“The paramedics are waiting,” she said.

The elevator slowed, the digital display ticking down to ‘G’.

When the doors opened, the lobby was filled with the sound of rushing wind and rain.

Sheet water was slamming against the double-height glass doors of the entrance.

Two paramedics in dark blue jackets were waiting with a gurney.

“Over here!” Mr. Vance called out, waving them forward.

One of the paramedics, a tall man with a calm face, rushed toward us.

“Are you the mother?” he asked.

“Yes,” I managed to say.

“The contractions are very close,” Margaret said.

“Her water hasn’t broken yet, but she is in severe pain,” Margaret said.

They helped me onto the gurney, the vinyl surface cold against my back.

They buckled the straps across my chest and legs.

“We need to get her to the regional medical center,” the paramedic said.

“The highway is clear, but the local streets are starting to flood,” he said.

As they wheeled me toward the service exit leading to the garage, the lobby doors flew open.

A gust of wet, cold wind swept into the room, carrying the smell of wet pavement.