"Most of the track's gone now. There's no way we'll get out of here in a hurry."

"It's too deep for the Landrover?"

"'Fraid so. It'd be up to the roof, down by the gully."

"Oh gosh, that means it's over the other track, too, then. We're cut off."

"That's right. Can't even get to the shearing shed."

"Where are the sheep?"

"God knows. I certainly don't."

"On the ridge, maybe?"

"Probably all drowned in the gully."

"Oh, Eric, don't be so pessimistic!"

"Kerry, we're cut off. There's no way we can get to the road. If there's an emergency, we're on our own!"

"What sort of emergency've you got in mind? No need to take risks. Just wait for the flood to go down. No need to risk broken legs or anything."

"That's not what I was thinking of."

"You're not going out there to look for the sheep, are you?"

"Of course not! I may not be quite conventional, but I'm not crazy! The sheep can wait. if they're alive, they'll be all right. If they're dead, there's nothing to be done while this rain keeps on."

"Oh, they're probably huddled under the gumtrees on the ridge, like last time."

"You're probably right. Anyway, I'd best finish eating, then get some firewood in before it gets dark."

While Eric went to fetch the wood, Kerry cleared up the kitchen, then sat down in the big rocking chair and took up her knitting. She glanced at the clock worriedly. On impulse she got up and lifted the handset of the phone to her ear. The lines were still down. When could they have fixed them, she scolded herself, in this weather and with all the flooding?

"Did you ever find the other lantern?" she asked Eric when he had come back inside and was lighting the kerosene lantern that they kept in the kitchen.

"No, I haven't a clue where it's gone. Must've lent it to someone."

"We weren't really prepared for the power to fail, were we?"

"Yeah. My fault. I should've bought that generator we looked at in February."

"Never mind. We can get one before the next floods."

"Ha! We might move back to town before the next floods!" Eric exclaimed, picking up a couple of logs, "At this rate we soon won't have any food left!"

"There's plenty in the pantry, Eric!" Kerry laughed, "and I can't imagine you giving up this place, anyway! You'd languish, back in town!"

"Too true, Kerry, you're right," he chuckled, dropping the wood on the hearth and opening the firebox, "I guess the next floods'll find us here all right."

"Only we'll have a generator then?"

He added the logs to the stove, shut the firebox door and stood up, dusting off his hands on his jeans.

"We might even have a radio, so we can hear the news! Ah, civilisation!" Eric glanced around the room which was their kitchen, dining room, and living room all in one. The cottage he himself had built held only four rooms under its roof -- this, their bedroom, the smaller bedroom at the front, and the bathroom. "Might as well get to bed, save the kero."

When his licence had been revoked, Eric had thrown all his savings into the farm, married Kerry, and become a sheep farmer. It wasn't exactly a money-making venture, but he found it eminently satisfying. He no longer had to face the mess he'd left behind, either.

He went to the sink to wash his hands. Kerry stood against the doorjamb, her arms crossed, watching him, flickers of anxiety crossing her face. She thought of his fear of an emergency arising while they were cut off from the road. She knew quite well what kind of emergency he meant, and she didn't like to talk about it either. They were stuck out here because when the rains had started he had refused to move to town and leave the farm unattended. She herself had chosen to stay with the husband she knew too well. If she hadn't been here with him now he probably would have gone out to look for his sheep.

He picked up the lantern and she followed him through the hall which danced strangely in the light of the lantern as they walked.

"How've you been feeling today?" he asked her as they prepared for bed, "What with one thing and another, I forgot to ask you, earlier."

Kerry thought of the last few anxious hours when he'd been out checking on the state of his flooded property. She thought of the few years of their marriage, of the emergency he feared.

"I'm much the same," she said, "I'm okay, really."

Something in the tone of her voice made him look up sharply. She had her back to him, so he couldn't see her face, and he wondered if he'd just imagined the note of fear. He shrugged and finished doing up his pyjamas. Kerry got into bed and he blew out the lantern and climbed in beside her. They fell asleep listening to the monotonous lullaby of the rain on the iron roof.

It was after two in the morning when Kerry woke up. She lay still for a while, wondering what had woken her up, until another cramp answered her silent question. Still she just lay there in the dark wishing it were all a bad dream. After some minutes, however, she knew she would have to wake Eric up. Oh, how she wished it weren't happening, how she longed to be able to let him sleep.

"Eric, wake up, please wake up," she said softly, shaking his shoulder gently at first, then more forcefully. "Please, please, wake up, Eric," she said more loudly, "I'm scared."

He groaned and stretched and turned over heavily.

"Whassatime?" he muttered.

"Two thirty."

"Whatsamatter? Why'd you wake me up?"

