“Let’s get further up north, love,” Einar said firmly, but not without casting a worried look in my direction. “You heard the damn thing, there are bloody swarms all around us here andthat’s just those that have been tagged. Why, do you not feel well?”
I grimaced, indicating that indeed I did not just as Kevin piped in from behind, “Speaking of which, isn’t it time to listen to the radio again?”
Annoyed by the continuous drawl of voices, we had turned the device off so as not to listen to its repeated reports of movements of swarms across this part of the continent. Five of them were fairly close to us, which was a deeply concerning number.
“Go on then.”
Kevin fiddled with it for a moment, turning knobs and pushing buttons as its static and high-pitched wheeze filled the car. Then voices sounded, distorted but comprehensible. German was first; the languages of the swarms’ forecasts were rotated to reach as many people as possible. Einar pulled over at the side of the road to wait for the English portion, the manoeuvre driven by a force of habit rather than by necessity. There was no traffic he would have inhibited had he simply stopped in the middle of the potholed road.
Finally, the voice changed, and the English segment came on.
“Annecy has fallen. New swarm warning, I repeat new swarm warning, Annecy overcome, new swarm Annecy area, has not been tagged. New swarm warning Annecy area. Swarm warning in Lyon ... Novara swarm warning ...”
The broadcast continued, detailing the precise coordinates of each swarm and their movement projection based on their current trajectory.
“FUCK!” In a moment of uncharacteristically uncontrolled frustration, Einar hit the steering wheel with the palms of his hands before wrenching the car door open, slamming it shut behind himself with a force that shook the whole vehicle.
Dave swore from his back seat, which, on the other hand, was nothing out of the ordinary. Besides, there was a very good reason for it. We had meant to drive through Annecy. And what was worse was that the Lyon and Novara swarms blocked almost all of our longer, alternative routes. Now, according to Paoli’s research, only one remained, a much shorter one that cut directly across the Alps and separated southern Switzerland from northern Italy. It was unmaintained and rarely used, the road surface icy and treacherous in the higher altitudes. And worst of all, it boasted a 6-kilometre-long St Bernard tunnel through the mountainous area that we would have no way of bypassing. Driving through an unmaintained tunnel with potential furies lurking inside was not a tempting proposition by any means.
Suddenly, the mountains that erupted from flat meadowlands in the distance, hazy like shadows in the dull light, seemed hostile and ominous. Overgrown weeds and foliage that had taken over the surrounding fields swayed side to side in the wind like fingers wagging in a forbidding motion.
Einar paced in between the potholes in the road, his hair dull in the reluctant sun, air currents whipping through it and pulling the fabric of his thin grey T-shirt tight around his frame so that every muscle on his torso stood firmly outlined against it. In a familiar, and somewhat contradictory impulse, I wanted to console him and at the same time rile him up further, so that my body could then serve as an outlet for his rage. Owing both to the fact that we were somewhat pressed for time and that I was almost six months into my perilous pregnancy, I had to settle on the first approach.
I opened the door and pushed it open with my leg, practically rolling out of the vehicle. As I walked towards my husband, I heard Dave and Kevin open and shut their doors.
“Hey,” I said to Einar.
He turned around. For an instant, his expression was terrifying, the clean-shaven features of his angular face hard-set and pale with what I knew would be murderous fury if only there were someone to murder for the inconvenience caused to us. Impotent anger had carved hard lines into his face that mellowed out as soon as he saw me.
“Hey, trouble,” he said gently, managing a small, worried smile.
I couldn’t quite wrap my arms around him, not with my belly wedged firmly between us, and so I ran my hands soothingly over his face and chest as his own large hands settled contentedly on the small of my back. He kissed my forehead and then rested his cheek against the top of my head. His breathing deepened and slowed down.
“You looked so handsome out here,” I murmured so that only he could hear me over the wind. “I just had to get my hands on you.”
He chuckled, but it was only a faint variety of laughter, much too fraught with worry.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw that Dave and Kevin had joined us. I opened my mouth to say something and then froze. Despite Einar’s warm embrace, goosebumps erupted all over my chilled flesh underneath my insufficient clothing, consisting of maternity overalls and a long-sleeved shirt that was too small and cut into my armpits. And yet, cold as I was in the merciless wind, I suddenly felt hot, slick wetness between my legs.
“Ren, what’s going on?” Einar felt me stiffen and pulled away to look around wildly.
Ascertaining that there were no roamers around, he turned his sights on me again, a worried line appearing between his eyebrows.
“Are you not feeling well?”
“I ... I don’t know ... hold on.”
I walked away to hide behind the car for privacy, and there, concealed from sight, I pulled my overalls and underwear down with a grunt.
As I had suspected, a few spots of bright red blood bloomed on the white fabric.
I keep waiting for it to go wrong! Sometimes I almost wish it would already ...
The careless words were shoved back down my throat, wherein they turned into a ball of ice that slithered between my ribs and settled in my heart. My head swam and I stumbled a few steps, thinking that I would faint. Detecting my motion from afar, Einar rushed over to me to find me bare-assed, bent over as much as my stomach would allow, staring at my knickers. Coming to stand next to me from behind, he patted my bottom very gently—life according to him was too short not to touch his woman’s naked rear whenever the opportunity arose—and he wrapped the offending hand around my waist firmly as he looked at the source of my distress. He gasped in horror.
“It may not be a cause for any concern,” I told him in a small, pleading voice. “Most times it isn’t. I bled all the time in the first few months, remember?”
His only answer was a look that conveyed plainly his scepticism as well as his unwillingness to question my assurances out loud.
