Rafe was panting as if he’d run a mile when he slammed the garage door behind him. Not even bothering to shake the snow off first he headed up the stairs, taking them three at a time.
“Key!” he bellowed as he went through the door into the house proper. “Ursula!”
Not a sound. The house was dark, and although it was far warmer than outside, it was still far too cold. Killing cold for someone in Key’s condition.
His packboots thumped on the floor loud enough to wake the dead as he ran deeper into the silent house.
Rafe found his patient sitting motionless before the big worktable, his frail body shrouded by blankets.
“Oh hell, Key,” he said sadly as he bent over and reached under the blankets in search of the pulse he was sure he wasn’t going to find. Just as his fingers found cool flesh he heard a slow, agonized whuuuuufffff from the respirator. A second later he felt a slow throb under his numb fingertips.
His own heart began to hammer faster. He still had a pulse! Slow, too too slow, but still hanging in there! And that respirator—
A muted beep sounded. Then another. He turned his head toward the sound, shining his flashlight on the screen of the laptop computer in front of Key.
A single word appeared, white letters against the black screen. GENERATOR.
A shiver went down his back. “Ursula?” he whispered.
No answer. But the word vanished, reappeared. generator.
Rafe stared at the screen, tom by indecision. There was a spare power pack for Key’s respirator down in the van. He could have it hooked up and running in just a couple minutes. All his training told him the first thing to do was get him breathing properly again.
But the skin under his fingers was so cold. Hypothermia. Breathing wasn’t going to matter if the poor bastard froze to death. He not only needed air, he needed heat. And fast.
A new word appeared on the screen, please.
Then another, this time in blood red.
HURRY.
The control panel in the generator shed was even more complicated than the one in the house, and it gave Rafe the same contradictory message as the remote had given Key.
That suggested something wrong with the fuel line. So he started at the engine and followed the line back, hoping it was a problem he could find and fix.
It was. Frost on the ground outside had heaved the steel line where it came in, pushing it against a clamp hard enough to fold it over and crimp it shut.
He ransacked the cupboard where spare filters, plugs, other odd parts, and a few tools were kept, whispering a fervent thank you, God when he found a three-inch piece of rubber tubing with clamps already on it which had come with a spare fuel filter, and a rusty but serviceable tubing cutter.
Two minutes later he was pushing the manual start button with a frozen finger that smelled of gasoline and asking God for another favor. The engine ground over and over, but didn’t catch before the start sequence aborted.
“Come on you bastard,” he pleaded, trying it again.
The engine cranked, cranked, then gas finally reached the carburetor. It took off with a sudden throaty roar that made him jump back in surprise. The engine hit its RPM, steadied, and the control panel lit up like a Christmas tree as power began to flow.
Key’s body temperature had already risen almost two degrees, warmed by the electric blanket wrapped around him. His heart was beating faster now, urged on by a tiny dose of adrenaline. His breathing had improved thanks to a bigger shot of Pneumolatrin. Extra oxygen was being fed into his breathing tube, prewarmed by a fold of blanket. A sucrose drip gave his body its favorite fuel to bum.
The cold had come within inches of killing him.
Paradoxically, it might just have also saved his life; slowing his metabolism down to the point where he was able to survive on the small amount of air his respirator was delivering.
What Key needed now was heat. The furnace was still running, its output augmented by waste heat from the generator. The house had grown warm enough for Rafe to shed his parka, but not his sweater.
Now all he could do was watch and wait. It had been touch and go for a while there, but he was beginning to feel a cautious optimism. Key was even showing signs of returning consciousness. It still remained to be seen if anoxia had caused any brain damage. While the guy was smart enough to lose half his wits and still be a mile ahead of everyone else, Rafe was praying to God he’d come through unscathed. After all, it had worked so far.
A few minutes later Key groaned, and his body twitched as it was racked by a shiver. His eyelids fluttered. Rafe bent down and took his hands, feeling them tighten slightly.
“It’s OK, boss. Take it easy.”
Key’s eyes opened just a crack. His lips moved silently. They were still slightly blue from cold and oxygen deprivation.
The big nurse squeezed the smaller man’s hands gently. “Just be cool, old son. Don’t try to talk.”
Key shook his head weakly. He licked his lips and swallowed. When the respirator gave him breath to work with he managed to croak out one word.
“Ursula?”
Rafe kept his face neutral, not knowing what to say. He’d been so intent on working on Key he’d forgotten all about her. Since she hadn’t spoken up, the power outage might just have left her in worse shape than the guy who’d built her. It had to have been Ursula who’d sent him to fix the generator, but had he gotten it started in time to save her too?
He had to smile and wonder if maybe God looked after computers too when she answered that question for him.
“I’m still here with you, Key,” she said. Rafe heard something in her voice he hadn’t heard before. He wasn’t sure what it was, a depth, a warmth, a subtle shading of tone, something.
Key’s eyes opened wider. “Really?”
“Really truly absolutely,” she told him softly. “Now and forever.”
Key’s eyes drooped shut and his face settled into a contented smile as sleep reclaimed him. Rafe checked the monitors, finding that his pulse and blood pressure were even closer to normal and his body temperature had risen another half degree.
“Is he going to be all right?” Ursula asked quietly.
Rafe nodded. “I think so. How about you, kid? Are you OK?”
“I burned out a processor running it on low power. Some memory got corrupted, and a couple functions have gone asynchronous.”
He frowned. “That doesn’t sound good. Does it, well, hurt?”
“It’s not exactly pleasant. But you know what?”
“What?”
Her laugh was different too. If he didn’t know better he’d have sworn it was a real woman he was taking to, not some spookily perfect simulation. “I’ve never felt better in my whole life.”
“Beating death does that for you.” He gazed down at his sleeping patient, once more marveling at his survival. He had to wonder if he himself would’ve had such a strong will to live if stuck in a junk body and empty life like that. The man must have felt he really had something to live for.
The lights in the room flickered, steadied.
“They just got the power back on!” Ursula reported gleefully. “What say I make you a cup of coffee to celebrate?”
Rafe nodded and smiled tiredly. “Sounds good to me.” Key was stable enough to be left for a few minutes now, though he planned to sleep on a cot next to the bed just in case. He turned away from the bed to go to the kitchen. “So, are you going to tell me what you two crazy kids did after the power went out?”