Resistance 3 - Chapter 8

Christine jerked awake with a start.  She’d been sent alone to this small conference where she’d first paced around frantically, then, after some prolonged period, sat down anxiously, eventually propping her head up on a balled fist, exhausted with emotion and stress.  She was unsure when she had nodded off, but it felt like it must have been some time ago.  Her mouth felt dry and gummy.

She looked around the bleak undecorated surroundings, wondering when someone would come in, half willing them not to.  She knew what this room was for.  It was the solitary room away from the publicly accessible patient rooms and hallways; the private room where you found out your loved one has died.

Just as those dark thoughts were passing through Christine’s mind, the door opened as if on cue.  Dr. James entered, a face mask now hanging loosely around his neck.  His forehead was damp with perspiration from unseen exertions.

“Ms. Anderson.”

His expression was completely neutral and unreadable.  

“Has it…  Is he..?”  Christine half rose to her feet, unable to complete either sentence.

The young doctor held his palms out.  “Not yet.  We’ve stabilized him for now.  

“But I’m afraid it’s only a matter of time.  I think it will be tonight.”

“Oh.”  Christine fairly crumpled back into her chair.  It felt as though she were hearing the news for the first time -- somehow it didn’t seem really real until this moment. Dr. James was still talking but his voice seemed to come from far away.

“When you feel ready, you can come to be with him.  If there’s anyone else you would like to be here, you should contact them promptly.”

Christine simply nodded, and out of her periphery, she saw the doctor turn to leave.

“Wait!”

He turned back, an inquisitive expression on his face.  She continued haltingly.

“Earlier…  earlier, when we spoke, I asked if there was something... anything else we could possibly do to save him…  

“And it seemed like you thought maybe... maybe there was.”

She saw the doctor giving her that same intense, estimating gaze as he had previously.  

“I wonder, Ms. Anderson, if you’re asking what I think you are…”

“I…”  Christine wavered for a moment.  “I’m not sure I know what you mean…”

“I see.”  Dr. James’ response was immediate.  “We’ll not speak more about it then.”

“Well, wait a minute--!”  Christine blurted out as the doctor made to leave again, his hand on the doorknob.

“Ms. Anderson, I apologize but I’m really quite busy at the moment, and I’m afraid I really don’t have the time for this.

“If you’ve something to ask me, by all means.  Ask.”

Christine opened her mouth and then shut it again, still hesitating.  The doctor bristled with impatience, adding to the pressure, but still, she was unsure.  Did she really want to ask for this?  If it were possible, would she want to go through with it?  Would Robert want this for himself?

“Ok, well, Ms. Anderson, I really need to be--”

“Can you reverse it?”  She finally just came out with it, and the two stared at each other for several moments in silence, poignant, deafening in the small room.

“‘Reverse it’...”  Dr. James repeated it slowly, finally.  “Reverse what precisely?”

Christine had no doubt the doctor knew exactly what she meant; he only wanted to hear her say it from her own mouth.  She readily responded -- she had gone this far already.  

“The Vaccine.”  She spoke in a lowered voice automatically, as if she were discussing some forbidden subject.  Which in fact, she was.  The implications of what she was suggesting…

“The Legacy Virus has miraculous properties to heal.  Everyone knows that,” she said.  “It could save him.

“I won’t pretend to know much about my husband’s work, but I know that the GDC would never simply forget what the Virus can do.  That whatever the official talking points are, the GDC is still studying the Virus, trying to control it, harness its power. 

“Maybe you don’t have it figured out yet…  But maybe… maybe at least, you can reverse it.

“You can make him like he was.

“You can bring him back.”  

Dr. James didn’t reply, his rugged, handsome face just as inscrutable as when he had first entered, as he continued appraising her, stroking his chin thoughtfully.

“You’re right,” he eventually answered.  “And you’re wrong.”

She felt hope leap inside of her as he first spoke, and then it seemed to sink like a stone as he finished.  What did he mean?  And again, she wondered if she really wanted to know.  But Robert’s life was at stake.  In that moment, she forgot all of the loneliness and neglect of these past years, all of the struggle to return to normalcy, the guilt and anger and unhappiness.  

She was able to see Robert then as she used to -- her husband, her dear husband, grim and brave and determined and brilliant, who had risked everything to save his son, save his family and in the end, he had done it -- he had saved them all. 

And with that thought Christine’s mind was made up.

“Do it, Doctor.  Please.  Save his life.”

She gazed pleadingly into the doctor’s impassive, unreadable face.  And indeed, whatever he knew, whatever he thought possible, it seemed he was going to refuse.  But then, just as Christine felt all hope fade, he spoke again.

“I promise nothing,” Dr. James stated bluntly.  “I’ll have to confer with my colleagues.  And if we proceed, and if he survives, you have no guarantee what kind of shape he’ll be in.

“I promise nothing,” he repeated.

Christine replied without hesitation.

“Whatever it is, we have to try.”