Chapter 120: Taran

It doesn't take me long to realize that Stryker isn't taking me to the clinic. I sit up straighter and look around when we clear a checkpoint and head into Sector Seven, a sector with more abandoned buildings than any of the others, with a wide swath of it skirting the wall.
"Where are we?" I ask sharply, still looking around, trying to familiarize myself with the area. As the Desert Wren I've been all over the city, climbing buildings and walls for fun and for work. Often refugees would hide out from the city forces in these more remote sectors.
At first Stryker doesn't answer, just focuses on the road and driving around the piles of garbage that build up in the lesser used areas of the city.
"Answer me," I snap, glaring across the car at him. "This isn't the way to Bishop's clinic. In fact, we're driving in the opposite direction."
Finally, he looks at me, his blue eyes shining with manic energy. I recoil back into my seat. The usual sarcastic grumpy Stryker has transformed into something twisted, frightening. I shake my head, hoping it's my imagination.
"Please, Stryker, I need Doctor Bishop. Let's go back."
"You don't need that old fraud," he growls, refocusing on the road. "You just need me, you've only ever needed me. You didn't see it, but you will."
"I don't know what you mean. But this is important, Stryker, I can't have the baby out here with just the two of us. Please take me back," I beg, trying to keep calm. His voice sounds different, almost unhinged. Terror starts to settle in a ball in the pit of my stomach. I've been through too much not to recognize an imminent threat.
He slams his fist into the steering wheel, causing me to jump. I grip the door handle so hard my knuckles turn white. "You do know what I mean! You were always so stubborn, wanting to be independent, do things for yourself. But you got hurt. Now it's my turn to take care of you, make sure nothing else happens."
Of course I'm independent! Anyone living in this post-apocalyptic nightmare knows that a person has to be independent and capable of caring for themselves. We all have to contribute to the greater good. Somehow, I don't think this is what Stryker means though. I'm starting to think he might not even be talking about me.
"Who was too independent, Stryker?" I ask quietly, though I suspect I know.
He confirms my belief when he answers, "My wife, Abrielle. Her stubborn need to take care of herself, take care of the baby, got her killed."
"I'm so sorry," I say calmly, hoping I'm making headway into whatever crisis he's working through.
"She didn't have to die," he snarls, but the despair is easily picked out.
I take a deep breath as another contraction squeezes me, this one strong and steady. They still aren't painful, but they're coming closer together. I don't want to give birth anywhere near Stryker on a good day, let alone when he's this unstable. I need to keep him talking, find out where his head is at.
"You did everything you could for her," I try to reassure him, though the contraction is still gripping me. I take quick, shallow breaths until it eases up. "But whatever we're doing now isn't right. I'm not your wife, Stryker. You don't have to save me. My husband will come and protect me when we get to the clinic. You're doing your duty just by taking me there."
I hold my breath. Did I say too much? He seems to be mulling over my words. Stryker can be hot-tempered, but he's usually reasonable enough.
Then he shakes his head. "No, he wouldn't have let you fall from a burning building if he'd been doing his job. He failed, showed his weakness when he let himself sleep through the takeover of his city. I had to catch you, save your life, protect you. I've had to watch you ever since that day, while he was incapacitated. And now, while he cares more about this godforsaken city than his pregnant woman."
I want to cry out in defence of my husband, but Stryker has become too unpredictable. I don't want him to focus his ire on me. At least for now he seems to want to protect me. I need to leverage that feeling, get him to listen.
"We don't have to involve Diogo then, but you know the clinic is the safest place to be right now. Let's go there and we'll sort everything out after." I lie to him, fully aware the moment I can tell my husband what's going on I will.
"No," he says simply.
I try to think of what I can possibly say to convince him. "Is this what she would've wanted? Would Abrielle have wanted you to take another woman away from her family?"
He slams on the brakes, sending me into the dash. He catches me before I hit and shoves me back into the seat. He twists around and leans over until his face is right in front of mine. I lean away from him, regretting that I set him off.
"My wife," he spits out, "didn't know what she wanted. Her bad decision led to the death of our baby. I won't let that happen again."
But I'm not her! I want to scream it, leap from the car and run away. I wouldn't make it two steps before he caught me and god knows what he'll do if I push him over the edge. I close my eyes against his words. They don't make sense. Something's happened to Stryker, something in his brain has shifted and he seems to be losing his grip on reality.