"It's happening again, Eric..."

"What's happening again?" Then it hit him. "Oh, no! Not here!" he exclaimed, getting up on his elbow, "Not when we're stranded here!"

"It is, Eric, and I can't do anything about it," she said, "But it'll be all right, won't it, even if we're stuck out here? You're a doctor, after all."

"But I haven't got a licence to practise, Kerry. You know that."

"But this is an emergency. That licence stuff doesn't apply in an emergency, does it? If you're looking after your own wife?"

"I don't know. I guess it hardly matters one way or the other. We are stuck out here on our own."

"This is what you were afraid of isn't it?" she asked softly.

"Yeah. You know it is. It was bad enough those other times, when at least you were in hospital, but here..." He got up and groped around until he found the lantern. "We got any matches in this room?"

"In the drawer of your bedside table."

He found them, lit the lantern, and placed it on top of the chest of drawers.

"This would happen when the power's out and the phone's dead, wouldn't it?" he muttered.

"Oh, Eric, I was hoping it was all a bad dream. When the bleeding started I kept hoping it would stop."

"The bleeding?" he said, almost angrily, "When did that start?"

"When you were outside..."

"Why didn't you tell me when I got back?" he exclaimed hotly, "I might've found some way of getting us out! Crosscountry, or something!"

"You were upset and you were hungry..." Her voice dropped almost to a whisper. "And I kept hoping it would stop, I kept praying it would stop... Please, Eric, don't be angry."

He stood by the bed looking down at her, not sure why he was angry, or even who he was angry at. Once again their dream was evaporating, once again they would have to go through that agony. Oh God, why are You doing this to us? he cried silently, and then he knew that it was God he was angry at, and he didn't know whether he should feel guilty about it or not. Are You punishing me, God? But why punish Kerry, God? Does she deserve this? Oh, God, please do a miracle or something!

He sighed and sat down on the bed. Kerry grimaced as she felt another cramp come to a peak. There was no mistaking it now. The whole thing was so dreadfully familiar. She reached for his hand. He leant over and gathered her into his arms, his anger suddenly abandoned.

"Kerry, let's pray," he suggested.

"You pray for both of us," she said, "I'm not sure I can pray."

Quietly Eric thanked God that He was with them and that they could trust Him. He asked God to stop what was happening, but added that he knew that what God allowed was for their good. He felt like a hypocrite as he spoke the words. Do I really believe what I'm saying? he asked himself. He didn't know.

Kerry huddled in his arms and tensed up as another cramp hit her. Please, God, stop this, she pleaded in her heart, I don't think I can bear it, I don't want to have to bear it, please, please...

"I'm bleeding a lot," she said out loud, "Shouldn't we protect the bed?"

"I guess so," he replied, and went to get the plastic sheeting out of the wardrobe. He spread it on the bed and lay a large beach towel over it.

"Shall I make you a cup of tea?" he asked as she lay down again.

Kerry didn't want him to leave the room. She'd be alone, in the dark, listening to the rain and the wind separating them from the assistance of hospitals and medical personnel. No nurses, no interns, no needles, no clean hospital bed -- just their own bed, just the two of them, nothing they could do except pray and weep together.

"I'll come with you," she said, getting up again, "I don't want to be on my own." No nurse to tell her to stop being silly, this happens to hundreds of women every day. No interfering intern using their tragedy as a learning experience. No bright lights to show up every bit of the horror of it to gaping students. "Eric," she added softly, in wonder, "It's just us this time, d'you realise? You'll have to do everything and nobody can stop you."

"There's nothing to do," he muttered, "except clean up the mess."

Clean up the mess... Yes, nurse, clean her up, get rid of that mess. I'm going to have a cup of tea before the next one. It's like a rush-hour bus queue, out there -- we'll be here till all hours! Stupid women, why can't they be more careful? Oh, God, was that me?

"Can you give me a light in the bathroom, Eric?"

He followed her and put the lantern on top of the wall cabinet. She was looking for something.

"Need help?" he asked.

"I have a problem--" she began, but suddenly straightened up. "Oh, never mind, I think it's too late!" She stood on the bathmat, her eyes wide, her face drained of colour, and she suddenly squatted down and let out a loud moan. Eric crouched down beside her and put his arms around her.

"It's all right, love, I'm here with you."

Her only answer was another moan, and he felt her bear down twice. She went limp in his arms so suddenly he almost fell over. Slowly he rose to his feet, holding her in his arms. Oh bother, he thought, I'll have blood all over me, Well, never mind, it'll wash out, better get her to bed. He carried her to their bedroom, feeling his way carefully with his foot.

"It's all over, I think," he whispered to his wife as he eased her onto the towel on the bed and sat down next to her.

