63 five stars! "Never read a medical thriller before but LOVED THIS! Fascinating, scary & thrilling!" "I picked EMBRYO up & did NOT expect such a brilliant story!" "Fast paced, covers anthropology, genetics, patient emergency, murder, kidnap & romance!" tinyurl/7vjyqao U.K.> tinyurl/8cw7abp * * * * Maria Moran’s first inkling of trouble was the coppery taste in her mouth. It came suddenly, a rushing whoosh of something that made her gag, and when she reached up to wipe her mouth, her hand came away smeared with blood. “What…?” She heard her own high voice. Stopping in her tracks, she stood motionless, staring down in panic at the bright crimson smudge on her hand. Around her, on the sidewalk of Third Avenue in New York City, Monday morning pedestrians jostled past her, but she was oblivious to them, oblivious even to the fact that a moment before she had been worried she’d be late for work. A hurrying young man in shirtsleeves bumped into her. “Fer crying out - oops, sorry.” Maria looked to see him staring down at her great, melon belly. “Jeez lady, you shouldn’t stan’ there like that! Flustered, he rushed off and was swallowed by the crowd. At Sixtieth Street the light was red. Out of habit, Maria stood a few feet away from the impatient crowd at the corner, overcautious as usual. Gums, she thought; try to relax. Probably every first-time mother feels like this. Stumbling over a curb, getting squeezed in an elevator – these were serious things in the Pregnant Lady Department. A faint, Madonna smile crept over her lips as she felt the baby kick. Saw the baby kick, she was certain – right through her white maternity dress with the lace eyelets that Ryan’s mom had insisted on buying for her. Ryan was so excited. They had fun in the evening, just thinking up names. The light changed and she started to cross the avenue. The first wave of dizziness caught her as she passed a jackhammer working near the curb. Swaying for a moment, she blamed her weakness on the July heat and the noise. A policeman flagging traffic around the work crew blew his whistle. Maria shook her head to clear it. She made it to the yellow line before the second wave of dizziness came, and the avenue began turning slowly, sickeningly, on its axis. She grasped futilely at her shoulder bag. People pushed past her. As the dizziness subsided she noticed that the crowd in the crosswalk had thinned. She worried that the light was about to change. “My God,” she said aloud. She took a step, then another, and was surprised that it was so hard because her feet had turned to granite blocks. A woman in a sleeveless dress shouldered past her and Maria stumbled. “Hey! You okay?” A man coming up from behind stopped and grabbed her arm. She blinked at him, trying to smile. “The heat,” she said. “I’ll be alright.” “You better hurry,” he said, pointing. “Light’s gonna change.” He rushed off, and in the next moment Maria was sorry. In a swoop of nauseating terror she knew that her problem wasn’t the heat or bleeding gums or anything so absurdly simple. She was suddenly granite to the waist. The coppery taste came back, this time flooding her mouth too fast to swallow. She bent, gagging violently, put her hand over her mouth and felt a sticky wetness above her lip. Dazed, she looked at her hand again, then felt her nostrils streaming blood. A *nosebleed*? Horns blared, startling her upright again. The flashing red sign had turned to DON’T WALK. Through a blur she saw a line of glinting fenders begin to move toward her. A whistle. A man’s shout. The intersection was suddenly clogged with traffic, and as she crumpled to the pavement she thought she saw cars swirling around her. From somewhere came a squeal of brakes, and then another. “Help me!” Her words came out in a feeble cry. She began to crawl on her hands and knees. Then the pain in her middle came. Not a little, crampy pain, the way contractions were supposed to start, but a queer, viselike tightening, as hard as a rock. Too soon! Not time yet! Through a fog she saw men running toward her shouting; felt their hands on her, under her arms, lifting, but she could only focus on the pain. Getting tighter, unbearable. Weren’t contractions supposed to let up? This was not what her mother and sister had described to her. Jesus, help me! She was vaguely aware of two men carrying her, a policeman and a man in a yellow hard hat, but her eyes came unfocused as the pain became more agonizing. She felt herself lowered to hot pavement, saw feet crowding around and hands reaching down to her. The cop holding her was yelling for an ambulance. The final pain hit and she screamed. An explosion of knives went off in her belly. She felt the soft, warm mass well up below and pour rapidly down her thighs. She screamed again. “They’re coming honey, they’re coming,” the cop said. A middle-aged woman was on her knees, stroking Maria’s arm, too rapidly, her eyes full of horror. Through the haze Maria tried to see the woman, and saw instead her own white dress, turning red. “Help me,” she whimpered, but her voice sounded slow, far away. Her last conscious thought was hearing the wail of an approaching siren. Then her head fell back, and blackness closed in.
Posted on: Sun, 16 Jun 2013 22:56:55 +0000
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