Chapter 1
In the movies, they always show the eyes opening first when someone wakes up. In reality, all the other senses become active before sight. The chill of the metal slab beneath my body, for example. I wiggle my toes and fingers, checking for functionality. Well, I’m not dead. Small victories. Slowly, my entire body becomes alert and I’m able to pull my eyes open. Blurry shapes enter my line of sight and I have to blink a few times to clear my vision. Okay, so not blurry, just…dirty? The glass dome above me obscures my vision. That was the first sign that something was wrong. My ears are met with complete silence; the second sign. Shouldn’t the doctors and scientists be talking me through this or something? The emergency release handle hatches the dome open. Hinges creak loudly as I push the makeshift door open further and stumble out of the standing chamber.
Cryogenics is the art of preserving a dead body by freezing it at extremely low temperatures. Why? Because people are weird. In humanity’s everlasting search for immortality, scientists’ begged the question: If you can preserve a dead body, why can’t you preserve a living one? Meet me, Reverie Ashford, subject 001 in the human cryogenic trails. How did I end up here? As an active elite operative, at the time, I slaughtered a crime syndicate on American soil. Why? Because they killed my family. By then I was considered AWOL and Russia was threatening to start another war. America, the land of the free, threw me to the Russians like the meat to a pack of hungry dogs. Tortured, raped, and defiled in every way possible, I longed for the sweet embrace of death. The Ostrix Cryogenics Research Laboratory was closing in on a way to preserve living humans so I was offered up, bloodied and bruised, as a test subject. If I died, oh well, they were going to kill me anyway.
Bile rises in my throat as nausea wracks my nervous system. I force it back down and focus on making the muscles and joints work properly in my legs. What was once a pristine laboratory was now a decrepit echo of former glory. Dust and cobwebs litter the shelves and desks. Grime-covered walls loomed high above me. The only light available was from the chrome chairs reflecting off what was left of the glossy varnish. Papers, which turned yellow over time, disorderly cluttered the floor beside the scurrying rats and spiders. Abandoned. But for how long? I was supposed to stay in cryosleep for 10 years. From the crumbling document in my hand and the thick layer of rot in the air, it had been longer than that. What the fuck happened here? The thin slippers do nothing to protect my feet from the chilling bite of the concrete floor. Oh well, despite the lack of protection, they are the only thing I have to cover my feet. With shaky legs, I move toward the door I have a distant memory of entering, bypassing the semi-circle of rusty computers. The door leads out into a hallway with scattered files and cracked walls. If my memory serves, there’s an elevator at the end. The only reason I remember that much is because the doctors allowed me to choose my last meal in the cafeteria above like a prisoner on death row, a fairly accurate comparison all things considered.
Score one for Rev’s memory. The elevator was busted. Score one for life. The battle continues. The trek up each flight of stairs was like stabbing needles into my unused muscles. It may feel like I simply closed and opened my eyes but my body has been resting for hell knows how many years. When I push through the door, my eyes are unprepared for the blinding sunlight streaming in from the windows. So unprepared that I don’t fully get through the door before it comes swinging back, knocking me backward into the stairwell. I manage to grip the railing before tumbling down to my demise. With my luck, death by the door would be a mercy. Round two with the door is far more successful and I’m able to get all the way inside before the death-door slams again. Broken glass and debris present a clear picture of disarray as if I wasn’t having a hard enough time already. With a deep inhale, my body crashes to the floor in a mess of violent convulsions. I’m helpless to do anything besides lay there gasping and rhythmically shaking as tiny shards of glass dig into my chestnut skin.
Poison? Most airborne poisons are fast-acting, usually taking effect within minutes. I don’t feel the tell-tale foam leaking from my mouth so that rules out a few. Nor am I in any extreme pain so my nervous system must not be shutting down. But why would the air be poisonous? Even if that was what happened here, the poison wouldn’t have lingered after all this time. The list of possibilities is extensive and I can’t even move, less make an antidote.
