by Seth Patrick
‘Not Sly?’ said Never. Then he saw the look on Jonah’s face. ‘Hold on.’ He stared at Jonah, then shook his head. ‘You can’t mean Annabel. Petro, right? Mark or Armel?’
‘Annabel,’ said Jonah. ‘She’s young, strong. How could we ask Mark or Armel, or any of the parents?’ There was no answer. ‘Come on,’ he said, offering the glass of water. ‘Do as Cathy told you, or I’ll look like a terrible nurse.’
‘Fine,’ said Never. He took a drink. ‘Pandora’s fucking box,’ he muttered. ‘You realize that “hope” is a very vague word, right? You plan on reopening the door that started this whole thing off, and you have no idea what will be waiting for you. And for Annabel.’
‘I know,’ Jonah said. ‘There is one thing I need from you, though.’
‘Name it,’ said Never.
‘We have to know when the Beast will come back to DC. When you . . . when you got an insight into how it was operating, did you learn anything about its return?’
‘I think it’ll be obvious,’ said Never. ‘Watch the roads.’
‘The roads?’
‘What do you think the others like me would have done? People with friends and family elsewhere, out of the city? You’re right that it will come back, because it wants to indulge itself. It controls the city, but it wants as many cattle as it can herd. Many of its puppets will have left the city, and found family, friends, whatever. And it’ll bring them all back, just in time for the show. Make any old shit up to get them to come. Lambs to the slaughter.’
Slaughter.
Jonah felt his gut twist at the word. ‘Watch the roads,’ he said. ‘Got it.’
*
Armel and Petro volunteered to take Armel’s car on the ninety-minute drive to Hagerstown, to monitor activity on the I-70. What little radio they’d caught that day painted a picture of the country as frozen, waiting for something without any idea what to expect. The attacks were still broadly spoken of as rumours, and wild ones at that. It was forty-eight hours since the power had gone off, but there was no sign of the civil unrest that would surely come soon enough. People were digging in and hiding, rather than lashing out.
By 4 p.m., Sly and Philip had returned.
‘No problems,’ Sly said. ‘There was nobody near the clinic, and we were in and out in fifteen minutes. The roads are all but empty. It’s dead out there.’
‘We saw one police cruiser,’ said Philip. ‘Pulled us over and asked a few questions.’
Jonah was immediately wary. ‘Anything suspicious about them?’
Sly shook her head. ‘No. They were scared. Didn’t know what the hell was going on. One thing they did say, though a – couple of their colleagues had left to see if they could help with whatever had happened in DC, and they hadn’t returned. They looked us in the eye and told us to stay in our homes until this all blows over. They didn’t for one second look like they believed it would just blow over, mind.’
Annabel was lurking in the background, arms folded and anxious. She’d stopped saying much when she volunteered, and Jonah couldn’t blame her. Almost everything he said to her was a prelude to trying to talk her out of it – or at least to draw lots. That wasn’t a conversation she wanted to have.
So, yes . . . he wasn’t surprised Annabel had stopped talking. The decision was made, and Jonah’s attempts to give her an out just weren’t helping anyone.
The equipment Sly and Philip had brought back was laid out. They hadn’t needed much, really – a nasopharyngeal thermometer was probably the most important, allowing Philip to monitor core body temperature, and the veterinary clinic had carried essentially the same models of temperature probes used in hospitals. They’d managed to find a small EEG unit, too, used for diagnosing seizure disorders in dogs, but more than sufficient for their needs.
‘That’ll let us see when cerebral activity ceases,’ said Philip. ‘The point of clinical death. We also found a cooling unit with a mat. This is fully waterproof, hence submersible. The normal clinical process for surgery is to use a bypass machine and cool the blood directly, as well as cool the body externally. It’s more controlled, and makes sure the cooling is even. But direct immersion is effective. A healthy person immersed in cold water at ten degrees Celsius will reach hypothermic temperatures and die within an hour if they remain inactive. Water near freezing can kill in fifteen minutes.’
Jonah realized that Philip was now addressing Annabel directly. She was looking back at him, impassive.
