The scream tore out of Kimmie like it had been waiting for permission.
It didn't come from her throat so much as her core—something ancient and involuntary ripping free. The sound filled the room, bounced off the walls, and refused to be contained.
It carried with it every fear she'd swallowed for months. Every night she'd lain awake wondering what kind of world she was bringing her child into. Every half-formed prayer that this wouldn't happen like this.
Her body arched off the bed, fingers clawing at the sheets, heels digging into the mattress as the contraction ripped through her. Sweat slicked her skin, darkening the gown, plastering hair to her temples. The sound didn't stop when her breath ran out—it just broke into something rawer, animal, a noise that didn't care who heard it.
Sharon planted herself at the foot of the bed.
She didn't hesitate. She never did when it mattered. Hesitation was a luxury the living no longer had.
The room smelled like antiseptic and fear and iron. The lights flickered once overhead, then steadied, casting everything in harsh clarity.
Shadows jumped at the corners of the room as bodies moved too fast, hands reaching for what they needed before their minds fully caught up.
"Okay," she said, loud enough to cut through panic. "Okay. I need space. I need light. I need hands that will do exactly what I say."
Angela was already moving, dragging a cart into place. Reyes fumbled for gloves, hands shaking so badly she dropped the first pair. Patrice shoved a chair out of the way with her hip and locked the door behind them.
The lock sounded too final.
It was the sound of commitment. Of no turning back.
In the hallway, Troy was still screaming.
Daniels' voice snapped through the chaos. "Get him up. Now."
A scuffle followed—shoes scraping, a grunt, Troy's voice cracking into rage and fear all at once.
"DON'T TOUCH ME—SHE NEEDS ME—"
"Get his arms," Daniels barked.
A crash. A curse. Someone cried out in pain.
Inside the room, Sharon blocked it all out.
She had learned long ago how to narrow the world—how to turn down everything that didn't matter until only the patient remained.
It wasn't coldness. It was survival.
"Kimmie," she said sharply. "Eyes on me."
Kimmie's pupils were blown wide. Tears streamed sideways into her hair.
Her hands scrabbled uselessly against the mattress, searching for something to hold that wouldn't slip away.
"I can't," she sobbed. "I can't—I shouldn't—this isn't safe—"
"You don't get to decide that," Sharon said, not unkind, just firm. "Your body already did."
Another contraction hit without warning.
Kimmie screamed again, the sound breaking into a sob at the end.
"Pressure," Sharon said. "That's pressure. Your body's moving the baby down."
Reyes swallowed hard. "Sharon—"
"I know," Sharon said. "I know."
She didn't say the hospital wasn't prepared for this.She didn't say the stairwells were compromised.She didn't say there were dead listening on the other side of reinforced doors.
She said what mattered.
"Angela—time."
Angela checked the clock with shaking hands. "Contractions are less than two minutes apart."
Sharon nodded once. "We're not stopping this."
Across the hall, a monitor screamed again.
A different pitch.
Urgent.
Nguyen.
The sound sliced through Sharon's concentration like a blade, but she locked it away. One crisis at a time. One life at a time.
Patel's voice echoed faintly through the open doorway. "She's seizing—hold her—don't loosen the restraints—"
Sharon's jaw clenched.
The world demanded everything at once.
"Reyes," she said without looking away from Kimmie. "You stay here."
Reyes hesitated. "But Nguyen—"
"Reyes," Sharon snapped. "Stay."
Reyes nodded, eyes glassy.
Another scream from the hall—Troy again.
"I SWEAR TO GOD—LET ME GO—"
Daniels' voice cut in, cold now. "You're done."
A heavy thud followed.
Silence.
Not peace.
Just containment.
Sharon leaned closer to Kimmie, lowering her voice. "You're not alone. I'm here. We're all here."
Kimmie sobbed. "What if something's wrong with him?"
Sharon didn't lie.
"We don't know," she said. "But we're going to meet him. Right now."
Kimmie's breath hitched. "I don't want him born like this."
Sharon squeezed her hand. "He's being born because you're strong enough to bring him here."
Another contraction surged.
Kimmie bore down instinctively, screaming as her body took over.
"Don't fight it," Sharon said. "Let it happen."
In the hallway, footsteps pounded again.
Patrice burst in, face pale. "Sharon—Nguyen's heart rate dropped again—Patel's calling for help—"
Sharon didn't turn.
"I can't," she said. "You help them."
Patrice's mouth opened, then closed. She nodded and turned back, running.
The building groaned—metal shifting somewhere deep below. A moan rose from the stairwell, closer now, answered by another, then another.
The dead were listening.
Kimmie screamed again.
Angela's voice shook. "I see the head."
Sharon's focus sharpened instantly. Everything else narrowed to the space between Kimmie's legs.
"Good," Sharon said. "Good. Slow. Don't rush it."
Kimmie cried, exhausted. "I can't—"
"You are," Sharon said. "You are doing it."
Outside the door, a woman started praying out loud. Someone else shouted at her to stop. A baby cried and didn't stop.
The hallway was unraveling.
Inside the room, life was forcing its way through.
Another push.
Angela's breath caught. "Shoulders—"
"Guide," Sharon said. "Easy."
Kimmie screamed, voice breaking completely.
And then—
A sound.
Different.
Thin.
Alive.
A newborn's cry cut through the chaos like a blade.
For half a second, the entire floor seemed to freeze.
Even the moaning from below faltered, like the building itself was confused by the sound.
Angela laughed and cried at the same time. "He's here."
Sharon lifted the baby, slick and red and furious at the world.
"A boy," she said.
Kimmie sobbed—relief, terror, joy crashing together. "Is he okay?"
Sharon didn't answer immediately.
She checked color. Breathing. Tone.
The baby screamed again—strong, angry.
Sharon exhaled. "He's breathing."
Kimmie collapsed back against the pillows, crying openly now.
In the hallway, Troy screamed.
"IS HE ALIVE?"
Daniels' voice answered, hoarse. "Yes."
Another sound followed.
A crash cart.
Running footsteps.
Patel shouted, "We're losing her—"
Sharon's head snapped up.
She wrapped the baby quickly, handed him to Angela. "Warm him. Keep him quiet."
Angela nodded, clutching the bundle like it was made of glass.
Sharon stripped off her gloves and turned for the door.
Reyes caught her arm. "Sharon—"
Sharon met her eyes.
"I can't choose," she said. "So I won't."
She ran.
Down the hallway, past people staring, crying, praying, breaking.
Into Nguyen's room.
The monitor screamed.
Patel was already on the bed, compressions brutal, desperate.
"She's gone again," he shouted.
Sharon didn't slow.
She climbed onto the other side of the bed.
"Move," she said.
And pressed down.
Because death didn't wait its turn.
And neither did she.