Epilogue

“Log…log…It’s May 26, 2040. I am…alive. No, we are alive.”

“Log 1, June 20th, 2040. Status update, ICL has been approved to further research into our ongoing study of the technology found in the facility. Human trials are soon to begin.”

I gasp awake to a pearl-white tile ceiling above my head; the burning stench of alcohol sends me into a state of panic. Instinctually, my torso jumps upright and I grab the earpiece of the tester to rip it off my ear. Immediately after, I reach for the needle only for a hand to grab me by the arm while another holds my torso down to the bed. The hard mattress pushes against the needle, forcing its way deeper into the device on my spine.

“I need some help here!” Two more nurses rush into the room to hold my legs and head down. “You’re alright, Miss Juarez. Just breathe.” The young nurse's eyes are calm, taking deep breaths until we reach the same rhythm. They keep shushing me, gently running their hand over my head. My joints stop straining, and the other nurses let go of my body.

The hospital room is small; a curtain creates a wall between my roommate on the other bed and me. They’re snoring rather loudly. The electronic clock on the table next to me reads “December 25th, 2040,” with the time “7:45” underneath it. A nurse walks over to the curtains of the window and pulls them open.

The room turns to a soft orange with hints of the sun’s yellow rays. Shadows of the forest’s trees decorate the room, the snow laying on them causing pouches of soft orange clouds. Snowflakes gently fall past the window; the view from the high floor displays small buildings before more pearly, white Oregon trees in the distance; the city lights slowly blink on as the night begins.

As the sun is swallowed by the hills, the orange evaporates as the snow makes the dusk sky a periwinkle blue.

The glass window intensifies the coldness in the room. I twist the delicate bedsheets around me, shivering as I struggle to keep warm.

The kind nurse lays a heavy blanket on me; they give me a soft smile that reassures me. I’m safe. I’m out. If only I could enjoy this moment with Imelda. I wait for the static in my head to return, some sort of thought to appear, but my mind is blank. Imelda’s gone, but I’m still here.

The nurse checks the file beside my bed, leans closer, and says, “Welcome back, Jada.”