‘My plan,’ Philip continued, ‘is to fill the bathtub with water, chill it with ice to about five Celsius, and maintain that temperature with the cooling mat. We’ll sedate you first. You’ll be intubated, and have the thermometer put in place. I’ll monitor breathing. We’ll have two other people in the room, to take turns and keep the water moving to even out temperature differences. When your core temperature is low enough, I’ll administer something to stop your heart, and then we’ll monitor cerebral activity. Then it’ll be over to Jonah.’
Jonah had been watching Annabel the whole time, and when his name was mentioned she looked at him. The moment she did, he looked away. ‘Uh, right,’ he said, turning to Philip. ‘Once cerebral activity halts, it’ll be at least five to ten minutes, I think, before I attempt revival. I can only guess at timing, but I know that the previous times this was attempted it didn’t take long to perform the revival and establish contact. After that, resuscitation can begin.’
Philip nodded and took over. ‘Resuscitation is hopefully just a matter of gradual warming. We’ll relocate Annabel to the bedroom and monitor the rate of temperature rise, adjusting the room temperature accordingly. When her core temperature is high enough, her heart will start spontaneously, but until then we’ll perform CPR. That will ensure the warming of the blood is transferred around the body, and make the temperature rise more even. We need to watch for fibrillation, and also for hypoglycaemia. I’ll have thiamine and glucose ready if it’s needed. Any questions?’
Annabel walked to the door and kept going, silent. Nobody spoke; they just watched her, and Jonah couldn’t bear the sense of fatalism in the room.
He went after her and caught her in the garden, among the smashed solar panels and the incinerated batteries.
‘Don’t start,’ she said.
‘I’m not going to,’ said Jonah. ‘I’m sorry. I’ve not been what you need me to be. I know this is the only way, but I’m struggling to deal with it.’
‘You have to be strong,’ she said. She moved towards him, and embraced him with a fierce grip. ‘I’m scared. I don’t know what this is, Jonah. None of us do. Something sent you a message, maybe it was Tess, maybe not. It’s the only hope we have to defeat what’s coming, but think about it. This hope is coming from the same place that the Beast did.’
‘Annabel, if it was a ploy, we wouldn’t be needed. Once I’d demonstrated that it was possible, plenty of revivers could perform live revival, remember? The Beast’s agents could have organized it themselves without this rigmarole, or the risk.’
‘I didn’t mean it was a ploy.’ She paused for a moment. ‘I always wondered how the jailers had done what they did – the entities that Tess and the rest were host to. They fought the darkness, and trapped it. Did they work that out themselves? They would have been in the same position we are now, backs against the wall and facing extinction. Maybe something helped them. Maybe something showed them. They built a prison out of their own souls, to lock the Beast away for Christ-knows how long. What if that’s what our last hope turns out to be? What if I’m going to end up as the first wall of a new prison?’
It was something that hadn’t occurred to him, and it shook him badly. He held her as tightly as she held him. He could lie to her now, just dismiss what she was saying as if it were merely nonsense; but she needed him to be strong, and she needed him to be honest.
‘Then I’ll be the second,’ he said. ‘And I’ll stay with you. Always.’
21
Armel and Petro
brought back the news Jonah had feared. Something big was happening.
He’d suspected it already. About a half-hour before their return, the deep thump of a couple of Chinooks filled the air.
‘That’s out of Davison Airfield, I’d bet,’ said Sly, as she came outside. Jonah came with her to see. ‘I don’t want to think about what their plan is.’
‘Maybe they’re friendly,’ said Jonah, and Sly looked at him as if he was five years old.
‘There are around ten thousand military personnel in and around DC,’ she said. ‘What percentage do you think are still friendly? I’d imagine most are dead by now, but those that aren’t . . .’ She shook her head. ‘Friendly is probably not the right word.’
By the time Armel and Petro showed up, preparations were well underway.
‘There’s plenty of movement on the roads now,’ said Armel. ‘All of it is towards DC. We even saw a gas station being pumped by hand, being given out for free.’
