Before Our Dawn| ongoing

thirty-seven

Chapitre trente-sept
━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

In the stillness of the night, Isra lay on her bed, the discomfort of her cramping stomach interrupting her sleep. This feeling was familiar, but having been drifting in and out of dreams made her unsure of whether this was another figment of her imagination or reality. 

She had endured the persistent gnawing cramps throughout the day, but they had intensified now, reaching an excruciating crescendo. A sudden, searing cramp pierced through her like a dagger, and she was jolted awake. Panic surged as she became aware of something warm and wet trickling down her trembling leg.

This pain. It was real.

"Ah!" She wound her arms tightly around her stomach. "Oh... Oh, God... baby..." 

Her hands began to feel around in the dark. In search of what? She didn't know. 

Hans isn't here.

The amniotic fluid gushed, and Isra knew that the moment had arrived; the baby was making its imminent entrance into the world, and she was all alone. Desperation surged within her, but she needed to stay composed. Suppressing her instinct to scream, she summoned every ounce of strength. With great effort, she hauled herself off the bed, one hand pressed firmly against her quivering lips to muffle any sounds. As she staggered out of the room into the shady hallway, her frail body leaned against the wall for support. The contractions intensified, the physical agony relentless and unrelenting, causing beads of sweat to form upon her brow.

The neighbour. I need to get to the neighbour.

After so many raids being carried out on the building, she wasn't sure if she had any neighbours left. But she would knock on every door on her floor until somebody opened it. 

Isra summoned her last reserves of strength as she inched her way toward the front door, every step a torment. She clenched her teeth so fiercely into her lip that it broke the skin, her hair sticking to her perspiring forehead. Despite the overwhelming pain, she gritted her teeth and pressed forward. Finally, she stepped outside and reached the corridor, her desperation spurring her on. She began her search for help.

The first door was a grim reminder of Pierre's tragic end, but she couldn't stop. The second door revealed only emptiness. As she reached the third door, the contractions growing more unbearable with each passing second, she rapped on it with the little strength she had left, her ears straining to catch the hushed voices from within.

"Please help!" her plea erupted from her lips as the contractions coursed through her, and her scream filled the corridor. "Please! Please, I'm begging you!"

Seconds stretched like an eternity until the door finally opened. It revealed a middle-aged woman, French, who Isra didn't recognize. The woman's eyes widened in shock as she took in Isra's dishevelled and agonized state. Without hesitation, she immediately ushered Isra inside. 

"You poor thing," the woman said, closing the door behind her, and hooking one around Isra's waist, helping her to the middle of the room. 

The woman called out a boy's name, and a lad not much older than seven quickly emerged from another room. She hurriedly issued instructions, directing him to fetch blankets and pillows. She yelled at him to move faster, the urgency plain in her tone.

Isra's screams filled the room again as another agonizing contraction gripped her. "The baby, it's almost here—ah! Please, I need your help! Please!"

She had been pregnant before and it was painful, but had it ever been this painful? 

Oh, God, Marcel...