Surname / TITLE /

A brown hazy oval appeared over her. She tried to speak but something filled her mouth and throat making her gag from the effort. Trying to reach up to remove it she realized her wrists had been secured. Even the tiny effort she put into that small movement caused pain to roll through her body like a thunderclap.

"Try to stay still Ms. Tucker," said the oval above her. "You have been severely injured. We have a helicopter on the way. Just try to hold on."

Samantha groaned when another wave of agony flashed through her body with such intensity her back arched and muscles spasmed causing her to jerk against the padded restraints. Another blurry form moved into view and pressed something against her abdomen. Icy cold spread through her lower body and an odd pressure rapidly began to build.

"That’s good Jamal," said the woman’s voice. "Make sure the foam completely fills the abdominal cavity. Now place a sterile compress over the wound and maintain a steady pressure. We have to keep her from bleeding out until the helicopter gets here."

"It better get here soon," said a much deeper voice. "She’s already lost a significant amount."

"I know," said the woman’s voice. "I’ve started an iv and..."

The voices grew distant and she felt as if she was floating above them. She tried to gasp for breath but nothing came. The sweet face of Mason filled her mind and she tried to reach out. It grew further and further away. Until she was sitting on a bench watching David push a baby in an infant swing. She smiled feeling the cool breeze on her face during the mild spring day.

Mason pushed himself up from the sidewalk and looked up at her. His knees were badly skinned and his lip trembled as he fought back the tears. Her heart went out to him and she had to keep herself from running to hold him. It was hard but she managed and, when he picked up his bike and climbed back on she was glad she had. He fell two more times but, before the day was out, he finally learned to ride a bike without the training wheels.

She sprinted as fast as she could. Her lungs burned with the effort but she pushed harder, eyes never leaving Mary as she wove her way through the defenders towards the goal. Her teammate stopped abruptly and launched the ball in a beautifully curving arch towards the goal. Seeing the goalie move Samantha put on a burst of speed and dove. Her forehead struck the ball, diverting it away form the goalie and into the net.

She rolled on the ground and, before she could even attempt to get back up, her team swarmed her. Bodies piling up making it hard for her to breathe for a moment. She didn’t care though, they had won. She could hear the cheering and her chest filled with pride. Her team helped her to her feet and she looked towards the sideline.

As expected her father was right there. His hands in the air screaming his lungs out. Several other parents were around him patting him on the back as if he had been the one to score. She grinned and waved at him. His response was lost in the noise but she knew what it was. His face, filled with pride, told her everything she ever wanted to know.

"What do you mean you’re opting out?" she asked, the strength leaving her legs forcing her to take a seat in the chair beside her father’s hospital bed. "You’re the one that perfected the procedure and you’re opting out of it? Why?"

"Honey, I created the Phase Two process for people that were in accidents and young. It was never for people like me," he coughed and waved off the nurse. Taking a shuddering breath he turned towards her and smiled. "I’ve lived a long life. A happy and fulfilling life."

"No, daddy," she leaned forward gripping his hand. Her stomach clenched feeling how skeletal he had become from the cancer. His formerly strong body wasted away until only parchment like skin covered bones and not much else. "You can continue your life. Have more time to see Mason grow. He’s only two and you have so much to offer him."

"I can’t give him anything that you won’t yourself," he said placing his other hand over hers. "I’m ready sweetie. I miss your mother."

"Daddy, please," she said, forcing the words out of a throat choked tight with emotion. "I love you, don’t leave me."

He smiled at her and kissed her hand. "I’ll always be around baby."

His eyes closed and he drifted off to sleep. She didn’t move, holding his hand even after it went cold. She leaned forward and kissed his forehead softly, her tears leaving wet drops on his face. "I love you daddy."

A sudden jolt sent pain dancing over her body. Her eyes snapped open to see the whirring blades of a helicopter over head. There were people all around and they were shouting. Why were they shouting? Where was this place? She tried to reach out and grab one but her arm wouldn’t respond. No matter how she tried she couldn’t raise her head or move her lips to speak. She groaned in frustration and agony.

She climbed out of the wreckage that had once been their car. Her left arm covered in blood that wasn’t her own. Reaching behind her she grasped her mothers shoulders and pulled back as hard as she could. Gradually she was able to get the limp body through the broken window of the passenger side and she waded up her coat placing it over the deep gash in her mothers scalp.

"It’ll be ok, Mommy," she whispered, cradling her mothers head in her lap. "I hear the sirens they’ll be here soon."

Blood soaked through her jeans, she clutched her mother tightly. "Please hurry, please hurry." Tears streamed down her face.

Her father’s hand rested heavy on her shoulder. They sat in the front pew of the church staring numbly at the beautiful light wood of the coffin. He hadn’t spoken the entire day. Only giving her a forced smile when she asked if he was alright. He didn’t even blink, his blue eyes just staring at the open casket and the body of his wife, her mother.

Another jolt sending bolts of pain roaring over her body she cried out. Cool hands gently brushed her hair back and someone whispered in her ear words that she couldn’t make out. She shivered and closed her eyes.

"Just one more push," said the gynecologist. "We just have to get the shoulders through and you’re done."

She clenched her aching muscles. Her hand squeezing Davids with every ounce of strength she had left. A scream welled up from the depths of her soul to roar out of her mouth and suddenly a relief that she had never known washed over her. She laid back panting looking up at the ceiling.

David sat next to her and stared in open wonder at the precious bundle that she held in her arms. She smiled looking down into those deep brown eyes of her baby, of her boy. Hearing the door open she looked up and smiled.

