Chapter 5 - THE PRICE OF SURVIVAL
I doubled over, groaning as the contraction hit me with the force of a freight train.
Rachel froze, the knife halfway between us. “No. No, not now. You can’t have it now.”
“It’s coming,” I gasped, gripping the armrests of the chair until my knuckles turned white. “Rachel… please.”
She backed away, panic flickering in her eyes. “I don’t know how to deliver a baby. I just want the phone.”
“If I die… the password dies with me!” I lied, my voice strained. “You’ll never get the files! Help me… and I’ll give it to you.”
She stared at me, calculating the odds. The greed won. She shoved the knife back into her belt and rushed to a cabinet, pulling out clean towels and a bottle of rubbing alcohol.
“If you’re lying to me,” she warned, “I’ll leave you here to bleed out.”
For the next four hours, the cabin became a blur of agony and darkness. Every contraction reminded me of the attic, of the months I had spent trapped, terrified that this moment would happen on a filthy mattress while a camera recorded my pain.
But I wasn't in the attic. I was fighting. I was taking my power back.
“Push!” Rachel yelled, her hands stained with blood.
I pushed with every ounce of strength I had left, pouring all my anger, my fear, and my love into one final, agonizing effort.
The sound of a baby crying shattered the silence of the cabin.
I collapsed against the chair, panting, tears streaming down my face. “My baby… please, let me see.”
Rachel quickly wrapped the tiny, screaming infant in a clean towel. She walked over to me, her face unreadable. She placed the baby on my chest.
“It’s a boy,” she whispered.
I held him tight, feeling his tiny heartbeat against mine. He was perfect. He was safe. For the first time in seven months, I felt a surge of pure, untouchable joy.
“Now,” Rachel said, her voice turning cold again. “The password.”
I looked up at her, my mind racing. I needed a distraction. I needed leverage.
I reached into the pocket of my coat and pulled out the phone. I held it out.
As Rachel reached for it, the heavy wooden door of the cabin shuddered.
Someone was pounding on it from the outside.
“Rachel!” a man’s voice yelled. It was David. “I know she’s in there! Open the door, or I’ll burn this place to the ground!”
Rachel’s face drained of color. She looked at me, then at the door.
She lunged forward, snatching the phone from my hand, and ran toward the back window.
“You promised!” I screamed, clutching my newborn son.
“I promised to help you deliver!” she yelled back, throwing open the window. “Good luck with David!”
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She climbed out into the snow and disappeared into the night.
The door began to splinter under the force of a heavy axe.
