Bad post-apocalyptic movies and pregnancies are very similar. They're both slow, deliberate, and excruciating. For pregnancy, there are drugs - legal drugs - that can dull the pain, and there are procedures that can speed the process. For horrible movies without a real premise set after a nuclear war, there is no reprieve.
When resources are scarce, with water and food nowhere to be found, it's every man for himself. When Samuel Singleton meets two women squatting in his house - Margaret and Sarah (eight months pregnant) - they decide to take a trip to a spring-fed lake in order to save their lives. Along with a radio host named Michael, they meet up with a colony of survivors living in a system of caves. From there it's a bunch of poorly done hocus-pocus amidst a poor attempt at some sort of pseudo The Road Warrior meets Raising Arizona, as a character similar to Morgana from Excalibur attempts to steal the only baby born in the last 15 years.
It's slow, disjointed, poorly acted, and tediously irritating. The dartboard timing of the soundtrack borders on unnerving, like cats screeching while you're reading. The transitions are abruptly inappropriate, like a cage match breaking out at a kindergarten. The characters have a noxious combination of preposterous acting talent and the ability to elicit angered contempt from the audience.
The plot, characters, and situations are all loosely connected. Like a drugged spider in a futile attempt to weave a web, there really is no chance at saving the movie or the viewer from the inevitable pain that is sure to be worse than child-birth. It's just too bad there wasn't a second nuclear war about 15 minutes into this affront to cinema.