1 3 7 – ZOË Read online

  1 3 7 – ZOË

  Copyright 2013 by C. De Melo

  All Rights Reserved

  137-ZOË is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Prologue

  Washington D.C.

  (in the not so distant future)

  The brand new silver BMW gleamed in the autumn sunshine as it raced down the street. It showed no sign of slowing as it approached the traffic light in the distance. A few of the people on the sidewalk paused to look, wondering if the car would come to a screeching halt or simply blow through the red light. The street surveillance cameras would certainly catch the traffic violation if it did the latter.

  Michael Adams gripped the smooth leather steering wheel until his knuckles were white. He glanced over at the woman in the passenger seat and whispered, “Almost there, princess...stay with me.”

  He gritted his teeth and nearly collided with a white delivery truck as he flew through the red light. The truck driver’s arm shot out of the open window to give the crazy driver in the BMW the middle finger. Michael ignored the vulgar gesture as he continued to disobey the speed limit. The car barely slowed to take a right turn, skidding and burning rubber in the process. A couple on the sidewalk raised their fists and cursed.

  The car sped past a small park with trees boasting vibrant autumn foliage, but Michael did not notice. He drove towards the special tent unit recently set up outside the MedStar Washington Hospital. The pristine white tents were surrounded by ambulances and police cruisers. The BMW came to a screeching halt, causing the all-male team of medics to turn their heads. They wore the standard white protective gear required by the CDC, which made them look like astronauts in a creepy sci-fi movie.

  If only this nightmare was just a movie…

  The medics ran toward Michael as he got out of the car. “She’s in the passenger seat,” he said, his voice full of urgency.

  “I need a gurney,” the medic called out to one of his colleagues.

  The semi-conscious woman was quickly placed on it and they began to wheel her away.

  Michael rushed to her side and took her limp, cold hand in his. “It’s going to be okay, princess, I promise.”

  “I’m sorry, sir, but we need to get her inside immediately,” said the medic pushing the gurney.

  Michael nodded and let go of the woman’s hand. Tears stung his eyes as he watched her being rushed into one of the tents.

  A few moments later, a male nurse approached with a touch-pad in his hands. “Sir?”

  Michael turned around to face the attractive, clean-cut young man. “Yes?”

  “We need to get some information from you. What is the patient’s name?”

  “Zoë Adams.”

  The nurse’s agile fingers flew across the touch screen. “And what is your relationship to the patient?”

  Michael was lost in thought as he watched the medic team begin to work on Zoë.

  The nurse followed his gaze. “Sir?”

  Michael turned his attention back to the nurse. “She is my wife.”

  ***

  Light.

  I am having the dream again. I see the sickly pale women who are wasted away from the merciless disease. They are skin and bones. Their bloodshot eyes are sunken, surrounded by purplish rings.

  The voice of the news reporter drones on and on…

  Oh, how the media loves to regale the public with grim details. The death tolls keep rising steadily. Everyone is clad in black as they mourn the loss of loved ones. The crematoriums are barely able to keep up with the amount of corpses that arrive each day. The noxious smoke of burning corpses is ever present.

  I look down and see a pair of frail, thin hands and I know they belong to me. There is a mirror on the wall. I walk towards it and see my reflection, my frighteningly pale face. My eyes and cheeks are sunken and hollow. I am wasting away. I open my mouth to scream, but there is no sound…

  Blessed darkness.

  Chapter One

  U.S. CRYOGENIC STORAGE FACILITY

  Washington D.C. (19 years later)

  “Son of a bitch!” Jason exclaimed as he bumped his head (yet again) on the low pipe inside the cramped utility closet.

  One would think that in a multi-billion dollar cryogenic facility full of expensive state-of-the-art equipment something like the thoughtless placing of a water pipe would not happen. But it did, and the lump on his head was the proof. Despite being taller than most of his coworkers, he was already being teased for his clumsiness. He had just completed his second week of work after almost a month of rigorous training. The U.S. Cryogenic Storage Facility not only trained its employees extensively, they put each potential hire through a complete background check, drug test, and criminal record scan- Jason had undergone ‘the works.’ Aside from hitting his head every night, he enjoyed his new job as a security guard on the night watch team. As he reached behind the pesky pipe to grab a flashlight off the shelf, he rubbed his stinging forehead.

  Goddamn pipe.

  Clasping the flashlight to his utility belt, he left the closet and locked the door behind him.

  “Another walk among the dead,” he mumbled aloud to himself as he made his way down a long, white corridor devoid of decoration.

  At the end of the corridor was a bullet-proof door equipped with a massive lock, retinal scanner, and hand recognition pad. Jason cleared security and entered the main facility. The stainless steel cryogenic tanks contained glass doors that glowed eerily in the dim light. Nude humans could be seen within each of the tanks, floating in some kind of life-sustaining cryogenic solution.

  Suspended animation.

  Jason shivered involuntarily every time he walked past them. The nightly “tank-check” was the most unpleasant part of his job. Neither dead nor alive, these people gave him the creeps (if they could really be called people at all in their current vegetative state).

