Cruel Blue Nowhere Read online

  Cruel Blue Nowhere

  By

  Cara Swann

  [© 2018 by Cara Swann]

  This is a work of fiction. Any similarity to people, places or events is entirely coincidental.

  This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief

  quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Epilogue

  Clearly, the freezer is more attractive than the grave, even if one has doubts about the future capabilities of science. With bad luck, the frozen people will simply remain dead, as they would have in the grave. But with good luck, the manifest destiny of science will be realized, and the resuscitees will drink the wine of centuries unborn. The likely prize is so enormous that even slender odds would be worth embracing. --Robert C.W. Ettinger

  Prologue

  Ben Waters was bored; he'd already completed several rounds through Mountainside Infinity Cryonics and now sat at the security panel -- digital cams monitoring every aspect of the building. He glanced to each one: the front of the building, hedge-lined sidewalks, ground lights focused on the front entrance; the parking lot, empty except for his car, an old beat-up Honda. He had dozed off and on most of the shift; after all, who was going to break into a building with a bunch of frozen bodies/heads?

  Chuckling to himself, Ben stood, stretched and heard his back and neck crack; he was ready to go home, get some shut-eye. But first, one more walk-through. He went out of the small security office, turned right and headed down the dim, narrow hallway, only lit by lights near the baseboards.

  He glanced at the receptionist office up front just past where he'd come from, then went on down the hall to see the prep room on the right, then at the end a heavy steel door. Taking the digital card out of his pocket, he stuck it into the sensor, heard a beep and then pushed the massive door open. It was below freezing in this place, more akin to a walk-in freezer than an open warehouse storage facility. He glanced at two rows of fifty tall steel tanks (Dewars) that held severed human heads or full bodies frozen with liquid nitrogen. Nothing looked amiss, but he pulled his jacket on, shuffling down the long lines of containers, wondering not for the first time who the people inside were, what kind of lives they'd had and why they'd chosen this path after death?

  Maybe for the same reason he was here -- fascinated by the possibility of living again after death. And not in the spiritual realm, but to come back in a physical rebirth. Farfetched as it might be, he wanted his shot at this someday -- part of his employee contract with the facility.

  When he reached the end of the line, he pivoted and started back up the opposite row of containers; the overhead bluish light was an eerie glow in the stark interior. Just as he reached the last container, he heard a female voice say, "Help."

  Stunned, Ben stopped in his tracks, glancing around, seeing no one and nothing out of the ordinary. He called, "Hello? Is someone there?" Yet he knew that was silly -- the warehouse was locked down, and no one could possibly be inside the storage area. Still, he took out his tablet, hit the apps for surveillance, and looked at each cam view.

  Nothing.

  Thinking his mind was playing tricks on him, he shook his head ruefully and waltzed out of the enormous storage area (plenty of space to expand in the future). Once back in the hallway, he figured he wasn't getting enough sleep. The eleven-to-seven shift was wreaking havoc on his health; he'd not had a proper night's sleep since last weekend.

  Back in the security office, he glanced at the monitors again, but everything was just as he left it in the storage room, secure and quiet.

  He looked at the time: only thirty minutes till Tom showed up to take the day shift. Sighing, he slumped down on a small futon, laying his head on the back and closing his burning eyes. He fell asleep, and the dream came quietly:

  A huge field of wildflowers, a meadow ringed by tall mountains. Brilliant blue bowl of sky above, sweet spring air lightly caressing his skin. Looking across the field, he saw a lovely blond-haired young woman running in his direction. He was about to call out to her when suddenly he heard a voice whisper in his ear, "Help."

  Jerking awake, Ben sat up stiffly, whipping his head around the small space, eyes going to each monitor to see nothing unusual. But that voice: it was the same one he thought he'd heard in the storage warehouse.

  What the heck?

