"Where's Helen?" said Dr. Fernandez. "She's going to kill me if I do this without her. Can you page her again?"

A resident ran out of the room. Dr. Fernandez had no idea if this was going to work. He had been reading about induced hypothermia with keen interest for years and had been waiting for an opportunity to try it out.

Ms. Valencia's body sat there as blue and lifeless as a corpse. Cheating death by slowing down bodily functions was one thing. Overcoming fatal poisoning was a whole other story. If this worked, it would set a fantastic precedent. He would be written about in medical journals. Maybe he would even be featured in The New York Times.

He could see the headline now: Genius Palo Alto Doctor Brings Poisoning Victim Back To Life. If it worked. If it didn't, no one would even notice. It would be just another time of death. Another body for the statistics tables.

And failure was an enormous possibility. Not just because the procedure was so risky, but because there had been an unusually high number of deaths recently. All the doctors had been discussing it in the lunch hall. It was the topic du jour.

Half the doctors thought the high death rate was strange. The other half thought those doctors were crazy. There was no correlation between the death rate and any diseases. It wasn't like cancer, or the flu was causing the increase in deaths. It was more amorphous than that. Hard to pinpoint. Which was why the debate was so lively. Dr. Fernandez was in the camp that they were crazy. It was a statistical anomaly. It would correct itself soon.

"I can't wait any longer. Let's get started."

Luna's cold body lay on the table. Her arteries were still hooked up to the cryokit.

"We're going to warm her up slowly, people. If there are any signs that there is still active poison in her system, we'll bring her temperature down again quickly."

Dr. Fernandez watched the patient's vital signs carefully as her temperature slowly increased degree by degree. Ms. Valencia's lungs hadn't taken a breath of air in hours. They hadn't needed to. The cryokit oxygenated her blood, taking over the lungs' primary function. Likewise, her heart hadn't been pumping blood of its own accord either.

"When will the heart start beating?" asked one of the students.

"When the body's back to its normal temperature, it will turn back on."

"Like magic?"

The doctor took a deep breath. "No. Like science."

Her skin was finally starting to turn pink again, though the stillness and lack of life were startling. Even under anesthesia, people's bodies would move. The chest would go up and down. Blood would be seen pumping in the neck. Such small movements signaled life. And this body looked as dead as those in the morgue.

Half an hour later, the body was finally at 98.7 degrees, but there were no signs of self-sustaining life.

"Do we freeze her again?" a student asked. "Did we not leave her long enough?"

The doctor stared intently at the screen, making no answer. He was focused on something the others in the room didn't understand, breathing deeply. In and out. In through the nose. Out through the mouth. After five minutes of this, as if snapping out of a hypnotic trance, he spoke, "Turn off the machine."

The resident looked shocked. "What? But—"

"Turn off the machine."

"We can still put her under again. She needs more time," argued the resident.

This time, the doctor yelled, "Turn. Off. The. Machine."

The resident shook his head and went to the cryokit. The doctor resumed his deep-breathing ritual. The resident pulled the plug. The body lay warm and pink and as lifeless as a doll. A minute passed. With the machines off, the room was silent.

"Is she dead?"

"Quiet," Dr. Fernandez barked.

Another minute passed. Still nothing. Her body had been richly oxygenated through the bloodstream. If she didn't start breathing soon, the oxygen would run out and cause irreparable brain damage.

Dr. Fernandez was holding his breath. He'd been holding it since they unplugged the machine. He had simulated the patient's richly oxygenated blood by purposefully hyperventilating for the last half hour. Packing as much extra oxygen into his bloodstream as he could. He was working off of pure instinct, his face bright red by now. His lungs were struggling. Begging for air. He resisted. He would not give in. This was history in the making. This had to work.

It was mutiny. His diaphragm wrenched in little spurts. Even his eyeballs wanted him to take a breath. Just one. Little. Shit. Motherfucking shit brains. He couldn't do it. He couldn't do it. He tried to hold it. Just one more moment. He thought of Helen. She would be proud of him. Then he wondered why he cared what Helen would think of him. And that wondering was just enough.

Who was making that noise? He wanted to yell at them so bad right then. To make an example out of them that would go down in the hospital's history books. But then he realized he was the one making that noise. He was breathing. No, he was gasping. Out of control. Get it together. He needed to get it together. He had failed. It was over. Finally, he had enough oxygen in his blood again to speak.

"Turn on the machine," he yelled. "Come on. Come on. Come on. Turn it on."

The student and resident both ran for the plug at the same time—right into each other. It was a scene right out of The Three Stooges. One of the nurses even broke into laughter.

"Shut up. Come on, you fools. She's losing brain cells by the second. Oh, Jesus. You fucking morons, I'll just do it myself."

He ran to the wall. The doctor felt warm blood running down his forehead. They were not going to ruin this for him. This was his moment. His chance to make a name for himself. He grabbed the cord. The socket was in an awkward spot behind the heavy machinery. He tried to pull it away, but the brakes were engaged. He dropped to the floor and reached his hand blindly, feeling his way to the plug. He found it.

"Quick, turn the temperature down. Now."

The student had finally made it to his feet again and was staring at the cryokit's console like the words were in Cyrillic.

Just then, Helen stumbled into the room. She glanced around the room, disoriented. She looked at the resident, still nursing his head on the floor. She looked at Luna lying lifelessly on the table. Finally, she looked at Dr. Fernandez lying on the floor with his hand still behind the cryokit, which he had just plugged in. Then back at Luna. She knew. He could see it in her eyes. She knew. It was too late. No history was going to be made here tonight. She was too late. Helen looked down at the floor.

And then there was a ping. A single ping that broke the moment in half. Dr. Fernandez wasn't even sure if he had actually heard it. And then he heard another. And in one fleeting moment, the dead body lying lifeless on the table reanimated with a violent gasp of air. She began coughing like a nearly drowned woman trying desperately to breathe again. Dr. Fernandez acted instinctively. He grabbed an oxygen mask as he pulled himself off the floor.

"Calm down. Calm down. It's okay. You're okay. You're going to be all right."