  There was one exception, however. He stopped at tank number 137-ZOË. Inside the tank was a young woman. Her number signified that she was the one hundredth and thirty-seventh person in the world to be cryogenically frozen. Her first name was Zoë. Last names were kept confidential for client privacy.

  137-ZOË was Jason’s favorite; she was beautiful and her melancholy expression intrigued him. Her long red hair flowed gracefully in the cryogenic solution, reminding him of a painting he’d once seen in an art book. The painter’s name escaped him, but he remembered the title: Ophelia. The artist had rendered a lovely nude woman with ivory skin and flaming hair drowning amidst tall reeds in a placid lake.

  Jason sighed as he gazed upon the modern day version of Ophelia within the tank. Zoë was slim, a bit taller than average height, with shapely long legs and firm breasts. He imagined running his hands through her long, red tresses and kissing the smooth fair skin of her body...

  He felt himself harden, and then he remembered his loving wife and child waiting for him at home. Banishing the adulterous thoughts with a firm mental reprimand, he continued to check the tanks. He walked quickly, trying to stay focused on the job at hand.

  Suddenly, the alarm on one of the tanks sounded.

  “Shit!”

  Jason had been taught to deal with this situation during his orientation training, but he never thought it would happen so soon (much less on his shift)! The last time an alarm went off at the facility was over a year ago.

  He ran to the tank with the flashing alarm and stopped short. It was 137-ZOË. He peered through the glass door and noticed that one of her fingers was twitching slightly.

  “Shit, shit,” he muttered.

  He pulled a
sleek communication device from his belt. It was an in-house gadget that would alert his supervisor immediately. This was a time-sensitive situation. Just as he was about to press the alert button, Zoë’s eyes flew open and she stared blindly at him.

  Chapter Two

  NATIONAL REHABILITATION HOSPITAL

  Washington D.C.

  “Zoë…”

  The voice was vaguely familiar to me.

  “Zoë, can you hear me?”

  Was this a different dream?

  “Mom, her eyelids just moved!”

  The voices in the room grew louder. I sensed that people were excited. The female voice that was speaking with me earlier became more distinct.

  “Zoë, honey, if you can hear me squeeze my hand.”

  Squeeze…hand…I knew the words and what they meant. My body felt numb, however. Could I squeeze the woman’s hand? Could I even move at all? With great concentration, I tried to squeeze the hand that had been placed in my upturned palm. Slowly, my muscles reluctantly obeyed what my brain commanded: squeeze hand. My fingers could not curl all the way around the hand, but the attempt brought more excited conversation from the people in the room.

  “She’s conscious!”

  I tried to force my eyes open. They felt heavy at first, but I managed to open them enough to see several shadowy figures congregated around me. The face of a woman suddenly loomed into my view.

  “Zoë, it’s me, Maddy,” she said.

  She was very pretty, with dark red hair and almond-shaped hazel eyes. Her straight nose, full mouth and high cheekbones were extremely familiar. In fact, the woman looked like me, or at least how I remembered myself to look like before…

  Oh my God. “Maddy?”

  “Mom, did you hear that? She spoke!” Maddy said, looking over her shoulder excitedly. She then brought her face closer to mine and smiled. “Yes, it’s me, Maddy. We missed you so much, sis.”

  My head ached. Sis? Maddy was eighteen- this woman was in her mid-thirties! Yet, the more I looked at her, the more I realized she was indeed an older version of my baby sister.

  “I’m so happy to see you again,” Maddy whispered, her eyes getting misty.

  An old woman approached the bed, tears of joy streaming down her face. “God Almighty,” she whispered in awe as she sat down beside Maddy. “It’s a miracle!”

  “Mom?” I asked, stunned. How did she get so old?

  My mother nodded. “I didn’t think I would live to see this day. Everyone has missed you so much, dear.”

  I was trying to absorb what was going on when I noticed an older man in a dark suit standing silently in the background. I squinted in order to see him better. “Is that dad?” I asked.

  “Dad isn’t here today,” Maddy answered quietly as she stole a sidelong glance towards our mother.

  I tried to sit up and found that I couldn’t move. Panic flooded into every pore of my body. Perhaps I had been in some terrible accident or in a coma for a long time. That would explain why everyone looked so much older than what I remembered. I didn’t feel any pain, however. I didn’t feel anything, in fact. The terrifying possibility of paralysis crept into my mind with the stealth of a garden snake.

  “Am I paralyzed?” I demanded, trying to keep the hysteria out of my voice.

  My mother shook her head and covered my hand with her own. “No, honey, you’re not paralyzed,” she assured.

  Unconvinced, I asked, “Why can’t I move?”

  The man standing in the background finally came forward. I noticed his grey hair, handsome face and the expensive cut of his navy blue designer suit. Maddy looked up at him beseechingly and he nodded in understanding. She got off the edge of the bed and he sat down.

  My mother looked to him and whispered, “Perhaps it would be best if you speak with her.”

  He nodded. “Don’t worry, Lee. She’ll be fine.”

  Maddy led my mother towards the back of the room and left me alone with the man.

  He looked at me intently with his brilliant blue eyes. “My God,” he said in awe. “How do you feel?”

