Catherine woke from the blackness confused and disorientated, a nurse was standing over her, her face was twisting, features expanding and contracting, swirling around her face. “Just take it easy. You need a few seconds to adjust.” as the nurse spoke her features moved back to their rightful places. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m afraid there was a terrorist attack again.”
Catherine closed her eyes and groaned, “How bad is it?” She’d seen the bodies of those in terrorists attacks, the thick, twisted scarring that criss crossed their bodies. The nurse smiled a little, “Not that bad, you weren’t caught up in the blast. You, um,” the nurse was trying and failing to suppress a smile, “You slipped on a wet floor just after it started, we’ve the surveillance video if you want to have a look?”
Catherine was groggy still, but she nodded. The nurse pushed a few buttons on the small electronic pad she carried with her. An image appeared and the white wall to her left, it showed Catherine running, a look of terror on her face, then her legs going out from under her, her face a mask of shock, then her head connected to the ground. Catherine winced slightly and felt the back of her head, running her fingers along the scar, it was still tender, the nurse was trying and failing to hold in giggles. After a second she calmed down, “this is one of the best ones I’ve seen all week. Would you like a copy of it for your feed?”
Catherine’s cheeks were bright red, how could she show anyone that? It was so mortifying. “No, thank you, I’d prefer not.”
The nurses face fell, “OK, though would I be able to get your permission to-”
The nurse nodded, “Well, you’ve used up one of your free resurrections. You’ve got three left. You’re going to feel a little bit disorientated for the next twenty minutes or so.” she pulled a tray from a cart nearby, it had a glass of orange juice and a sandwich, “once you have something to eat you can be on your way.”
Catherine stepped out into the fresh air, it helped clear her head, more so than the bland sandwich and bitter orange juice. The hospital opened out into a large plaza, covered in concrete and dotted with small areas of greenery. People lounged about, drinking coffees outside cafes, browsing ramshackle market stalls that had been hurriedly thrown together. Catherine wove her way through the crowds, feeling like everyone was staring at her, that everyone knew. Already they were blasting news of the latest terrorist attack on the view screens, a grim looking anchor recounted the final death toll. Seven true deaths, fifty people resurrected and another hundred injured. Catherine didn’t look at the screens but the voice still boomed from them. She always knew how serious it was going to be depending on the anchor, when there were no true deaths they had a giggling blond on, showing a best of compilation of the funniest or most painful looking deaths.
Catherine let herself into her apartment, the walk home felt like it had taken her hours though it was only a twenty minute trip. The feeling of being watched didn’t go away until she closed her door behind her, sealing herself from the world. She went to the small kitchen and turned on the kettle, as she did so she looked down at her hands, they shouldn’t be moving. She shouldn’t be moving. She shook her head as she started to make herself a cup of coffee. Get a grip, she hadn’t died, not really. Besides she was still a long way off from her true death and she still had three free resurrections left. She sipped her coffee and moved into her living room. The living room was almost as small as the kitchen with just enough room to cram in a couch, a two seater table and a few shelves against the wall. She sat on the couch and turned on the TV, they were still talking about the terrorist attack.
Catherine reached up and felt the back of her head, fingers running along the thin scar, her mother said no one would notice it beneath her hair and so far that proved to be true enough, no one had noticed the scar. Still that didn’t stop people asking about her resurrection, they’d all gotten the alert “Catherine Jenkins has just been RESSURECTED thanks to Glaston Industries, talk to your doctor about resurrection today!” They didn’t seem to get that she just didn’t want to talk about it, it was just too embarrassing. Everyone else bragged about their resurrections but Catherine’s didn’t seem like theirs. They talked of bravery and heroics or funny stories but none of them talked about the cold darkness that wrapped around her completely, the endless dark that became her world. So she did the only thing she could, she’d mention the terrorist attack, tell them it was awful and that she was running away when it happened, that seemed to stop the questions, at least for a little while. Still it couldn’t get rid of her memories or what she knew, that there was nothing after death, no heaven, no hell, just that cold, suffocating darkness.