Chapter 7 - Labor and Treachery
Thursday morning arrived under the shroud of a violent autumn storm.
Sheets of rain lashed against the French windows of Vance Manor, the wind howling through the ancient oaks surrounding the estate. Inside the master suite, Emily stood in front of the full-length mirror, adjusting the belt of her dark trench coat. She was thirty-two weeks pregnant now; her belly was round, heavy, and sat low.
A sharp, sudden cramp rippled across her lower abdomen, causing her to catch her breath and steady herself against the mahogany vanity.
Ryan, who was tying his tie by the doorway, was across the room before she could even exhale. “Emily? What’s wrong? Is it a contraction?”
Emily waited for the tight, gripping sensation to ease, breathing through her nose as Dr. Morrison had taught her. After thirty seconds, the tension released.
“It’s just Braxton Hicks,” Emily murmured, though she leaned heavily against Ryan’s chest. “They’ve been coming every twenty minutes since five this morning. It feels... different this time, Ryan. Heavier.”
Ryan frowned, his protective instincts instantly on high alert. “We’re leaving right now. I don't care if the appointment isn't for an hour. I want Catherine to run a full cervical check immediately.”
“Ryan, don't worry so much,” Emily said with a faint smile, though the uneasy knot in her stomach wouldn't untie. “She’s just running out of room in there.”
“I’m calling the escort team,” Ryan insisted, pulling out his radio. “We’re taking the heavy Suburban. Marcus and two Aegis guards will ride behind us in the trailing sedan.”
Ten minutes later, the two-vehicle convoy exited the front gates of Vance Manor, splashing through the pools of standing water on the county access road before merging onto Interstate 87 toward the city.
The rain was blinding, reducing visibility to less than fifty feet. The wipers slashed across the windshield in frantic, rhythmic arcs. Emily sat in the rear passenger seat of the armored Suburban, her hand clasped tightly in Ryan’s, her eyes closed as another contraction gripped her lower abdomen—stronger this time, accompanied by a sharp, radiating ache in her lower spine.
“Driver, pick up the pace,” Ryan ordered, feeling the tension in Emily’s fingers. “Take the commercial exit ramp at Route 9 to bypass the parkway traffic.”
“Copy that, Mr. Vance,” the driver replied, activating the vehicle’s hidden strobe lights behind the grille and accelerating up the gradual incline of the exit interchange.
They were three hundred yards from the crest of the elevated ramp when a massive, commercial refrigerated flatbed truck emerged from the blinding sheets of rain on the crossing overpass.
It was traveling at nearly sixty miles per hour—far too fast for the wet, slick concrete.
“LOOK OUT!” the driver screamed, slamming his foot down on the brakes.
The heavy Suburban’s anti-lock brakes engaged with a violent, shuddering crunch.
The flatbed truck didn't slow down. Its headlights were off. With a sickening roar of its diesel engine, the truck swerved violently across the median barrier, deliberately cutting across three lanes of traffic to ram directly into the side of the Suburban.
“EMILY, GET DOWN!”
Ryan lunged across the cabin, wrapping his entire body over Emily, using his back and shoulders as a human shield just as the impact hit.
The sound was like an artillery shell detonating.
The massive steel bumper of the flatbed slammed into the rear quarter-panel of the Suburban. The armored plating absorbed the worst of the direct blow, preventing the cabin from collapsing, but the sheer momentum spun the three-ton SUV around like a toy.
The Suburban slammed into the concrete retaining wall of the bridge, the airbags deploying with deafening explosions of white powder and smoke.
Behind them, the trailing security sedan driven by Aegis Tactical reacted with military precision. Recognizing the deliberate ramming attack, the security driver accelerated directly into the rear axle of the flatbed truck, wedging the commercial vehicle against the guardrail and preventing it from delivering a second, fatal t-bone strike against Ryan and Emily’s car.
Inside the crushed cabin of the Suburban, silence fell, broken only by the hiss of steam from the shattered radiator and the frantic, shallow gasps of Emily.
Ryan pushed himself up from the deflated airbags, coughing violently through the smoke. His right shoulder was screaming with pain where it had slammed against the door frame, but he ignored it completely.
“Emily! Emily, are you hit? Talk to me!”
Emily was curled in the fetal position against the seat cushions, her face chalk-white, her hands locked around her belly. Between her legs, a dark, warm puddle was soaking through the fabric of her coat.
Her water had broken.
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“Ryan...” Emily cried out, a sound of sheer, unadulterated agony tearing from her throat. “Ryan... the baby... it’s coming... the baby is coming right now!”
***