  “Strange,” I replied honestly.

  “You look as fresh and beautiful as the last time I saw you.” He paused to stare at me. “Everything is going to be all right,” he said, taking my hand and bringing it to his lips.

  My instincts told me that I should know this stranger, but my mind was too muddled. “Who are you?” I asked softly.

  The man looked hurt for a moment, and then a wry smile spread across his face. I could see his perfect teeth (no doubt expensive veneers). “Well, I suppose I look a bit different from what you remember. After all, it’s been almost twenty years, princess.”

  Princess…only one person has ever called me that. I peered deeply into the man’s eyes and gasped. “Michael,” I heard myself whisper before slipping into unconsciousness.

  ***

  I woke up to an empty room. Judging by my surroundings, I was in a hospital. There were several hi-tech looking machines strewn about the room, and I had no idea what any of them did. By now I was convinced that I had been in a horrible accident. There was a needle in my left arm attached to a thin tube, which led to a bag of light pink liquid above my bed. I wondered if the episode I had experienced earlier was a dream or a side effect from the mysterious solution being pumped into my veins. Michael and my family would hopefully be here soon to tell me what was going on.

  I noticed light coming in from the right side of the room and saw a window that offered a gorgeous view of a park. The early buds on the trees and the bright yellow daffodils planted in neat rows told me it was springtime, but my last memory was of autumn leaves on the ground.

  How long have I been out?

  I could see the majestic dome of the White House in the distance, but here was something strange about the scene…

  “Mrs. Adams, may I come in?”

  I turned my head sharply to see an attractive, middle-aged black woman standing in the doorway.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you,” the woman said in a pleasant voice.

  “Come in,” I invited. Maybe she could tell me what was going on.

  The woman wore a crisp white lab coat and her dark hair was cut in a short, fashionable style. Her only jewelry was a stunning contemporary gold ring on her right hand. She sat in the brushed metal chair by the bed.

  “My name is Anne Bentley and I have been assigned by the hospital to be your cryo-counselor,” she said. I detected a faint Caribbean accent in her speech.

  “My what?” I asked, confused.

  “Cryo-counselor,” she repeated.

  I simply stared at her.

  “Oh, that’s right. We weren’t around when you were-”

  I found it odd that she stopped herself and then looked remorseful.

  “When I was…? What?” I urged.

  “Mrs. Adams, I apologize. Let’s take things slowly. I will explain everything to you one step at a time.” She attempted a friendly smile before adding, “I’m here to help you through the adjustment period.”

  “Where is everyone?” I asked. “My family was here earlier.”

  “The doctor asked them to leave so you could rest.” Anne’s eyes lit up and she smiled broadly, as though she were beholding something truly amazing; a miracle. “I am always in awe of how far we have come technologically. You are the nineteenth person I have had the privilege of working with. Unfortunately, not all of them woke up as easily as you did...”

  I tried to wrap my head around what she was saying. “What are you talking about?”

  Anne cleared her throat and sat up straighter. “I find it best to give a basic explanation and fill in the details later.”

  “I can take over from here, Anne.”

  Both of us turned towards the sound of the male voice that held such authority.

  Anne stood up immediately and clutched her ultra-thin touch pad to her chest. “Yes, of course, Mr. Adams,” she said with a respectful bow o
f the head before leaving the room.

  Michael Adams sat in the chair Anne had vacated.

  “So it wasn’t a dream,” I said.

  “No, princess, it wasn’t.”

  My eyes sought and found the custom-made platinum and diamond wedding ring he wore on his left hand. My wedding ring was an exact replica of his, only thinner.

  Glancing down at my bare left hand, I asked, “Where’s my ring?”

  “It’s at home. They didn’t allow jewelry when-” he stopped abruptly. “Let’s take one thing at a time, okay?”

  I could not stop staring at his lined face. “You look so…so…”

  “Old?”

  I nodded.

  “Well, it’s been a while,” he said softly.

  Looking down at my hand again, I noticed that it was not wrinkled. Both of my hands and what I could see of my arms were as I remembered. I had not aged.

  “I don’t understand, Michael.”

  He took both of my hands in his and said gently, “Zoë, you’ve been…frozen.”

  “Frozen?” I repeated numbly.

  What exactly did that mean? As the image of me imbedded in a giant cherry Popsicle entered my confused brain, I laughed aloud. I possessed this most annoying nervous tick: laughing when under extreme stress.

  Michael patiently stroked my fingers and continued his explanation after my outburst. “Yes, cryogenically frozen. That’s why you can’t move. Many of your muscles have atrophied, but the physicians have assured me they’ll be healed in a relatively short period of time. This is the best rehabilitation facility in the nation.” He paused. “I know it may be hard for you to accept this at first, but many things have changed considerably since you were last…here. Science and technology have made many breakthroughs that seemed impossible a few decades ago.”

  His words sobered me instantly. “Who decided to do this to me?”

  “I did, of course.”

  “But why?”

  His face took on a look of concern. “Don’t you remember?” When I shook my head, he continued, “You were sick…I’ll tell you all about it another time.”