He resumes our trip and drives us right into the bowels of one of the most abandoned parts of Sanctuary. Despair beats at me as he takes me further and further from any hope of rescue. Diogo won't know where to find me once I'm reported missing. If anything goes wrong with the birth before I'm able to get to the doctor... I can't even think about it. Bishop assured me my pregnancy is textbook, despite my small size and narrow hips. He thinks I should be able to have a vaginal birth.
A few minutes later Stryker pulls the vehicle up to the entrance of an old house. At first glance it looks as dilapidated and abandoned as the rest of this part of the sector, but when I take a closer look I see signs of inhabitation. The never-ending encroachment of nature has been cut away from the front door and windows, and a path has been cleared from the road to the house.
"Where are we?" I ask hesitantly.
"Home," he says succinctly, and climbs out of the car.
He slams his door shut and rounds the car to my side. I hurriedly slam my hand over the lock button, but, as with so many mechanical objects, the locks are broken. Stryker sees my move and his brows lower in annoyance. He jerks my door open, grips me by the upper arm and pulls me from the car.
As I'm forced to straighten quickly a painful spasm hits me, first in my womb and then radiating outward. I cry out and bend over, my arms wrapped around my middle. Before I can straighten, I feel the warm trickle of my water breaking and leaking out onto my thighs. I'm wearing a loose cotton dress, far more comfortable against my sensitive skin than form fitting pants and T-shirts.
I lift frightened eyes to Stryker, a plea on my lips. The psychotic glee in his eyes stops my words. There's no reaching him now. He's gone too far. Diogo will kill him for simply crossing into another sector with me without permission. That he seems to have planned this abduction is enough to send Diogo into a blind rage when he finds out. A thought tickles my brain. This whole scenario feels weirdly planned out. How did Stryker happen to be my keeper at the moment I went into labour?
"How did you kn-know I would have the baby today? How did you get Diogo to reassign Grayson?"
"Didn't know the baby was coming today but knew it would be soon. Convinced the Warlord that Grayson was needed somewhere else. Kid has a very specific skill set, a mechanical genius. I told Diogo his ability to fix broken shit was needed on the wall lift. Without that lift my men can't patrol the wall properly and the likelihood of Primitives getting in becomes higher." He frowns in annoyance. "It still took some convincing, think maybe he doesn't trust me to watch over you the same as that kid."
I'm shocked by the level of Stryker's cunning and how well thought out his plan is. He's using Grayson and Diogo to get them out of my space, leaving me alone with Stryker for the inevitable birth. I'm not surprised Diogo didn't fully trust Stryker, I've been complaining about him for weeks, showing my displeasure at his presence. Unfortunately, I should have been more vocal in my complaints. Trusted my instincts and insisted that Stryker no longer be left as my only guard.
I shudder as he bends to pick me up, holding me against his chest as he kicks the door of his car shut. The tip of his long grey-blond beard brushes my face and I turn my head away. He carries me up to the door of the house and easily shifts me in his arms to open it. We're immediately assailed by the dank musty air of a place that feels abandoned.
Looking around I realize it's not abandoned though, just uncared for. A thick layer of dust has settled over everything in the home. A sofa, an old broken TV, the screen smashed out, a bookshelf with rotting books on it. I gag as we pass the kitchen. It's clearly been used, but the dishes and pots are piled everywhere, crusted with food that hasn't been washed away.
He continues down a long hall, bypassing an empty room with a master bed that looks comfortable enough. The dust has been cleared away from it. That room is definitely used by someone. He walks into the room at the far end of the hall.
I gasp as he sets me on my feet, a hand at my back to steady me.
"Prepared this room myself, just for you and the baby. I think she'll be happy in here, don't you?"
My mouth hangs open as the reality of my situation sinks in. I'm trapped in a house with a man who is clearly having some kind of mental break.
In front of me is the perfect, lovely and utterly creepy room for a baby girl. It has been lovingly prepared and cared for. Not a speck of dust touches any of the shelves, the gorgeous handmade crib that occupies the centre of the room, or the wooden change table in the corner. Cloth diapers sit neatly folded on the shelves beneath the table. Unable to help myself, I reach out and touch a fingertip to the crib. Tiny animals have been crafted into the head of the crib. A hand knit pink blanket covers a mattress that looks new.
In the far corner of the room is a small, single bed, less beautiful than the rest of the room with its dull grey blanket and single white pillow, but still tidy and dust free. I suspect that bed is where Stryker means for me to give birth.
Another contraction hits me and I double over as the breath is forced from my lungs. Stryker hovers beside me and I tip my head back to look at him. His face is bordering on ecstasy, as though his dream is coming true in the form of the birth of my child.
I'm in very big fucking trouble and I have no one to rely on but myself.