didn't hear the comments or ignored them. They pushed the gurney into the back of the van. One of them climbed in after it. The other climbed into the driver's seat and drove away, merging into the passing traffic, no lights or sirens.

In the back of the van, the team member, a man, took off his face shield and mask. "It's OK now, you're safe," he said softly.

The young woman struggled weakly against the straps that held her on the gurney.

"Please," she begged, "just let me go."

"You need to let us help you," the man told her.

"Help me? You're a Baby Rescue team. I know what you do. You're not here to help me."

"Ah," the man breathed, "but we're not a Baby Rescue team."

She stared at him in shock. When she found her voice, she gasped, "Who are you, then?"

"We help women, women like you, survive miscarriages and abortions. It may be too late to save your baby, but we can still try to save your life, if you'll let us."

She nodded. That last thing the man said, she understood that all too well. Ever since the fascists and the fanatics seized power, the government had been indoctrinating girls and women with a single message: God's law commanded them to give birth. That, and only that, was what they were put on earth to do. Women died every day in this city, believing they were carrying out a sacred duty. It was a noble sacrifice. Or so they were told, over and over again.

For some reason, the propaganda had never worked on her. It felt . . . wrong. She was more than just a . . . a brood mare. Wasn't she? That feeling of wrongness was reinforced when one of her best friends died of cancer. Her doctors were forced to delay the treatment that might have saved her life, because she was pregnant when her cancer was diagnosed. It was illegal for her them to treat her during her pregnancy, because the treatment could harm the fetus. They began treatment after her baby was born, but by then it was too late. When she died six months later, she left behind a devastated husband and a daughter who was too young to remember her mother.

The young woman looked up at the man standing over her. She had heard the whispers about people who resisted the forced-birth agenda. She was never sure if they were true, or only wishful thinking. The rumors were true, apparently. She nodded. "Yes. Please."

The van turned and came to a stop. The back door opened, and the man and the driver pulled out the gurney and hurried into a building. The young woman was feeling woozy. She glanced around her. They were in what looked like a mostly vacant office building, one of many in the city. The blood loss finally took its toll, and she lapsed into unconsciousness.

The young woman opened her eyes. Semi-conscious, she was only dimly aware of her surroundings. Slowly, they came into focus. She was wearing a hospital gown and lying on a bed . . . a hospital bed. A tube ran from her left arm to a plastic bag of clear liquid hanging from a pole next to the bed . . . an IV? A beeping sound came from behind her head. She tried to twist to see what it was coming from, but a stabbing pain in her abdomen stopped her. Then it all came back to her: the miscarriage, the "Baby Rescue" team. Oh, God, they had her. What were they doing to her? Why wasn't she dead? If they had her, she should be dead. Or she would be soon. Her heart raced, its beats echoed by the beeping sound. She had to get out of here. Now.

A slender, dark-haired woman in blue scrubs with a stethoscope around her neck hurried toward her. "Hey," she said, "you're awake. Welcome back." Her eyes were tired, but she smiled down at the woman in the bed.

A stocky man dressed in a striped sweater and jeans followed the woman and stood next to her at the bedside. His dark blond hair could have used a trim. His warm brown eyes were kind.

"Who? What?" the young woman finally gasped.

The man answered her. "I'm Fred, she's Carla, your nurse," he said. "And you are – ?"

The young woman in the bed answered him automatically. "Eve, Eve Moreland."

"Nice to meet you, Eve."

Eve took a look around. Her bed was in a large, empty, windowless space. A row of doors along one wall apparently opened into other rooms. It looked like an office left vacant after a business moved out or, more likely these days, went out of business. She supposed she was in some kind of medical facility, but the room was unlike any hospital room she'd ever seen.

"What is this place?" she asked.

"It's best you don't know the exact location," the woman – Carla, apparently – said. "It's for your own safety."

"But, but, Brian, my husband, he'll be worried sick, he'll want to see me."

"It's best if he doesn't know what's happened," Fred told her.

Eve shook her head. "No. No, I have to see him. I need to leave." She pushed herself up, but the stabbing pain in her abdomen stopped her again. She reached down with one hand and discovered a large bandage under the hospital gown. She stared up at Carla and Fred in horror. "What have you done to me?" she demanded.

Fred stepped away and returned with a folding chair. He unfolded it and set it next to the bed. Carla took a seat and reached out to hold Eve's hand. "This is going to be hard for you to hear," she began softly. "We couldn't save your baby. You had a placental abruption – that's where the placenta separates from the inner wall of the uterus – and you were hemorrhaging. When we couldn't stop the bleeding, the surgeon decided the only way to save your life was a hysterectomy. I'm so sorry."

Eve's eyes grew wide. "You took out my uterus?"

Carla nodded grimly.

"No!" Eve wailed. She began to sob, repeating "no, no, no." Carla sat silently, still holding her hand, as sobs shook her body. Finally, she took a gasping breath and sniffed.