  Chapter 1

  Ben drove home trying not to fall asleep, occasionally wondering about that spooky dream and creepy voice. Maybe it was time he started looking for a girlfriend -- or at least swipe a few pictures on Tinder. Ever since his breakup with Sophia a year ago, he'd been depressed and morose. And it wasn't just the split, it was also quitting the police department after being shot. Not that he'd had to, but after such a serious wound, he'd been left with a permanent limp and was assigned to desk duty. He'd wanted to be a cop for as long as he could remember, and desk jockey felt like a demotion. Still, he'd soldiered on until he turned thirty a year ago and quit -- triggering a breakup with Sophia.

  He reflected that the five years they'd lived together had been shaky at times, since it's not easy being the partner of a cop. Especially in a large city like Denver. Then when he was shot, he felt Sophia gradually withdrawing, as if she'd expected him to get killed or wounded all along. At least his family had stood by him; his mom and pop supportive, his three older siblings, two sisters and brother, rallying around.

  Pulling into the apartment complex where he'd lived a year, Ben parked and got out, glad his unit was on the ground floor. Inside the cramped, sparsely furnished living area, he shucked off his uniform, putting his gun in a safe, locking it. Then he grabbed a beer from the fridge, went to sit on the side of his bed, again recalling the past injury, rubbing his stiff knee. He'd been a sci-fi fan since childhood, and once he decided to leave the department, started looking for security work. An acquaintance in security told him about the Mountainside Infinity guard opening; he did some research, put in an application and then visited for an interview.

  He liked the small-town location one hundred miles from Denver, and finding this apartment, he only had to drive eight miles to the isolated mountainside compound. In his research, he read about several similar facilities, but this one was not as well-known, nor advertised like Alcor or The Cryonics Institute, both non-profits. Mountainside Infinity was under the radar; it catered to a wealthier clientele since their fees were far more expensive than the other places. And cryonics, in general, was often outside the norm -- considered by some as rip-off scams to garner money for the companies. Mountainside was discreet in marketing, only known through uber-wealthy circles. Half buried in the Colorado mountainside, it boasted an underground vault for personal items, including bank-level security for monetary fund’s when future patients were once again alive. Thus, paid 24/7 security guards were essential.

  The place appealed to him, and if he stayed for twenty years, his own cryonic preservation was guaranteed as part of the pension plan. It was easy, relatively safe work and left him plenty of time to pursue his other passion, photography. And the region was magnificent, unbelievably beautiful to shoot. He'd already had several landscape photos win awards and was hoping to make it into a part-time
income.

  After draining the beer, he pulled the window-darkening blinds and climbed into bed, falling asleep almost immediately.

  * * *

  Late that afternoon, Ben drove the flat, straight highway to work. Early January was frigid, and there were several inches of snow, but plows kept the highway clear. Turning off Highway 28 onto a narrow-paved lane, he came to the security gate, swiped his card through the window, then drove onto the grounds. His old Honda was making a strange engine noise, and he again made a mental note to get the piece of junk checked out.

  Even though he had a meager police retirement fund, he tried not to touch that and instead, live on his income. The starting pay was good, about $35,000 a year, and as long as he lived modestly, he could retire in twenty years with the company 401k and then tap into his other pension funds. Pulling into the small parking lot, he only saw Tom Henders SUV. It was near six, and the office staff was already gone, so he hurried through the employee entrance, swiping his card again and heading down the hallway.

  Stepping into the security office, he saw Tom, a lanky fifty-five-year-old, pivot his office chair and say, "What you doing here?"

  "Don called, asked me to take his shift. I'm doubling up, doing an all-nighter."

  Tom looked him in the face, shrugged. "Suit yourself but I gotta tell you, looks like you aren't getting enough sleep. The graveyard shift is hard. Been there, done that."

  "Yeah, you're not kidding. But I'm kinda at loose ends, not much else to do right now."

  "What about your photography?"

  "I only do that on weekends, which means I'll be off tomorrow and Sunday. Don said he'd pull an all-nighter tomorrow night, returning my favor."