Warmth pools in my lower abdomen before spreading across my entire body like a warm blanket. An odd sensation akin to floating overcomes my senses. Am I dying? Hmm, this isn’t a bad way to go. I’d always thought that death would be sudden, like turning off a TV or waking up from a dream. I was never one to subscribe to the idea of seeing a play-by-play of your life before you died. Why would I want to see again what I’ve already lived through? This... is nice. Surrender, a foreign concept to me is met with little resistance. One minute I’m drifting aimlessly in a vast sea of darkness then I’m staring at a moldy, cracked ceiling. It all happened so fast that I must have whiplash. I’m firmly grounded in my body and the convulsions have stopped. My breathing is fine and all body parts are operational. Slowly, I drag my body off the floor and brush glass off my white scrubs.
“What the hell?” My voice comes out dry and scratchy. I’ll need to remedy that immediately. But first, how am I not in pain, digging out tiny pieces of glass that should be stuck within my skin? The tiny droplets of fresh blood on the floor prove that I’d been injured but there are no wounds on my skin to speak of. Instead, thin, wispy white lines spiral around my left forearm. As if the lines were stems, plant veins sprout along the lines without the margin’s protection. The right arm’s design is far more detailed with wide, cloudy markings like an overlay of botanical-patterned lace. Dots and swirls alternate down the center of my fingers ending just before the cuticle. Did they give me tattoos while I was sleeping? The markings begin to fade right before my eyes. What. The. Fuck. Several blinks later and my skin is smooth and unblemished. I didn’t imagine that...right? Turning and shaking my arms doesn’t make the lines reappear. Yep, I’ve officially lost my damn mind.
The search for food and water lands me in a lounge area with bug-infested couches coming apart at the seams. Trash and dirt cover just about every surface. Chairs toppled over with papers and pens all over paint the picture of a speedy retreat. I imagine the researchers here, in a once clean and relaxing break room, passing ideas back and forth as they sip their unsweetened coffee because god forbid they have any sugar. A dusty old newspaper rests on the table stained by the empty steel tumbler beside it. The headline, in bold Russian letters, reads:
BRAIN-EATING PARASITE COMBINES WITH DELTA VARIANT
DEATHS IN THE THOUSANDS
The paper is dated July 3, 2026. Three years after I was cryogenically frozen. A pandemic. Still, now I have more questions than answers. The article is illegible thanks to the coffee stain. I grab the steel cup and lid, moving towards the door with a faded locker room sign. A granola bar and a half-empty bottle of water, both well past their expiration date, are my only source of sustenance. I devour the bar and drink a small amount of water, saving the rest until I can find another water source. After raiding all the labs and offices in my vicinity, I come out draped in a large male hoodie, a travel backpack fitted with a first aid kit, my stolen cup and water, and a scalpel for protection. Reverie Ashford, survival extraordinaire. My first plan of action is to scout the surrounding area. Since it’s abandoned, the lab will act as a base camp until I can gather more information.
Flora had future Earth in a chokehold strong enough to rival Chris Jericho. Grasses and plants swept across the land like a plague. An ocean of green, trees, and shrubs lay before me. Like gods overlooking their subjects, mountains rise high in the distance. The thing is, I’m almost positive that this vegetation wasn’t here the day I arrived at the lab. Contrary to what lay in front of me, the facility was secluded on barren land. How long have I been asleep? How did this much life grow so fast? Pointless questions to ask now. I’d be an idiot to look a gift horse in the mouth. With so much nature at my disposal, I should be able to forage for some edible plants and berries. If I’m lucky, I’ll find a pheasant.
Do you have any idea how difficult it is to tap a tree using only a scalpel? No, I imagine no one would because what sane individual trollops through the wilderness with only a scalpel? Obviously, not me. With rigorous effort, I manage to carve a decent-sized hole in the base of the tree for water to drip into the tumbler. Round, black circles peek out at me from a shrub growing between two birches. Buckthorn. I gather the berries and some nearby turnips, tossing them into my bag as I move further South. Carved X’s within the trees make for decent mile markers along the way. 5 miles out and I find no signs of civilization. Sunlight begins to fade, signaling nightfall. Deciding to retire, I make the trek back to the lab and find an empty office to rest. The tattered leather couch offers no comfort but it’ll have to do.
“Fruits, raw veggies, and water for dinner. Saige would be proud.” A pang hits my chest at the memory of my twin. She’d always preach to me about how meat was bad for your body and plant-based foods were all the rave. Finding her body mutilated and discarded like trash branded a scar on my soul. Grief and loneliness partner up for their assault as I settle in for the night.
“One day at a time,” I mumble to myself, silent tears streaking my cheeks. “Just one day at a time.”