Petro nodded with a frown. ‘Army men in charge there,’ he said. Sly and Jonah shared a look. ‘I said we go on by, not worth a risk. Same for talking to anyone about where they were going or why. I look in the cars, I see families, kids. You see the helicopters?’
‘We did,’ said Sly.
Jonah went inside. Annabel was in their bedroom, lying down. ‘God I’m hungry,’ she said when Jonah came in. ‘I’d not eaten when you came up with your idea, and Philip told me I should really have an empty stomach for the procedure. Fate, huh?’
He lay down beside her. ‘Armel and Petro came back,’ he said. She saw the look in his eyes and nodded.
‘How long before we start?’ she said.
‘Any minute. Philip’s about to get the bath run.’ Hours before, they’d filled the freezer with every plastic container they’d been able to find, trying to freeze as much water as possible. Now, the others were breaking it all up into smaller chunks. The sound of dull thuds from below was just about audible.
She took a sharp breath. ‘Holy fuck, Jonah. We’ve been on point too long. I want a break from this. Promise me we’ll have a holiday when it’s all over?’
‘I promise. Where do you have in mind?’
She smiled. She was crying, too. ‘Right here would suit me fine,’ she said, nodding to the bed. ‘A mountain of chocolate, plenty of sleep, and plenty of the other.’
‘Sounds perfect.’
There was too much to say, and neither of them wanted to say it. They held each other in silence. Eight minutes later, Philip knocked on the door.
*
Annabel put on her gym gear. She looked at herself in the mirror. ‘I’m gonna look good as a corpse,’ she said.
It was too much. Jonah looked away, close to tears. He was shaking a little.
‘Shit, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,’ said Annabel.
They went through to the bathroom. Philip was there, with Jansin and Mark as his assistants. The equipment was ready. Jonah found he couldn’t look at the thermometer probe, or the breathing tube – the invasive parts. Philip clipped a little heart monitor onto Annabel’s finger, and peeled the backing off two electrodes, sticking them to her temples.
‘We only need the most basic reading from the EEG,’ he said. ‘Two of these will do just fine. OK. I want to get a line into your arm, ready for the propofol. That’s what’ll knock you out.’
She nodded. Philip’s dexterity seemed to defy his age-swollen joints, and she didn’t even wince as the needle went in.
‘Lie down,’ he told her.
Jonah squeezed Annabel’s hand and backed out of the room. He watched as the anaesthetic was administered, Philip telling Annabel to count back from ten. At six, she fell silent.
Philip worked quickly, intubating her, attaching the breathing bag then carefully feeding the nasopharyngeal thermometer probe into her nostril. Slowly, he pushed it further and further in, and Jonah had to look away.
‘OK,’ said Philip, and when Jonah turned back, the three of them had lifted her and were starting to lower her into the icy water. ‘Be ready in case we get a reflex spasm,’ said Philip. ‘If we do, just keep going slowly. Don’t panic.’
In a few seconds, she was in the bath, the water coming up to her neck.
Jansin positioned herself at Annabel’s head, holding her steady and taking charge of the bag. Annabel was breathing on her own right now, but as her temperature dropped that could quickly change. They needed to be prepared.
Mark was watching her heart rate and the reading from the cold-mat that was submerged in the water. ‘It’s staying stable at five C,’ he said. ‘Heart rate slowing.’
‘Here we go, then,’ said Philip. He was holding a small unit that was wired to the thermometer probe. ‘It’ll be a few minutes before we see much of a drop. We monitor breathing and heart-rate.’ He looked at Jonah. ‘You can wait in the hall, if it’s easier.’
‘I’m not going anywhere,’ said Jonah.
Philip nodded. ‘When she reaches a hypothermic core reading, thirty or so, there’s a risk of arrest. If that happens, we’ll have to bring her out, OK? It’d be too high a temperature for us to stop her heart. Hypoxia would be far too likely.’
Jonah nodded. He was looking only at Annabel’s face, certain that her lips were becoming more and more blue by the second, but this process would take quite some time yet.
