Page 37 of Promises in the Dark

I breathed a sigh of relief, thinking we were in the clear. But then, like a cruel fucking joke, the umbilical cord wrapped tightly around the baby’s neck, its little face turning purple from the pressure. Panic welled up inside me as I realized we didn’t have any medical instruments to cut that cord.

“Shit, we don’t have any scissors or clamps,” she said, turning to me.

As Red and I racked our brains for a solution, the mother’s screaming hit a new level of hysteria. She was on the verge of delivering now, and her pain was reaching a fever pitch. We’ve got nothing to cut this umbilical cord, and time was running out.

Red’s voice betrayed her anxiety as she frantically searched for something to help with the delivery. “Think, think, think...”

Her voice betrayed her anxiety as she frantically searched for a solution. And then, her gaze landed on me, a glimmer of hope in her eyes. “Rogue, your penknife!” she demanded.

I reached into my pocket, retrieving the small blade, and tossed it to her. She snatched the penknife from my hand, her fingers trembling as she positioned it near the baby’s delicate neck.

Carefully, like it was her last fucking option, she sliced through the umbilical cord, freeing the kid from what could’ve been a death sentence. And then, with a rush of blood and fluids, the baby slipped out, its tiny body covered in a bloody, slippery mess.

The little thing gasped, its face shifting from a sickly blue to something resembling human.

But his mother’s bleeding didn’t stop. It was bad—like, holy shit,reallybad. Crimson kept flowing from her torn-up cunt like a fucking river. Jesus Christ, we were about to lose her.

I grabbed whatever the fuck I could find—towels, torn pieces of fabric, dusty but seemingly clean enough, at this point anything—and pressed them against the woman’s bleeding cunt, trying to staunch the flow.

But the blood kept pouring out.

“She is bleeding like a fucking waterfall,” I grumbled, watching as her blood continued to flow freely and without any sign of slowing the fuck down.

Red’s face paled, her gaze shifting to the woman. Without missing a beat, she handed the newborn boy to one of the nearby refugees, making sure the little fucker was safe.

I assumed it was the father, though at this point, who fucking knows.

“Take care of him,” she said, handing over the bloody little thing like it was made of glass.

The guy, barely keeping his shit together, nodded and clutched the baby to his chest. His eyes darted between the blood-stained floor and the woman he knocked up, pale and sweating like death was knocking at the door.

He knew, just like we did—this was Russian roulette, and the odds weren’t looking great for his woman.

Red crouched next to the mom, who let out this weak-ass moan, her eyes fluttering as she barely clung to consciousness.

“Stay with me, Farida!” she shouted, her voice breaking as she tried to keep the woman awake and alert. “We’re not letting you go.”

But hell, she was already halfway there.

We fought against time, against biology, against the odds. Red was working to get the placenta out, but everything was coated in red, her hands slipping. I knew enough to understand that the whole mess inside of her had to come out, every last bit, or she’d end up infected or worse. But the blood kept coming, pouring out in thick waves that made the baby’s cries seem small.

“Spread her legs,” Red ordered, brooking no disobedience. “I need to stop the haemorrhage.”

I obeyed her command without question. I knelt down, keeping my shit together. I wasn’t too worried about being gentle at this point, so I just jammed my hands in and pushed the refugee woman’s legs apart, exposing her ravaged womb like it was just another Tuesday afternoon.

Her flesh was torn and bloody, her inner thighs slick with crimson. I could see the raw, gaping wound where her vagina had been torn open.

What a wonderful time to be alive.

Red positioned herself between those spread legs, her hands coated in blood as she massaged the woman’s uterus and applied pressure in a desperate attempt to stop the flood.

But no matter how hard she massaged, the bleeding didn’t seem to stop. The woman’s eyes rolled back into her head, and she passed out, her body going limp in my arms.

Red reapplied pressure, her fingers digging into the woman’s flesh like knives in meat.

After what felt like a fucking eternity, her efforts paid off. The bleeding began to slow, but it wasn’t enough. The chick’s pulse remained weak as hell.

“Is she gonna make it?” I asked, my words sharp and direct.

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