Checkers and chess were no longer entertaining. Even watching the others play cards irritated me. We were nearing the end of July, and I was so large I could barely maneuver. I had to let my mind wander to get away from the darkness of the tomb, from the fact that we were living in a tomb at all, and the dripping. For the love of all things holy, the dripping. That sound alone nearly pushed me out of my mind.

I would close my eyes, and pretend I was at Brown on the Main Green, lying with Jared while the summer air weaved through the trees. I blocked out the echoing and murmuring inside the tomb, and replaced it with laughing and jovial sounds of flag football on warm days, and the wonderful smells coming wafting from the Gate. Even my dorm room at Andrews was an escape. Mostly, I concentrated on our oak tree, and the loft. I still mourned our first home, but in my mind, it was untouched. Recalling every memory of every place I’d spent with Jared was the only thing that kept me sane at that point. That, and watching Claire and Ryan fall in love. Their sweet conversations, and the way they reveled every moment with each other kept me away from the darkness.

As the first of August came and went, my memories became harder to enjoy. They just mocked me. Us. Our faces had all grew pale, begging to see the sun again. Not even the promise of safety was worth this. Quiet times with Jared were something I had always wanted, but not in this prison. Not in this tomb, where I already felt dead.

A small twinge in my stomach made me hold my breath. It went away, but soon another came, and then another. They were stronger, and the more I hoped they would go away, the quicker and more intense they came.

I tried to breathe, but the air was so stale. When I tried to concentrate on my breathing through the pain, all I could hear was the water dripping. Always dripping. It was maddening. I was in labor, and going to give birth inside a drippy, cold hole in the ground.

“No,” I whispered.

Jared read a book a few feet from the mattress, noticeably waiting for me to tell him I was uncomfortable. I didn’t want to say it. Speaking the words made it real. There would be movement towards the supplies, and the unpacking of all the medical paraphernalia I didn’t want to see.

Before another contraction came, I pushed myself out of bed. “I have to get out of here.”

Jared put down his worn copy of The Catcher in the Rye, and turned to face me. When he saw I was standing, he stood, too. “Nina, you have to lay down.”