  "Gotcha." Tom stood, stretched, yawned. "I have plans with the family tonight. Taking grandkids out to eat."

  Ben laughed, then said, "You love that, admit it."

  "Yeah I do. You must miss your family back in Denver, so you need to get out more. " Tom went to the locker, took out his coat, then glanced back at Ben. "As a matter of fact, the wife knows this real sweet gal..."

  "No. Nope, no blind dates. Sorry." Ben was putting his coat in the locker and they stopped, staring at one another.

  Finally, Tom said, "Alrighty then, but if you change your mind..."

  "I'll let you know."

  After he was alone, Ben sat down and surveyed all the security cams, then thought about Tom's offer. He wondered how long it took to get over a failed relationship? Sophia had been his only long-term arrangement, just casual dating and hookups prior to then. And he had to admit sometimes he seemed...adrift, nothing to define his life, give meaning. Some people found that in family, others in career. He could have counted himself in the latter group until he left law enforcement.

  Shaking his head, wondering if he should start bar-hopping, actively looking for a new romance, he sat staring at the outside monitors. As he watched, he saw two cars zoom into the parking lot, come to a screeching halt; then two of the medic team emerged, briskly heading to the employee entrance.

  Ben got up, stuck his head out the door, yelled, "What's up?"

  "We came to get equipment, one of our patients is near death. We need to head over to the hospice."

  "Can I help?" Ben knew this meant the patient most likely had a terminal illness and had chosen to relocate to a nearby hospice to have immediate prep available.

  "Yeah, why don't you give us a hand getting the medivac equipment loaded."

  Ben spent the next twenty minutes helping load the company ambulance with the portable Cardiopulmonary Support machine (called a thumper, which would be used immediately after the person was pronounced dead to help circulate blood and prevent brain damage); a deep, long tub to pack the body in dry ice (an ice bath) and assorted items and medication (perfusion) necessary to prepare the patient for transport back here. While Ben had never been present at one of these "rescues," he'd attended the required courses to understand how people were prepped and the procedures before being stored in liquid nitrogen. It was the same as organs for transplant were treated in transit. Though the details could get a bit ghastly, especially if it was just the head being stored, it was necessary. However, he'd always thought referring to dead, then frozen bodies, as patients, was a bit misleading; of course, he'd never expressed this thought to other employees. And the prep lab across the hall looked like a surgery theater; in fact, a surgeon was employed for these procedures, due to the complexity and fragility of removing a head -- or whole-body preservation with the focus on preventing ice formation with cryoprotectants (vitrification).

  In the courses, he'd learned that much of Mountainside Infinity procedures, medications for perfusion (pumping a substance like anti-freeze through veins) and body prep were proprietary, and he had signed a contract that prevented revealing company methods and cryoprotectant solutions and materials. The extensive safety classes for dealing with liquid nitrogen, the Dewar units, and venting the dangerous gases in the storage area were important, and he’d aced the tests. One unique feature of this location was onsite cryogen production from local energy (renewable, deep geothermal sources) and was partly the reason of costly preservation, Ben knew.

  When the two rescue techs were gone, Ben decided to walk through the storage warehouse again. That strange voice he'd heard last night was still bugging him, and he wondered if perhaps there was some technical issue with one of Dewars. Maybe a nitrogen leak, or faulty safety valve (for venting) which would be nearly impossible due to the computer alerts should that happen. Not to mention the potential for asphyxiation to employees.

  He pulled his coat on, donned an oxygen mask (just in case of a leak) then walked down the line of containers, the blue hue lending a creepy atmosphere. Coming back up the other row of fifty units, he stopped where he'd heard the voice last night: next to the last Dewar. He stood there peering absently at the twelve-foot tall steel container, finally lifting his hand and touching the cold metal, letting his palm rest there a few seconds. Unexpectedly, he felt a slight vibration, and jerked his hand away.