Philip and his newly formed team worked in silence, only speaking when Philip called out for readings. Annabel’s temperature fell, slowly reaching the critical thirty-degree mark. Her heart rate was very low, but steady.
‘Good,’ said Philip. ‘This is the most dangerous phase, people. Her core will decrease more quickly now. Ten more minutes, at most. If she spontaneously arrests in the meantime, we’re committed. If not, when she reaches twenty degrees she gets the potassium solution.’
That was what would stop her heart. That was what would kill her.
Philip reported each tenth-of-a-degree drop in her temperature. He ordered Jansin to begin to assist with her breathing.
Twenty-two degrees.
Twenty-one.
Annabel’s hand gave a sudden spasm, almost dislodging the heart-rate monitor, but it was brief. Jonah stared at her hand, thinking back to revivals when that kind of spasm had indicated that the revival success was close at hand. He realized that he wasn’t far off panicking, and he felt a moment of shame, watching Jansin and Mark play their parts without betraying any such weakness.
Twenty point nine.
Twenty point eight.
They watched. They waited.
Twenty.
Philip took the prepared syringe and attached it to the line in Annabel’s arm. ‘This is it,’ he said. He pushed the solution into her bloodstream. There was no tremor, no drama. After fifteen seconds, the regular blip from the heartrate monitor simply stopped.
‘You can stop now too, Jansin,’ said Philip. Jansin ceased squeezing the breathing bag.
The EEG monitor unit was sitting idle on a shelf at the far wall. From it ran a bundle of cables, and Philip attached two of them to the electrodes on Annabel’s forehead. He looked intently at the device, and Jonah stepped into the bathroom so that he could see the display.
A single trace-line ran across the screen, showing activity. Gradually, the peaks and troughs flattened out. As they did, Philip adjusted the display’s sensitivity until it was at its maximum.
They watched for a full six minutes, and at last the EEG reading flatlined.
Annabel was dead.
*
They took her out of the bath and laid her on the floor. Mark removed the cold-mat from the water and placed it on top of her.
‘It’s set to ten degrees,’ he said. ‘I’ll adjust it if you want, Philip.’
‘That should be fine as it is,’ said Philip. ‘Do you need these out, Jonah?’ He indicated the thermometer and breathing tube.
‘Yes,’ said Jonah. There would be no talking involved – when live revivals had been done before,
it was simply a case of summoning the entity, at which point the reviver just released the subject’s hand. However, he couldn’t rule out the possibility of muscle movement; removing the probe and tube was precautionary. He planned to perform it as a typical non-vocal procedure, hoping to reduce the risk of damage to Annabel’s muscles. Non-vocal meant that no initial breath would be taken when the entity came through.
Once he’d removed the thermometer and tube, Philip looked to Jonah; so did Jansin and Mark.
Jonah realized he was trembling. ‘OK. How long since EEG flatline?’
‘Three minutes,’ said Mark, who’d been monitoring the time.
Jonah tried to calm his breathing. He realized he’d not taken any revival medication, but he didn’t think that would be an issue. None of the meds dealt with panic, not the way it was bubbling up inside him now. He knelt by Annabel’s lifeless body and took her hand.
He could only guess at how long it would be before he sensed a change, and felt that he could make his attempt. He’d already decided that, whatever happened, he wouldn’t wait more than fifteen minutes.
After ten, however, he did sense something. What, he couldn’t say, but after so many years as a reviver, his instinct was finely tuned. He trusted it.
‘OK,’ he said. ‘I’m going to start.’
He closed his eyes.
The first stage of a revival, the reversal . . . He thought back to the live-revival he’d been tricked into doing, and used that as his guide. The reversal was about the illusion of being within the subject’s undamaged body. That was the key, but it was difficult to get himself into that frame of mind given that the normal process involved addressing the various injuries that had been suffered. He imagined himself simply lying down, in the space where Annabel was.
It wasn’t working. The panic threatened to rise again, but he forced it back. He tried another approach, and pictured her in his mind, seeking any injury that might help him. He breathed more slowly, and then he noticed a discomfort in his throat, and a pinprick hole in his arm.