The Coffin Chamber

Tick. Tick. Tick.

The metronome of the clock is the only sound echoing around in the lab. The room is icy cold, and in the middle is a cryochamber, shaped like a coffin. On it, the barely visible thermostat reads -50°C. Around the place, shelves are filled to the brim with textbooks and papers, messy counters are flooded with energy drinks, half-built parts, microscopes, and illegible sticky notes, and–

The clock gets faster. Tickticktickticktick.

A hiss slices through the silence as nitrogen clouds fill the room. The temperature has rapidly dropped.

Large mechanical arms reach through the now open ceiling and lift the lid of the coffin. A sharp gasp, followed by frantic, achingly deep breaths, brings life back into the lab.

A woman, named Ariadne, dressed in a luxurious dress, steps out of the cryochamber on shaky legs. Her steps reverberate in the room. She quickly grabs her computer and sinks against the counter as she checks the date. It has officially been thirty years since she froze herself.

“I did it…” she murmurs to herself, shivering from the joy, cold, and relief. She walks around the room, and tears flood her eyes as she stares into a mirror. She hasn’t changed one bit. It really did work. To her, the memory of agreeing to being frozen felt like yesterday.

…

After being diagnosed with a rare, fatal neurological condition, Ariadne knew she had only a few months at best. It was disgustingly unfair. She was a great mother to twins, a hardworking supermodel, and although she and her husband were now divorced, they remained cordial and respectful. How did she deserve this? Why her? Didn’t somebody else deserve it more?

And most importantly, who would take care of her kids? They were only three. Her heart and soul felt crushed under the pressure and worry. Her throat and lungs and heart all felt restricted.

She swallowed her pride and dialed her ex-husband, Alex, who was a renowned scientist and engineer.

“I need you to do something for me.”

A few days later, as she lay in the cryochamber, she looked up at Alex.

“Thank you for such beautiful children.”

He turned away and choked on his tears.

“I’ll take good care of them until you’re out. And I promise you, I’ll get you a cure. But… if you don’t see me again, I love you.”

She closed her eyes, letting the words wash over her as the ice chilled her bones.

…

Her heart races as she finishes collecting the data on herself. She hooks herself up to several monitors, takes her own blood and urine, and writes down all the numbers. As she enters the numbers into the computer’s spreadsheet, she sees a message at the bottom.

We found the cure.

A brilliantly warm light captures her heart as a grin finds itself on her face. There’s a cure!

She checks the date of the message and furrows her eyebrows. It was discovered a couple of months ago. Why didn’t anybody wake her up sooner? And where is her ex-husband?

Alex had told her he would be right there when the thirty-year timer ended, but she doesn’t see him anywhere in the lab. She shrugs it off. He’s probably right outside because it’s too cold in here. He had left a paper with detailed instructions on what to do after she awakens, so she finishes each task.

When she is finally done, she smiles and stretches. It’s time to leave and see her family, the world, and the cure she’s certain has been developed now.

But as she tries to push open the door, nothing budges. Her adrenaline kicks in. Why isn’t the door moving? She shoves again. And again. She shoves harder and harder until the door inches open wide enough for her to peek an eye outside.

Her heart stops.

Rubble is everywhere. Bricks and pieces of concrete and planks of wood lean against the door, holding her back. Her hometown is completely destroyed: the buildings are crumbling, the grass is dead, and bodies litter the place. The sky is gray, and there isn’t a single sound besides the wind.

“What…” she gasps. Her whole body is shuddering, unable to process what is going on. “What the fuck?” she screams to nobody. She feels a panic attack consume her, and tears run down her face.

“Is anybody there? Help!” she yells, pounding against the door helplessly. “HELP!” she begs.

Only the bristle of trees replies. She shuts the door and leans her back against it, slipping onto the ground.

“No…” she says over and over again.

She can’t just accept that everybody is gone. She has to go check. She forces the door open and shoves her body through the opening, sucking in her stomach and barely squeezing through.

The air is hot and bitter. It feels as though Mother Nature is punishing her, and she bites back bile and panic as the stench of dead bodies overwhelms her senses.

She finds herself walking to her home. The top of her three-story house is completely torn off, and every window is shattered. Her cars are nowhere in sight. The door is gone, so she takes three deep breaths and walks right through.

It looks eerily similar to how she left it when she left. Chills crawl up her spine.

“Honeybears…?” she calls tentatively for her children, knowing it would be impossible for them to still live here. After all, they’d be grown adults who likely moved out, right?

She gets to their bedroom door and turns the doorknob, but does not push the door open. She can’t find it in herself yet. She squeezes her eyes shut. She was never really religious, but now, she’s reaching for anything she can grasp.

Please, God, or Jesus, or the universe, or whoever’s up there, please tell me they’re okay. Please don’t hurt them. Please. Please. Please.

She forces herself to push the door open and gasps. Her knees hit the floor.

There, in the middle of the room, are three bodies locked together. Alex, now with gray hair, was hugging her twins in his arms. Her girls seem to have grown up looking exactly the same. But it’s difficult to say for sure now. Ariadne lets out a bloodcurdling scream, folding over and slamming her head on the floor.

Eventually, she gets up. She does not know how much time has passed. But she is already dead.

She presses a kiss against her family’s foreheads, not caring for the smell of death and loss. Her soul is empty. As she walks out, she accidentally kicks a small glass vial with her name on it. And even without a label, she knows what it is: the cure.

She lets out a manic, bitter laugh. Alex had kept his promise. He looked after their children, made her a cure, and she had lost everything, anyway. She laughs so hard she cries, and she wipes her tears away.

She pockets the vial and heads back to the lab, stumbling on another dead body on her way back. She crawls from there.

Now, she stands in front of the cryochamber. A tear slips out. She should have lived the few months she had left, happy and with her family. Why did she try to cheat death?

She takes the cure out of her pocket and stares at it. She could take it and try to figure out what happened. If there are survivors.

But nobody is waiting for her.

She throws the vial on the floor and listens to the satisfying crash. Then she robotically enters the cryochamber.

And freezes for eternity.