The Forsaken

can barely see my gloved hand in front of my face, and can only make out the faintest outlines of the pods as I grow closer to them.
    When I finally reach the first row, I have to stop and rest for a second to catch my breath. Up close, the pods look like vertical coffins with rounded edges. Egglike, made of some sort of smooth white material. Each one hangs a foot off the catwalk.
    A very faint cyan glow comes from underneath them. I see pipes running into each individual pod. They seem to be part of the massive cooling system. I peer into the nearest pod, but its viewing portal is dark, so I can’t see anyone inside.
    I run my gloves over its surface as I prepare to resume my journey. It’s all buttons and knobs. I’m just about to take my hand away, when my thumb brushes against a stray switch.
    A square of light suddenly blazes into my face, refracted into prisms by my glass visor. I realize that I’m looking at a video monitor instead of an actual porthole—and it’s showing a live video feed from inside the pod, displaying the face of its occupant.
    It’s a boy I don’t know. A random drone. His painted face looks like it’s been carved out of wax. A mechanism is locked around his head like a medical halo, keeping him immobilized. His eyes are shut, and he’s wearing an oxygen mask.
    The bottom of the video monitor displays a row of red numbers. An additional series of moving lines is tracking his vital signs. All the lines are flat, but no alarms are going off.
    I realize the pod is like a reverse life support system. There is a problem only if the boy starts heating up and his heart begins beating again. A flat line in this terrible place means that everything is in great shape.
    I tear myself away from the capsule, pick up the extra suit and helmet, and start moving rapidly down the catwalk again. I can see Liam’s light in the distance, blinking and flickering. Calling to me.
    I suppose that here, in a weird way, I’ve found the Fountain of Youth. None of these kids will ever age. But it’s a terrible fountain, because it sucks your life away. These kids are preserved just as surely as if they were dead and embalmed.
    I walk for what seems like forever. Without the suit it might have taken me only two more minutes to reach Liam. But with the suit on, it’s more like ten minutes, and I’m well aware that our time is running out. On either side of me are unending rows of pods. They’re dark, but I know that almost every single one of them is filled with a frozen body.
    It’s so silent with the helmet on that between breaths I hear faint static in my ears. It’s like the sounds of the island are still inside my head, keeping me company. I wonder if I’ll ever be rid of them.
    I continue walking.
    By the time I reach the illuminated pod that holds Liam’s body, I’m drenched with sweat, even though the air outside my suit is far below zero. My hair is soaking, and I blink strands out of my eyes.
    I maneuver myself awkwardly along the catwalk in front of Liam’s pod. Beams of white light are pouring out from behind it, like miniature spotlights, delineating its contours.
    I’ve been trying not to think too much about what I’m going to do. I’m not sure what buttons to push, or if I can thaw him in time.
    I long to see his blue eyes open. To hear his voice again. To feel his touch on my skin. Plus, I could use his help right about now.
    Because his pod is so well lit, it’s easy for me to decipher the controls on the front of it. I see a switch marked VIEW, SO I flick that one first.
    The video screen activates, and Liam’s face appears with crystal clarity. I stand there staring at him in awe. His eyes are shut, and the oxygen mask obscures part of his face. His brown hair drifts in the fluid. My breath gets frozen for a moment like the air. It’s almost too much for me to take.
    He’s alive after all.
    The very thought is shocking; I guess part of me didn’t really believe it.
    “Liam,” I murmur. He looks peaceful. Uninjured. I’d think he was sleeping, except for the halo and the oxygen mask.
    I quickly pull the lever marked MANUAL OVERRIDE . I’m expecting an instant reaction from the pod, but nothing happens.
    I spot a number on the upper corner of the screen, like a countdown clock. It reads “–15:49.” I assume that’s how many minutes I have left until Liam gets taken from me again. I’m not going to let that happen.
    I glance down at all the dials and knobs on