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through Mrs. Pond’s
    pineapple grove and around the house to her front door. Zack continued banging until the old lady
    opened the door and a revolver was pointed at him.
    “Zack Hennessey, I could’ve shot you!” she yel ed. “What the hel are you doing out in this storm?
    ”
    “What the hel do you need a gun for?” he shouted in return.
    “For situations when crazed men come banging on my door,” she snapped. “Jesus Christ on a
    cracker, you almost got capped.”
    His mouth dropped open. “Who talks like that? Real y, what have you been watching on TV? Do
    you even know how to shoot that thing?”
    “Mr. Pond made sure I was taught. Why are you here?” She put a hand on her hips.
    “Jordyn has been in labor for two days and we didn’t know. Her water broke earlier and the baby
    is ready to come out. Ambulances are tied up with a highway wreck and can’t come right away,”
    Zack said in a rush. “The doc is on the phone, but he says we need you to help or deliver or
    whatever. Just come.”
    “Let me get my shoes and my medical kit from my bug-out bag,” she said.
    “Why would you need a bug-out bag?” Zack knew exactly what she was talking about. It was an
    emergency kit that contained items that one would need in order to survive for days, maybe weeks.
    “In case of an apocalyptic event,” she replied as she finished tying her shoes and then pul ed on
    a rain poncho. She went to the closet, opened a big red bag and took a smal er black case out
    before opening the door and stepping out onto her patio. “Damn, the rain has turned the grove into a
    muddy mess. My joints only al ow me to move slowly in weather like this.”
    “No time for that.” Zack swooped her up in his arms and she gave a whoop of delight. “Hold on
    to your hair and that bag, Mrs. Pond. We’l be there in no time.”
    “Damn, boy, buy a girl dinner first before you cart her off,” she yel ed and laughed over the rain
    and the rol ing thunder. In Zack’s opinion, she was having way too much fun.
    He was back across her field and in his driveway in less time than it would have taken for her to
    walk it.
    “That was exhilarating,” she gasped. “Get cleaned up, grab some fresh towels and cut open
    some garbage bags.”
    “Do I need to boil water?” Zack asked.
    She looked at him and rol ed her eyes. “For what, boy? Making tea? Just get what I asked.”
    Mrs. Pond went inside and he kicked his dirty shoes off on the patio before running inside to the
    hal way bathroom. He showered the mud off quickly and grabbed some sweats and a T-shirt from
    the gym room before running to the kitchen. He cut three garbage bags in half and then grabbed
    fresh towels from the shelves over his washer and dryer. He then hightailed it back to the bedroom
    where he could hear Mrs. Pond soothing Jordyn and Dr. Patel asking question from the cel phone
    speaker.
    “Doctor, she is past ready to push. This little one’s head is completely crowned,” Mrs. Pond said
    and then turned to Zack. “Unless you want to buy a new mattress get those bags over here and then
    get up there and support her head.”
    Zack rushed into the room. “How are you doing, baby?”
    “This hurts like a mother fudger,” she wailed. “I want my epidural!”
    “Oh, honey, just breathe and keep going,” Zack consoled as he helped Mrs. Pond drape the
    bed with plastic and get it under Jordyn.
    “You breathe, damn it. I’l tel you what you can do with your breathing…”
    She was ready to snarl at him and Zack kissed her. “I love you too, baby.”
    “Don’t get hurt feelings, Zack. It’s a very emotional time for women in labor,” Dr. Patel said from
    the phone.
    “Bul shit to that. It hurts like a mother fudger, boy, and don’t you forget it,” Mrs. Pond said. “Now,
    Jordyn, next contraction you’re going to push this little girl out.”
    Tears were streaming down her cheeks. “I don’t think I can. God, it hurts.”
    “Push through the pain and