Burn (Pure #3)(111)

“Just up ahead,” Iralene says.

Partridge follows her and Beckley around a corner and sees a door, the light spilling out of the room into the hall. Iralene and Beckley slow. Partridge reaches the door, pauses, and then knocks. Peekins and a nurse look up from a chart.

“Ah, good to see you, Partridge,” Peekins says. “I’m glad you could make it under the…circumstances.”

The room is surprisingly bright and warm. Beckley and Iralene hover near the door, keeping an eye on the hall.

Partridge walks up to the capsule and can see the fogged outline of Odwald Belze’s face—his stiffened white hair, his closed eyes, his sallow cheeks—crystallized with a thin layer of ice. The scar on his neck is red, preserved when it was a fresh surgical wound. Partridge remembers the small blue box that held the fan removed from his throat, and Pressia’s face when she realized that this meant her grandfather was dead.

“Things are breaking down fast,” Beckley says.

“We’ve got to move quickly,” Iralene says.

“How do things look?” Partridge asks.

“Just a little longer, and we’ll know if there’s any long-term damage,” Peekins says.

“Damage? I thought he either survived or he didn’t.”

“There are a lot of scenarios in between,” Peekins says, obviously frustrated with him. “Quiet, please.”

Peekins and the nurse work quickly. They move the capsule into a horizontal position. The bright, incubated heat defogs the glass. The heartbeat on the screen near the capsule picks up speed. In fact, Partridge worries the heart is beating too quickly now. The beeps come fast.

With an electric hum, the glass retreats into the capsule, revealing Belze’s face—rigid and wet with melted ice crystals.

“Engaging full lung capacity,” Peekins says, and he inputs data into the computer, his face fixed with concentration.

Belze’s rib cage heaves, jerking up and down, and then he pulls air in through his nose. His head kicks back, his cheeks and jowls bobble, and then his face flexes. His eyes clench. His lungs seem locked.

“He’s not breathing!” Partridge says.

“Hold on,” Peekins says, his eyes ticking over the control panel. “Just hold…”

Belze’s heart starts to race—the beeping is shrill and relentless—but he lies there rigidly.

“He’s going into overdrive,” the nurse says.

Partridge shouts, “Do something! We can’t lose him!”

And then Belze takes another breath in, which seems impossible. He’s now holding too much air. His face flushes a deep purplish red.

“Hold on,” Peekins says. “Hold, hold, hold.”

Belze’s lips start to turn bluish.

“Jesus. He’s dying,” Partridge cries out. “He’s dying right here in front of our eyes!”

Iralene tries to pull Partridge back from the capsule. “Partridge,” she says softly.

Peekins suddenly looks panic-stricken. “I don’t know what more to do! I’ve never done this with someone so old!”

And then the heartbeat goes flat. The beep turns into one solid, deadly note.

Partridge reaches out and grabs Belze’s shoulders, which are still cold.

“Get back!” Peekins shouts, but Partridge pushes the old man’s body enough to wedge his knee onto the capsule then leverages himself onto Belze’s rib cage. He pushes down on his chest with all his strength.

Nothing.

Beckley shouts, “Partridge! Let him go!”

Partridge pushes on his rib cage again.

“If you’re going to do it, do it right!” Peekins shouts and points to the spot where Belze’s ribs join at the center of his chest.

Partridge rears and pushes down, his elbows locked. The old man is still rigid.

Partridge shuts his eyes and does it again and again. “Don’t die!” he shouts. “Don’t die!” He can feel the old man’s thin skin, the bones of his chest, the give of his ligaments.

“He’s gone,” the nurse says.

“Partridge,” Peekins says. “Stop!” He shoves Partridge in the shoulder. “Stop!”

Partridge, breathless and sweating, keeps going.

“It’s a lost cause,” Beckley says.

“Stop, Partridge,” Iralene says. “Please!”

And Partridge wonders if they’re right. He opens his eyes. The old man’s face is taut. He is already dead. Partridge keeps going. He feels like crying, but then the machine skips. There’s a heartbeat…and another. The man’s eyes flit open and lock on to Partridge’s.

Belze’s chest jerks up and down. His eyes are wide. He breathes out a deep, rattling wheeze.

“Odwald,” Partridge says. He leans in close to the old man. “Odwald! You’re here! You’re okay!”

Partridge hops down. Peekins and the nurse work quickly now, stabilizing Belze. Not long after, he’s calm. His breathing and heart rate are steady. Partridge says softly, “We’re going to get you together with Pressia, okay? She misses you. She wants to see you. Okay?”

“Pressia,” the old man says, his lips trembling with her name.

“Yes. She misses you.”

“My wife.”