Rise An Eve Novel

plastic sled skidding on the pavement behind her. We traded on and off, dragging it along, bringing the few supplies we’d collected in the past four days. Old blankets and clothes were wrapped around the last bottles of water. We still had five unmarked cans left, some plastic rope, and tape, as well as an unopened bottle of alcohol we’d found in a cellar. Our only map—the folded sheet Moss had given me—was tucked into the waist of my pants, right beside my knife.
    “I can’t help it. It hurts,” Helene said, her braids falling in her face as she examined her shoe. She wore the same pair she’d brought from the hospital. The leather slippers were broken in the back, her heels bloody and raw.
    I turned back, looking over my shoulder. I could still see the gas station a mile back—the only structure on the ridgeline. We’d spent the night there, the small, cramped room providing relief from the wind that ripped through the valley. “Try this,” I said, grabbing an old roll of duct tape nestled in the sled. My eyes met Beatrice’s—she was the one who’d insisted we take it from under the broken cash register, saying we could use it, if only for makeshift bandages.
    “I’m thirsty,” Bette said, grabbing for a bottle in the sled.
    “Not until the next break.” I took it back, hiding it beneath the blankets, out of sight. “This has to last us until the next lake.”
    Bette turned away without acknowledging me, as she’d done for most of these first days. She threaded her arm through Kit’s, a girl with deep auburn hair that cascaded down her back. She’d tied it back with string she’d found along the way, but it was always coming loose.
    “You all right?” Clara said softly, as Helene finished bandaging her foot. “You don’t look well.”
    I glanced ahead, where the other girls walked together in small groups, their steps slow and uneven. “Just the usual,” I said, shaking out my hands, waiting for the quaking in my stomach to pass. Beatrice and Sarah turned back, watching me over their shoulders, as I paused at the edge of the road, where the pavement dropped down a steep incline. “Go ahead. I’ll catch up.”
    I felt the nausea taking over again. Clara waited there, seeing if it would pass. Finally she turned to go, following the girls over the twisting road, which narrowed up ahead, the rocky cliff ledge the only thing between us and the salt floor below. There was no stopping it. My body tensed as I leaned over, staring at the pavement. My stomach was empty, though, the past days a string of insubstantial meals, my throat throbbing from the effort.
    Come on, you’ve been through worse than this , a familiar voice rose up from somewhere inside me. It was Caleb—that gentle, joking tone he sometimes took with me. I could almost hear him now, having just the tiniest laugh at my expense. Wasn’t he right, though? Hadn’t I been through worse? I’d made it to Califia once before. I’d escaped my father. I’d lost the one person I loved despite myself, this quiet voice the only thing I had left. What was this quick, passing illness compared to that?
    I wiped my mouth and stood, noticing Beatrice there for the first time, her lips pressed together as she watched me. She looked older than when I’d first met her, her shoulders stooped, her skin dry and leathery from the sun. “You should have told me sooner,” she said, turning over her shoulder to make sure the girls were far enough ahead.
    “Told you what?” I asked.
    “That you’re pregnant.” Beatrice pushed a piece of hair back from her face. “There were murmurings of it at the adoption centers, but I wasn’t certain if it was true. This is the third morning you’ve been sick. Maybe that’s lost on the girls, but not on me.”
    I looked down at the pavement, kicking some sand over the tiny pool of spit. “I didn’t want them to know,” I said. “They’re already worried enough as it is.”
    She helped me up, away from the rocky ledge, and we started after the girls. She stared ahead, not daring to look at me as she said it. “It’s Caleb’s?”
    I didn’t answer. With every person who knew the truth it became more real, and I became more attached to it all—the idea of this little girl, my daughter, and a life we could have in Califia. It was nearly impossible to focus on what was before me: how we’d get to the ocean, our next meals, where we’d spend the night. There was still a chance I could