Stephen Sumner: Seeking Forever

Jan 29, 2247?

The journal was covered and bound in black leather. A small strap sewn to the binding and a brass buckle held the cover shut against the elements. Even a casual observer would notice the pages were worn now from near daily reading. Multiple pages had been ripped out from the back of the book; paper was a scarce commodity now. The last available page had been filled in at least three years prior. The author had begun writing it as a gift for her husband, he with a mind more scientific than her practical one. Now she read portions from it as a daily ritual providing a tie to her previous life. She longed for a day when it would serve its original purpose. There was more that the journal could have contained, events locked in Jennifer’s mind that she could only wish to have consigned to the purgatory of written pages.

A stray lock of auburn hair dropped into her peripheral vision and she tucked it back behind her ear. In the waning light of a late winter day, she lit a candle for reading. Her fingers eased open the buckle. This evening Jennifer looked to the beginning.

Personal log — Jennifer O’Malley — Aug 29, 2012

We, my husband Ian and I, had our personal hide hole finished and filled with two weeks to spare. The hole was stocked with all the necessities to set us up nicely as a highly competitive livestock ranch, assuming of course that there would be livestock. Who knew what we’d wake up to, especially if it turned out to be a post-apocalyptic world. The toughest part was only being able to work on its construction during the weekends. That was all the time we had with my being away at training camp twenty-fours a day during the week. As far as Planning and Zoning was concerned we had just built a self-sufficient hunting lodge up on the mountain. A trust fund was set up to take care of the property taxes so suspicion might be avoided over the years. We could only hope that nobody would notice the lack of occasional occupancy.

I thanked God Ian was working right there with me though. The very last weekend the three of us spent alone, right there at our hunting lodge. Ian and I made love whenever Darren was asleep, all three of us hugging and playing otherwise. I think I was more tired after that weekend than the previous eight. My team members and I were given Monday off that final weekend to say our last good-byes. Tuesday, August 15th may be the hardest day I have ever had to endure so far. Ian and I both had to calm Darren down for the Cryogenic prep. I kissed my precious baby’s face as he went to sleep. As I watched my tears glistening on his face, I prayed that I would see him again when all was taken care of. When Ian went through prep, I was by his side until they sealed him in the chamber. It was as hard to say good night to my husband as it was to Darren. The next two weeks were probably the loneliest I have felt in a long time. At least my employers kept me fairly busy until the day before my team’s Cryogenic insertion.

I sincerely hope that the “old man” is wrong and that we wake up and find out that all we’ve missed has been 15 years of bad reruns on television. Did I make the right decision to join Camelot Enterprises? As much as I am missing my family, I almost believe it would have been better to take our chances with Apocalypse. At least I would know where my husband and child are.

Personal log — Jennifer O’Malley — Day 1 — April 2, 2239?

I heard somebody crying. I tried mumbling at them to make it stop. I realized that I was the one crying, and it subsided into sobbing. Eventually, it became apparent to me that I was waking up from Cryogen. How utterly embarrassing that was. Oh, how I miss Ian and Darren! Hopefully, the rest of my team will not leave me somewhere figuring they can do without the crybaby. I hope they did not hear me.

I didn’t expect the dreams during Cryogen. At least, I think they were dreams. How is it possible to dream when the brain is frozen to a state of inactivity? I think I read somewhere that microburst microwaves or something like that were used to keep ice crystals from destroying our cells. Could it be that which caused the synapses to fire, or to simulate firing? I don’t know enough science to understand it fully.

Maybe my soul left my body and went to Purgatory. That might explain why I relived my life — from birth to freezing — over again, only from the outside looking in. It started out when I woke up in a field of grass and flowers. It was daylight, but I couldn’t see the Sun. Occasionally, a breeze would blow and I thought I could hear voices in it. Whenever I thought I heard Ian or Darren or somebody else I was close to, I would go through the birth to freezing thing again. When that wasn’t happening, I would see planes, trains, and an odd ship go by. I once wondered if a train would stop should I get on the tracks in front of it. They went by so irregularly; I could never plan on when to do so. They never seemed to go by when I was near the tracks either. Perhaps somebody else was trying the same thing further up the tracks. Every now and then I would be close enough to the tracks to see people in the windows. During my wanderings, I would sometimes lie on the grass and gaze at the clouds. I think I would sleep during those periods because everything would fade to black. It was eerie, no light, no stars, no breeze, and I could not even feel the grass beneath me. The darkness also contained a voice that spoke to me in a language that I didn’t know. I kept saying that I couldn’t understand it, and it would start back up again after waiting for me to finish. After a couple of dozen more episodes like that, I gave up and talked to the voice about things I wouldn’t normally say. Many years seemed to pass before the last time I lay down for one of these naps as I came to call them. When the darkness faded, Camelot Enterprises was pulling me out of storage because the Apocalypse threat was over.

That’s what I thought, and I remember feeling so sure that it was all so real. I watched my Darren grow and go to school. I did all the things a normal parent does, until the government types in their ill-fitting suits showed up at the door. These guys invited themselves in and started asking all sort of questions about Camelot Enterprises. They weren’t too happy with my pat answer about being a small cog in the larger machine. They suggested that I accompany them downtown for a polygraph. I politely declined. The head honcho started making noises about Darren winding up with Child Protective Services and a ward of the state, and that’s when Ian made a move at one of them. God, I love that man dearly, but he’s never been much of a fighter like me. The goons had slapped him down and cuffed him in no time flat. I thought briefly that I could take them on and then set Ian free, but these guys are like a box of cigars. If you take one out, there are dozens more just like him. I relented when I tried to picture a life on the run from the Feds. They let him go and I told him I’d be back soon.

They took me to a nondescript office building and drove into the underground parking. The room they took me into was bare of anything but the polygraph and chairs. One chair was designed for strapping somebody down, and that’s the chair I had to sit in. When I questioned why I needed to be strapped in, they made excuses toward reducing testing error. The test was administered and I couldn’t tell if they liked the results or not, but then the little black case with the syringe came out. I didn’t waste any time trying to squirm out of the restraints. I was about half way done too, when two big thugs grabbed my arm and stretched it out like a half deflated balloon. I thought they had about ripped my forearm off when another one put a tourney on and sunk that needle into the vein. The blackness returned. So did that voice. And then I was a meat Popsicle thawing out in the Camelot bunker. I started crying. I crawled out of the chamber to find myself with the team I had been with in what seemed so many years ago.