  Stepping closer, he took out his flashlight and played the light over the various valves and tubes, listening for anything unusual. But everything looked secure, even as he tested the line where liquid nitrogen entered the unit. Puzzled, he finally went on toward the door, but turned back to stare a long moment at the Dewars. As he turned and put his hand on the door he thought he heard a whispering voice.

  Looking over his shoulder, he said, "Is someone there?" And felt like a horse's ass, because he'd just walked the entire area.

  When no sound was heard, he went out the door, took off the mask and headed to the security computers. Sitting there, he pulled out his cell, got on Tinder and began swiping faces...not noticing a white mist hovering near the unit he'd inspected earlier.

  Chapter 2

  Two weeks later, Ben arrived at the one small bar in town. As he parked in the crowded lot, he wondered if this Tinder hookup would turn out to be something more? He got out of his car, locked the doors and reflected on the mechanic's advice that he trade the 98 Honda off before it the engine quit on him. Ben had started searching but couldn't find he wanted just yet: a used pickup.

  As he walked toward the door, he unzipped his jacket, shivering in the blast of icy air; there was now fresh-fallen snow, which made the landscape dazzling beneath the glaring red and blue neon signs over the entrance. He dodged a couple of guys smoking and kidding with each other, pulled open the door and was hit by an overwhelming scent of fetid, beer-tinged air.

  Once inside, he scanned the booths lining the long, narrow interior, the opposite scarred-wood bar already seating several guys. He went over, climbed atop a stool, and looked at his watch: nearly eight, the time they were supposed to meet. The bartender, a young skinny guy with oily, slicked-back blond hair, asked, "Hey bud, what'll it be?"

  "Just a beer."

  "Yeah, what kind? We have a special on a new craft."

  "I'll take that, th
anks."

  Two of the patrons glanced up at him, then dismissed his presence, going back to their beers. He turned slightly so he could keep an eye on the door. The girl he was meeting had a pretty picture on Tinder, long blond hair, cute face, not overweight. But you could never tell about these things...

  The door opened, and he saw a middle-age, heavy woman with lank blond hair walk in, her eyes darting around the interior; Ben ducked his head, cursing under his breath: "Jenny" looked nothing like her picture. Barely recognizable. Probably ten years older than her picture, not to mention the extra pounds.

  As the bartender brought his beer to him, Ben leaned forward and asked in a low voice, "Is there a back way out of here?"

  The young bartender's eyes went to the woman standing just inside the door, nodded and said, "It's just past the restrooms in back."

  Ben dug out the cash for the beer, put it on the bar, but then left it there as he slipped off the stool making sure to keep his face hidden as he made his way toward the back. He ducked into the men's room, hoping to wait till "Jenny" realized she'd been stood up. After ten minutes, he emerged and went out the back door into an alleyway. As he walked carefully, dodging icy spots, he finally made it to his car, breathing a sigh of relief. What in hell made him think this Tinder deal would be different to the other times he'd tried it?

  When he got back to his apartment, he flung himself onto his sofa, disgusted. A couple of times he'd gone through with meeting Tinder dates, which had never worked out. One even turned into a stalker just before he left Denver. He vowed this was the last time he'd try that, wondering if he should agree to meet the woman Tom kept mentioning?

  Sighing loudly, he reached for the remote, got up and headed to the fridge to get a beer and zone out with a Netflix movie.

  * * *

  Monday night Ben arrived to find an additional steel container in the storage facility; their new "patient" had taken time to prep but was finally in cryonic suspension. As he made the rounds, Ben pondered the risk of bringing his digital camera in to get some pictures in this area. There were no rules specifically against it, but since the privacy of their patients was considered important, unlike the non-profit, public cryonic companies, he had realized it would be inappropriate to distribute any photos. But if he kept them in his possession, didn't share in any way, maybe he'd give it a go soon. There was an eerie, surreal atmosphere in this storage area he hoped to capture, even if he couldn't share the images.