The Source - Michael Cordy [137]
The doctor cleared her throat. 'We've administered steroids to develop its lungs, and medication to stop your wife going into premature labour, but I don't know how many more days we can hold on. We monitor Lauren's condition constantly and any further deterioration will mean we have to get the baby out. It's on a knife edge. We want to keep her in for as long as we can but only so long as Lauren can support her.'
'Her?'
'It's a girl.' She reached into a manila file on the sideboard beside her and handed Ross a black-and-white scan. 'This is your daughter.'
The image struck Ross with surprising force. He had always been more concerned about losing Lauren than the abstract concept of their baby. Even the earlier scan he had seen, at sixteen weeks, hadn't altered that view. This grainy picture was different, though. The baby was suddenly real.
A little girl.
His daughter.
He walked over to the bed and stroked Lauren's belly. He felt movement, which scared him. He had something to lose again. And something to gain. Raw hope was so much crueller than numb despair.
He turned back to the doctor. 'Every day my daughter stays in the womb, her chances increase?'
'Yes.'
'How much longer before she's safe?'
The doctor frowned. 'At least another three or four weeks.'
'How likely is it she'll get that?'
A pause. 'Extremely unlikely.'
'Given Lauren's current condition, how many more days do you think my daughter can stay in the womb?'
'Like I said, every day increases the odds on survival.'
'How many days?'
'It's hard to judge, Ross.'
'What's your best estimate?'
Another pause. 'Two, three. A week maximum.'
'So you want my permission to intervene and deliver the baby as soon as you think it's necessary?'
Gunderson nodded.
'Even though the chance of the baby's surviving undamaged is minimal?'
'Yes.'
Ross took a deep breath. 'Thank you for being so honest.'
Gunderson brushed a blonde hair from her face. 'Have you any more questions?'
'No, thanks. I've been away, and all I want now is some time alone with my wife. I'd like to stay with her tonight.'
84
Sitting in an uncomfortable chair, looking at Lauren and the scan, Ross obsessed about the opportunities he had had to save them. He remembered when he had held Lauren's cure. He recalled the Source bringing him back from the dead when he could have escaped with an abundance of healing crystals. But he had stayed to help the others and stop Torino controlling the Source because he had thought it was what Lauren would want him to do.
Gradually, as Ross listened to the lulling rhythm of the apparatus, his exhausted body overruled his racing mind. He slumped in the chair, exposing the heavy crucifix, and fell into a fitful sleep.
Hours later, he woke with a start, clutching the cross and sweating. In his dreams he'd relived his near-death epiphany and his vow to Lauren. Back then, in his heightened state, he had known Lauren was making him vow to protect the Source and sacrifice her. And in the surreal context of the garden it had seemed the painful but right thing to do. Even at the end, surveying the scorched Eden, ashamed of what man had done, he'd focused on a plan to protect the Source. In many ways he had done more to protect it and its creatures than he had to protect his own family.
At that time, and in that place, it had felt right. Now, in the sober gloom of a sterile hospital room, inches from his comatose wife, his vow to Lauren felt very different. Especially when he considered his daughter, growing in Lauren's belly. What difference would it have made if he'd taken some of the crystals for Lauren? How much damage would he have done to the Source or its ecosystem? He touched the crucifix and