Free The Book of the Unnamed Midwife by Meg Elison

lady used to have those incredible arms. Past that. Too big, too round for a sleeveless dress. Mannish. Perfect.
    Bathed and slept. Rigged up a kind of holster system out of bed sheets. Hope to do better in a place where guns were a bigger deal. Know guns are cleaned out of every store, but maybe some leather holsters are still there. Cut my hair and brushed my beard on again. Early spring = tulips already out by the lake. Got the motorcycle out, oiled it up everywhere the pieces move, filled the gas tank and strapped a gas container to the back. Out in the driveway = can see it.
    Place has been great. Holds part of me, now and always. Only had to kill. Didn’t have to. Did. Can’t think about that. Glad I waited through the winter. Feel strong and ready to travel. Picked out a route that I think won’t be too hard.
     
    May
    Exhausted. Wasted. Sick. Tired. Raining = nonstop. Seen no one for months. Rode the bike until I ran out of gas and couldn’t find any anywhere. Walked for miles and miles, had to raid new shoes twice. Haven’t been dry since I left the lake house. Haven’t eaten in two days = got an upper respiratory infection, won’t die. I live you die short lifespan motherfucker I outlive you. I win.   In a barn now, as dry as I can get, taking antibiotics and drinking rainwater. Last entry is fucking sickening. Was so sunny side sure it was going to be a picnic out here. Hate everything. Can barely breathe. Going to sleep as long as I can and see if I can get better. Aspirin. Gun in my hand.
    Don’t know how many days it’s been. Fever is gone = woke up starving and dehydrated. Drank all the water I could, but had to go raiding for something to eat. Old farmhouse next to this barn had a can of peeled tomatoes under the stairs of the cellar = delicious. Have a rash and a raging yeast infection = fucking antibiotics but bug is dead. Need a water filter. Water = probably how I got sick.
    Map = I’m in Bumblefuck Nowhere, east Oregon. All scrub out here. Billion birds of prey but I don’t think they’re having a lot of luck besides lizards. Sat out in the sun for an hour, stacking up rocks like they teach boy scouts to do, except don’t know the code. She went thattaway. Tracker and tracked.
    Walking for days. Wake up, walk all day. Eat what there is to eat. Lie down in the open and pass out at dusk. Haven’t seen a predator or a squirrel. Only the carrion birds and bugs. Not worried about an animal. Can’t give a shit about people. Too tired.
    Walked for two weeks. Very hungry. Came to a road and followed it, probability be damned. Ran into a gas station, not cleaned out. Sat on the floor and ate about sixty-four handi snacks and drank a gallon of some sugary shit that still had a seal on it. Packed up all the jerky and chips and dried apricots my bag would hold. Gave myself another haircut in the bathroom after pulling a dead man off the toilet. Used his body to prop the door open. For light. Everything stinks, but at least I’m not starving anymore. The road signs say there’s a town up ahead. Going for it.
     
    June
    Town = McDermitt, apparently. Sort of a town. There’s an airport. Thought very seriously about trying to fly a plane. Terrible idea = die if I did it. But very tempting. Staying in a saloon. Eating a lot of nuts and pretzels = haven’t had good luck. Try houses later this week and see if I can scare up something better.
    Turned down a lot of dented cans. Not worth getting sick over. Found dried soup mix, some MREs, and a lot of green beans. It’ll do. In one of the houses, found a note painted on the wall, in huge letters somebody did with a brush.
     
     
    THE MESSAGE OF CARTER
    THE YEAR OF THE DYING
    AS SCRIBED BY THE UNNAMED MIDWIFE
    HAVE GONE TO CALIFORNIA
    TAKING RT 101 SOUTH THROUGH SF TO LA
    THE BABY IS ALIVE AND WITH ME
    FOLLOW US IF YOU CAN
    MORE SIGNS ON THE WAY
    CARTER
     
    Stared at that for a long time. The baby is alive. With me. Alive. Carter. Wtf Carter? What if he