Alien

  “The girl's dead,” he said. “Frozen.”

  Inês heard the voice as if it had come from a distant dream. She tried to look in its direction, but her neck was stiff—her entire body was—try as she might, she couldn't make a move. Among the frigid blackness, a soft glow, orange and warm, settled on her with a loud clank. Then, she heard more voices, a group of them. The boys were talking among themselves, but she could hardly listen in on their conversation; it was all too blurred. Only tiny snippets reached her.

  “A vitima respira?” asked a faraway murmur. “Tem pulso?”

  Inês hadn't heard Portuguese in what felt like an eternity. Was she really back? Was she home? She tried to twist her neck and look back, but the task felt herculean. Her back wouldn't budge and her arms wouldn't lift her. This body didn't feel like her own.

  “Mantenham-na deitada,” continued the whisper. “Cubram com casacos. A ambulância já vai a caminho.”

  An ambulance? She wondered how bad of a state she was in. Would she make it out alive? Would she even get to see her dad after all? Please. At least one last time. How would he feel if she died like this? He would be all alone.

  “She's crying,” said the same boy she had first heard.

  A white light, bright and cold, hovered over her as he said that. She tried to close her eyes, but they resisted with a burning feel. She saw a silhouette, greyish and hard to make out, hanging over her body. Then, she felt a sudden warmth wash over her.

  “Despacho de VMER Porto,” said the distant murmur. “Vítima feminina, catorze anos, hipotermia grave, inconsciente, arritmia possível. Local: armazém abandonado, freguesia de Campanhã.”

  Unconscious? So they couldn't tell that her lights were still on… Or could it be that she was only dreaming? Could this be one of those near death experiences she had read so much about? She thought back to Sunday school and Saint Paul's vision of the third heaven. She thought back to studying Plato's Myth of Er in school. She remembered, too, reading the book of an American doctor who had died of pneumonia and come back with tales of flights over landscapes and other dimensions, only he had gotten to meet his savior while she was stuck in a freezer.

  Also: Campanhã, she thought, that was quite far from the city center. They said she was in an abandoned warehouse; then she must have been in the eastern part of the freguesia, near the river Tinto. There were many old factories and overgrown lots there, right on the city's edge. Maybe she was in the Freixo industrial zone.

  Her mind wandered and her thoughts splintered; Inês saw them around her, flapping their graceful wings. Why were they back? Was it her time to go? Were they there to take her? She felt drowsy. She was going to go to sleep, if only for a little while.

********

  She awoke again in a well-lit space. The ambulance was cramped and filled with warm air. It felt like solace on her skin. Most of her clothing had been removed, and she was wrapped in nitid sheets that glinted far and wide. Inês couldn't see them, but she could feel pockets of warmth under the blankets—some kind of heat packs, situated along her trunk. An IV line with warmed saline perforated her arm, and a mask with heated, humidified oxygen had been placed over her mouth and nose.

  “Temos vítima de catorze anos, sexo feminino, hipotermia severa, Glasgow 3, pupilas lentas, pulso filiforme a 20 por minuto,” said a new voice next to her, masculine and commanding. “ECG: complexo largo, bradicardia. Solicito ativação da equipa ECMO.”

  That must have been a doctor or a paramedic, she thought. She didn't understand much of the medical jargon, but it didn't sound encouraging. She wondered whether her father been notified… Did he know where she was already? Was he still wondering where she had gone; what had happened to her? Her eyes fixated on the white ceiling above; white like snow. She wondered how long she had been gone. She wavered.

********

  The flock of white coats and scrubs crowded around Inês. The air was electric, and there was an urgency in the precise, well-rehearsed movements of the hospital personnel.

  “Menina, catorze anos, encontrada inconsciente em ambiente frio,” said a middle-aged woman with a kind voice. “Tempe estimado de exposição prolongado, Swiss IV, Temperatura 25, embradicardia severa, instável.”

  Twenty-five degrees Celsius? That was much too low, Inês thought. How was she still alive?

  “Olá,” said the kindly woman. “Estas no Hospital de São João, no Porto.”

  The São João Hospital? Oh. She had been there many times. That was where her mother had died. For the second time that evening, she cried. The tears came suddenly and without warning. She felt the tension in her body vanish with an abrupt snap. A rush of adrenaline crashed into her and made her feel all at once. Shaken by quiet spurts, she even sensed the confounding rise of laughter from deep within herself.

  The kindly doctor came to see her as the nurses busied themselves around Inês. She wiped her tears with a gentle smile. And, once more, Inês felt a surge of warmth pass over her entire body. Something like a cocoon had encased her; the device pumped warm air all around her. She began to shiver. As the blood returned to its natural movement, she started to feel pain; sharp pins-and-needles, at first; and then, a throbbing, agonizing hurt, all at once. It felt like hot lava or molten metal was coursing through her veins. Her extremities were swollen, blistering. She couldn't feel her toes or fingers, let alone move them. Her chest felt heavy, breathless. This wasn't the first time; she had been there before. She thought she saw a tall figure standing above her; blacker than dusk.

  “Paragem! Iniciar compressões. Continuar reanimação até ECMO.”

  She felt her heart give out.