CryoLife

An eternal hour and a half has passed amid the jolting of the ambulance since Brittany lost consciousness. She has no idea where she is; in fact, she has not even fully regained her senses. There are intervals when she becomes aware, thinks she is recovering, only to faint again at once. It happens several times. During these confused episodes she hears voices, shouts, arguments that sound far away; in truth, they are not. Nothing comes through clearly. At some point they sit her down somewhere, examine her, and lay her on a cold gurney. Her languid body submits like a rag doll. She feels them opening her without pain.

The numbness engulfing her makes her feel she has no command over her sleeping muscles. She wants to wake up. The stabbing discomfort she felt in the ambulance that carried her out of Baybeach seems to have vanished. She tries to open her eyes, to see where she is, but cannot control her eyelids. Her mind is not at peace despite remaining dazed by powerful drugs coursing through her bloodstream. Little by little, unease takes hold of her. She cannot move normally, yet she feels caught in a violent whirl. Her body is alive, and she clings to that. She turns to reflections that soon descend into deep, unavoidable memories.

Profound darkness, dim light, a starless sky, brilliant light. Somewhere amid it all Brittany rouses. She does not know where she is or what time it is, what her name is, much less what day it might be. Her eyelids flutter heavily. Before her eyes is a ceiling crowded with stark white lights that blind her as they glide from bottom to top. She struggles to remain awake; her eyes close and she sinks into darkness again. When she opens them once more, she has no idea how much time has passed. The intense light blinds her again, makes her dizzy. From the corner of her eye, she barely makes out something different, a clue to where she is.

It seems to be a hospital room; no—she blinks, refocuses, looks more carefully, corrects herself—it is an operating room or something similar. An unknown face, almost entirely concealed beneath a hood and surgical mask, stares directly into hers and speaks to her, but she cannot understand what he says. She hears the voice as distant, distorted echoes. The man drives a needle into some part of her, probably her neck. She feels nothing. She falls asleep. The realm of dreams carries her to an uncertain place. Horrendous pains seize her. Inescapable suffering pursues her, as though someone were stirring her entrails with soup spoons.

The intense pain drags her back to reality. Her eyes fly open to discover she has returned to the operating room. She cannot tell whether weeks, days, or hours have passed. More than one face leans over hers now. They are anxious faces, watching her and whispering nervously beneath their masks. She feels terribly, violently ill. She tries to move, speak, complain, scream with all her strength. She can do none of it. On the contrary, she crosses the threshold of pain and immediately loses consciousness. She experiences that final moment as death itself. She sees a man wearing a mask and glasses spattered with blood, probably her own.

She is back in the operating room. Unbearable pain afflicts her, and not only in entrails churned by the spoons of some nameless agony. Around her are now six masked people watching her, touching her, doing something to her body. Her head is held by something that keeps her from turning it. She tries to move her hands and feet; they do not work. She feels nothing to the touch. She senses that her pillow is drenched. The same man as before rushes over, examines her, speaks to her.

"Easy, Brittany, easy. It’s me, Aaron. Sleep."

He injects her with something, and once again she loses consciousness. The darkness seems eternal between her collapse and the return of light. When she comes to, she thrusts her hands forward in a reflex. Her palms strike and touch glass that encloses her. The glass does indeed surround her through three hundred and sixty degrees; she realizes how hermetically sealed inside she is. She also discovers that she is submerged in a thick, bubbling liquid. On the other side of the glass she sees two people dressed like doctors, one younger than the other. Their images are distorted through the pane. They are Aaron and his son Abraham, but she cannot recognize them from within. She has no idea what is happening; her confusion exceeds every comprehensible limit.

Father and son are engaged in a heated argument with their backs to her and do not notice that she has awakened. The liquid in which Brittany is immersed does not drown her; on the contrary, she breathes it as though it were oxygen. Her dependence is confined to the technology of the tube they call CryoLife. Certain factors constitute indispensable premises for her survival. As this is an experimental treatment, the details of the process itself are strictly secret. They are also concealed because of controversial particulars often regarded with skepticism within the scientific community. This remains so even though the ultimate result is the saving of lives from every known or unknown diagnosis, including cases whose tests lead to an irreversible diagnosis.

Brittany’s body suffers no harm whatsoever while she remains there. Its preservation has been guaranteed from the beginning of the process. Every belief once considered speculative is now properly documented. She must only wait there a little longer, until this ends and the technology has done its part. When that final moment comes, every molecule, cell, and tissue in Brittany will be as though it had never suffered the slightest damage. Naturally, recovery during the following weeks will require a regimen of food and vitamin intake. Within a matter of hours, the young woman will be able to return to her usual surroundings and everyday activities.

Meanwhile, Brittany feels the warm caress of the liquid against her skin; it gives her warmth. Blinking heavily and confusedly beneath the thick liquid, she resigns herself to remaining enclosed inside the colorless, transparent glass tube, as strong as the metal of spacecraft. Across the outer surface of the glass surrounding her, turquoise letters appear, reading as follows:

CryoLife: V56.

Subject: Brittany Condon.

Condition: Stable.

Time Remaining: 11 Hours.