"I'm so sorry," Carla repeated, holding out a tissue. "It was the only way."

Eve took the tissue and wiped her eyes and blew her nose. "Wait a minute," she said, "isn't that illegal?"

"Yeah, anywhere but here," Fred confirmed. "If the Baby Rescue folks got to you, they wouldn't have done it, they'd've let you bleed to death instead. We don't do that."

"But who – ?" Eve asked for the second time.

"The media call us 'the resistance,'" he replied. "The government usually calls us 'the enemies of the people.'"

Eve fell back against her pillow. It was all beginning to make sense. But – a hysterectomy? She could never have children. How would Brian react if he found out? She thought she knew. She turned her face away from Carla and Fred. "I'd like to be alone now," she said.

"Of course," Carla replied gently. "I understand. It's a lot to take in. Before I go, can I get you anything? Something for pain?"

"No."

"All right. I'll be back to check on you later."

Eve watched as Carla and Fred crossed the room to a door on the far side. When the door closed behind them, she turned her face to the wall and began weeping quietly for the two lives that were now irretrievably lost: her baby's and her own. Yes, she was still alive, but she could never go back to the life she had before. As a woman who'd had a miscarriage and a hysterectomy, she would be shunned, maybe even prosecuted. She could end up in prison. Or the authorities would use that threat to pressure her to give up the people who saved her life.

What was she thinking, asking to see Brian? If he found out what happened, her marriage surely would be over. He wasn't a fanatic – far from it – but he was not immune to the constant barrage of propaganda that surrounded them. A woman who couldn't bear children wasn't really a woman. Divorces were granted automatically in cases of infertility – female infertility, that is. There was no role for a woman like her in this society. Not anymore.

If only, she thought. If only her supply of black market birth control pills hadn't run out. If only she'd been able to find another supplier. If only she'd been able to persuade Brian escape to California with her, before she got pregnant and wasn't allowed to travel.

The three states bordering the Pacific Ocean – California, Oregon, and Washington – didn't recognize the new order and refused to enforce its laws. The more extreme members of the government in Washington wanted to bring the three states back into the fold by force. The President had silenced them. The country needed the booming economies of the West Coast Alliance, as the three Pacific-coast states called themselves, to offset the effects of the crippling sanctions the world had imposed on the rest of the country for its human-rights violations. Besides, the President argued, the West Coast Alliance was a useful safety valve; let the troublemakers leave, he said, there would still be an ample supply of babies. So far, the uneasy truce had held.

Eve found the box of tissues Carla left for her and blew her nose. When she looked up, a dark-haired man in a business suit was walking across the room toward her. He wore round, red-tinted glasses and was swinging and tapping a white cane in front of him. As he got closer, she recognized the man who rode in the van with her.

He stopped a few feet from her bed, holding the cane in front of him. "Hey," he said.

"Hey," Eve replied. "That was you, wasn't it, in the van with me?"

He nodded. "Yeah, that was me. I'm Mike, by the way."

She offered her own name. "Eve. But you probably know that already."

"I do." He shifted uneasily, then said, "I just wanted to see how you're doing."

"Not good."

"Of course, you're not." He waved a hand, frowning."Stupid question. I'm sorry."

"It's OK." She hesitated for a beat, then asked, "So is that what do you do for . . . for the resistance – pick women up off the street?"

"Sometimes."

"But you're – "

"Blind. Yeah, I know." He gave her a half-grin.

"I didn't notice, before," she murmured to herself.

He heard her. "Well, you were kinda busy, you know, trying not to die."

"Yeah, I guess I was." She chuckled in spite of herself. Then she asked her question again, "So that's what you do?"

"I don't usually do patient pick-ups, since I don't have medical training and I don't drive," he explained, gesturing at his eyes. "But Fred wasn't available, so I went. I usually handle . . . other things."

"Like what?" She asked, before realizing that maybe he couldn't – or shouldn't – tell her. "If you can tell me, that is," she added.

"It's best that you don't know," he told her.

"I understand."

He turned to leave, then said, "I'll let you get some rest. Is there anything you need?"

"No," she replied, "but can you tell me something?"

"If I can."

"What happens to me now?"

He turned back to face her. "That's up to you. If you want, you can go back to your husband. Some women do. It doesn't end well. But you've probably figured that out for yourself already."

"I have," she confirmed.

"Your other option is to leave. When you're well enough to travel, there are networks that can help you get to the West Coast or Canada or Mexico, or even to Europe, if that's what you want. You don't have to decide now, just know that's an option."

She breathed a sigh. "Thank you."

"If there's nothing else – " he began.

"No, thanks."

"Take care of yourself," he said as he turned and walked away, swinging and tapping the cane in front of him.


Author's Note: If you are eligible to vote in the U.S. and don't want to live in the world of this story or something very much like it, please vote!