"Hello Daddy," she said shifting Mason carefully. "I have someone for you to meet."

When her father looked at her baby her heart leaped. For the first time in six years she saw that old familiar light fill his eyes. For the first time since her mother had died he smiled. "You did it, Sammie," he said with a laugh, reaching out to hold his grandchild. "You did it baby."

"You did it," said the shadow leaning over her. "You survived the trip. Just hang on a little longer."

She felt like she was moving but her eyes wouldn’t focus to show where she was being taken. It was weird, she didn’t hurt anymore. Instead of the burning, jolting, pain that she had been feeling she now felt light and numb. There were shadowy shapes milling all around her. It seemed like some were trying to talk to her but she couldn’t make sense of the sounds. She was just so tired.

"Don’t fall asleep," said a voice that she couldn’t locate. "You need to fight, baby."

"Daddy?" she looked around for the source of the voice. "Where are you?"

"Fight, baby, hold on," said the voice.

"Daddy!" she cried, searching for him desperately. "I need you daddy."

"I told you I’d always be there," it said and she felt the gentle pressure of an unseen hand rest upon her cheek. "Promise me you’ll hold on, baby. You have too much to live for."

"I’m so tired," she whispered feeling like a massive lead weight was pulling her down. "I can’t..."

"The hell you can’t!" her father said in that tone he had always used when she had tried to give him an excuse. "I know you Samantha and I know you can do this. Now wake up!"

Her eyes snapped open and she saw a nurse pulling back with two paddles in her hands. Her chest burned and her skin tingled, she could feel the tube in her throat rubbing it raw.

"She’s awake!" the nurse said, putting the paddles down on a cart and rushing out of her view.

"Good now hurry up and finish prepping the Phase Two she doesn’t have long," said a deep voice from somewhere behind her head. "We better make this work the first time. We won’t get another chance."

Her breathing quickened. Phase Two? They were prepping a Phase Two for her? Slowly, painfully she turned her head and looked to her left. Artic cold fear made a fist inside her chest when she saw the bald covered with a synaptic array designed to align the neural activity of the brain to sync with hers. The very same array she had placed on dozens of people during their transference.

The room began to spin. She was going to die. There was no way to avoid it now. Her body had been too badly damaged and, in accordance with her living will, they were preparing to transfer her consciousness to a Phase Two body. She struggled to breathe but the air wouldn’t come. The weight on her chest grew until it felt like a tank tread rolling over her, driving her into the ground, crushing her into the dirt.

A light flashed and she felt a tearing sensation. She, suddenly, felt free and lifted her arms. They were no longer restrained and she felt weightless and completely free of pain. She looked down and saw two sets of identical green eyes staring at her. Then, as if a rope had been tugged she slammed back down into her body. Air hissed through the tube and into her straining lungs.

"Damn that was close," someone said. "Only another few minutes. If she can hold out we’ll be ready."

She could feel tears burning her eyes. She grit her teeth against the pain. Death wasn’t going to claim her, not today. The image of Mason filled her vision. Samantha could still hear her father’s voice telling her to hold on. She groaned and pushed as hard as she could.

"She’s a fighter," said a females voice in the distance. "I’ve never seen anyone struggle this hard."

"Keep focused, Nurse," said the doctor’s voice. "We’re nearly there and this needs to be perfect if we are going to save this woman."

"Yes, Doctor."

A spasm shook her entire body. She felt blood pooling inside of her and saw shadows that didn’t seem to be the medical staff floating above her. Jet black hands reached down, grasping at her. Screaming she beat them back. Blocking their hands from touching her and attempting to strike out at their bodies. Her fist went through the body of one and she screeched in agony snatching back her hand. It had felt like she had plunged her arm into a vat of liquid nitrogen.

Everything spun. With a stunning jolt she gasped, drawing air into her lungs through the mask that covered her face. Then, feeling like she was falling from an extreme height, she was yanked out only to slam back down and return to the burning pain of her weakened body. Her throat burning with irritation from the tube they had pushed down it to allow her to breathe.

She blinked and looked over. The head of the Phase two turned and she looked into eyes the exact shade of her own. It was wearing a breathing mask. Her vision blurred, she could see multiple images that made her head spin with the dual perspectives. Clenching her fists she squeezed her eyes shut trying to dispel the vertigo that threatened to overwhelm her.

It did no good. The room spun faster and faster. Her perspective bounced back and forth again and again. Tears streamed from two sets of eyes and two mouths opened in throat tearing screams. Her mind felt like it was going to shatter into a million shards when, with jolting quickness, the spinning stopped. Something tore, she wasn’t sure how she knew there was no sound, no sensation of any physical nature but, never the less, she knew something had torn.

She floated above the bodies and it felt like a fist had clenched up on her heart and squeezed for she saw her body laying there. The lower half of her body stained with blood with multiple gaping holes in her mid section. That was bad enough but it wasn’t what made her curl into a fetal position and rock back and forth in her ethereal state. It was the glassy staring eyes.

Her body had died.

Forcing herself to look away from the body that had once been her she felt a pull. A strange, almost comforting, tug that slowly drew her closer. Living eyes stared up at her, welcoming her. Eyes that had not been hers but, somehow, were now. Drawing into a body that belonged to her, was her. This time there was no sudden falling with painful impact. Instead she drifted down and, gently, settled into the body.

She took a deep breath and sighed.

"She made it," the doctor said and the room was filled with the sound of people cheering.

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