And warmth. I feel warmth for the first time in 301 years. Not ice—but a tingly sensation, crackling against the nerve endings in my skin, washing me with a feeling I thought I had lost forever. Warmth!
“Why hasn’t she moved yet?” says the first voice again. It doesn’t sound like harsh, careless Ed now, but gentler Hassan.
“Add more gel. ” Something is being rubbed into my skin. I realize that, for the first time in over three centuries, someone is touching me. Gentle hands knead my cold flesh with a goo that reminds me of the Icy Hot lotion I used on my knee when I twisted it at a cross-country race my freshman year. I am so happy I might explode.
And that’s when I realize I can’t smile.
“It’s not working,” says the gentle voice. It sounds sad now. Defeated.
“Try—”
“No, look, she’s not even breathing. ”
Silence.
I will my lungs to pump air; I will my chest to move up and down with the rhythm of life.
Something cold—I never want to feel cold again—is pressed against the top of my left breast.
“No heartbeat. ”
I concentrate all my will on my heart—beat, dammit! Beat! But how can you tell your heart to beat? I could no sooner have told it not to beat before I was frozen.
“Should we wait?”
Yes! YES. Wait—I’m coming. Just give me some time to thaw, and I will rise from the ice and live again. I will be your frozen phoenix. Just give me a chance!
“Nah. ”
My mouth. I concentrate everything I have within me on my mouth. Lips, move! Speak, shout—scream!
“Just put her back in. ”
And the table bows under the weight of the lid lowering over me. And my stomach lurches as they shove me back into the morgue.
The door clicks shut.
I want to scream, but I can’t.
Because none of this is real.
It’s just another nightmare.
8
ELDER
DOC IS IN THE LOBBY OF THE HOSPITAL, HELPING ONE nurse lead an old man toward the front desk where another nurse starts to check him in. When Doc sees me, he heads my way.
“Have you seen Harley?” he asks.
“No. ” I can’t help but smile. Harley’s famous for escaping Doc when med time rolls around.
Doc runs his fingers through his thick hair, then notices my smile and scowls. “It’s no laughing matter. Harley needs to take his medication on a regular schedule. ”
I make an attempt to sober up my expression. Harley does sometimes get intense and dark, but I think that has more to do with how artistic he is than how crazy Doc thinks he is. Besides, he’s my best friend; I’m not going to scamp him
out to Doc.