Kerry was sobbing quietly. He felt for her head and gently stroked her hair. She grabbed his hand and pressed it to her cheek.

"I did so want for it not to happen this time..." she whispered.

"I know, I was hoping too..." he whispered back. After a moment he pulled his hand away, and got up. "I'd better go clean up before it all dries," he said reluctantly.

Eric felt his way back to the bathroom. There was the bathmat in the middle of the room. He stared at it. Those other times it hadn't been like this. He recalled bustling efficiency, bright lights, clatter of equipment. He'd been told to wait outside her room. Uniformed faceless persons had gone in and out. When it was all over, they told him he could go in. Silently, he had cried, can't you see how it hurts?!

He brought the lantern down onto the floor so he could see better. I think I'll just pick it all up and toss it on the fire... Oh my gosh. I almost didn't notice it, all covered in blood like that. Heedless of the blood, he reached for the tiny body. His hand was shaking, and his eyes suddenly couldn't focus. He pulled down the face-washer hanging by the sink. Let me clean you up a bit, little one. So, so small you are. Oh my gosh.

Tiny hands, feet, legs, arms, bodies, faces with sealed eyelids and perfect ears, noses, mouths -- take this bucketful down to the lab. There's good money in this lot. Those second-trimesters -- we've got an order for fifty and it's not filled yet. Yes, nurse, what's the matter now? One more to do? I'll be there in a minute -- has she started yet? What? She's been going four hours? Turn up the drip, we don't want to be here all night. How far along is she? Seven months? She got a certificate? Oh, that's okay, then. Stop her noise, would you? Here it comes, -- put that mask down and give me a hand! Oh never mind, I've caught it. Just push the bucket over and we can get it out of here. I'll just cut the cord. You take care of the rest.

Only a handful -- tiny, like a skinned kitten. Made a noise like a kitten, too. My God, she's alive! She shouldn't have been, but she was. Not for long, though -- born too early. Couldn't breathe. Just before she gave up, she looked at me. She opened her eyes -- I thought they couldn't, so early -- and she stared right at my eyes, like she knew who I was, what I was, and she might as well have yelled it at me.

"Murderer!"

"Kerry, you asleep?"

He put the lantern down on the bedside table and sat down next to her. She was curled up on her side, facing him, her eyes closed.

"Kerry, look," he said softly, "I have something to show you. Hold out your hand."

She gave him a puzzled look, but she sat up and opened her hand, and he placed something on it. Kerry gasped, and stared.

A tiny, tiny boy. Hands the size of forget-me-not petals. Tiny feet with minuscule toes. A little, round, bald head with a funny little face. Oh, that such a little thing could be a human being!

"Oh, Eric," she whispered, "Isn't he beautiful?"

She stroked the tiny body gingerly with her finger, tears streaming down her face.

"Were the others like this too?" she asked softly.

"The others?" he said stupidly.

"Our children."

"I don't know. I never saw them. I thought you had."

"No, I didn't. They said there was nothing to see."

"Nothing to see..." He touched the little foot with the tip of his finger, drew his finger up the tiny leg, up the chest, over the head, down the arm to the unbelievably small fingers. "Yeah," he said quietly, "They would've said that..."

She gazed at the little body for a moment, then held him up against her cheek.

"He's cold," she remarked.

"Well, he's dead, you know," Eric said apologetically.

"Yes, he's dead," she echoed, and looked up at him, stricken. "They're all dead, Eric."

"Yeah..." All dead, all hundreds and thousands of them, and our children too...

How many children have we got? Oh, five. Only they're all dead. We only ever saw one of them. The others were sold to the tissue banks. What about grieving and all that? Well, all that nonsense had to go, didn't it? They couldn't say to one woman, that's a lump of tissue to get rid of, and turn around to another and tell her, that's your child. I mean, that's not logical, is it? So they all go to the tissue banks. They use them for research and so on. Oh, God, is this a punishment? Will You never let us have a child? A full-term one, I mean? Did I forfeit Your blessing, Lord?

"Eric, what's his name?"

"His name?"

"Shouldn't we give him a name? He's our son, isn't he?"

"Oh, Kerry..."

Eric wrapped his arms around his wife and child and wept. But they were not tears of despair that he shed—they were tears of relief, of hope, of gratitude, for suddenly he knew for certain that there would be other children, and that they would live. He knew now that God had forgiven him. The wonder of it was that if it hadn't been for the flooding he might never have stopped long enough to really grasp the enormity of what he had done. The farm work normally took all of his time, all of his thoughts. Fancy God organising a flood just to get through to him!

Surely the Lord's mercies are unexpected, and His faithfulness is great.