Micro-Story: Faulty

Story Content and Summary: 1,750 words. Micah's wife succumbs to a fault in a futuristic prosthetic heart. No EMS. On-site resuscitation.

Fuck!

The way she fell, first stiffening, then going boneless and collapsing in a heap before he could reach her. The way she fell, her face slack and her eyes rolling back. The way she fell pulled a silent curse from him, one he kept repeating as he skidded to his knees beside her, the accidental impact of his body rocking hers in the dirt.

“FUCK!” Micah finally shouted, losing control, his hands shaking as he reached for her, already knowing what was wrong as his fingers pressed into her neck.

Goddamn artificial heart. First mass-produced cardiac replacement piece of shit!

The artery beneath his fingers lay still, and her light eyes stared half-lidded up at him, even as her mouth slanted open and her lungs stuttered air.

Recalled.

He unzipped her coat and spread it wide, then dug in his pocket for his knife, flipping it open. Her hands curled, body shaking as her brain freaked the fuck out at the sudden lack of oxygenated blood. Micah sliced his blade through the collar of her t-shirt, then tossed his knife to the side and gripped her shirt with both hands. The shirt tore down to her navel and he spread the fabric wide open, reaching next for the small, rectangular lump just below her collarbone and above the cups of her lavender bra.

Recalled, and a fucking waiting list…

He pressed the center of the implant, just like he’d pantomimed with her before, when he’d printed the reset instructions from the manufacturer’s website. This time, he felt a button click, depressing firmly and then popping back up beneath his fingers.

“Come on, Gretchen,” he breathed, quiet now as he reached for the butterfly clasp of her bra. He popped it open as she gave another rattling agonal breath, quickly spreading the cups and sliding his fingers down to the tiny display implanted laterally. The miniature monitor glowed red, awakening with the activation of her reset button. He pressed the center of the glowing light three times, initiating the reset sequence.

Stay calm! the instructions had advised. The heart WILL restart!

“I’ve got you,” Micah gasped, his hands skimming over her chest and settling low on her sternum, along the line of her first surgery scar.

Okay. I have to be her heart and lungs until the device restarts.

He linked his fingers, rolled his shoulders over his hands, and started pumping.

“One, two, three…”

His mind flashed back to the little practice mannequin he’d bought and subsequently worn out in the basement where she couldn’t see him desperately trying to learn. Terrified that one day, before she could get in to surgery, her replacement heart would glitch out and take Gretchen away from him forever.

What good is a heart that resumes beating ten, twenty, forty-five minutes later if her brain is dead?

“…thirty!” Micah leaned down and quickly tipped her head back before pinching her nose closed and drawing a deep breath. Strands of her silken hair clung to her face and his fingers as he gripped her jaw with his other hand. He held her mouth open and covered her lips with his, exhaling, watching her chest rise out of the corner of his eye. Micah broke the seal and felt his recycled air waft over his face before giving her a second.

He returned to her chest, his voice shaking as he started counting. Gretchen’s ribcage sank and her breasts wobbled as he worked, the force rocking her head from side to side. Each time he pressed down, her navel popped up in a harsh seesaw motion. Her shoulders shrugged rhythmically, body bending to the force of his love.

“Huh, huh, huh…” Breathless sounds slipped from her parted lips as he reached thirty again.

Her soft mouth beneath his felt lifeless, already cool to the touch of his overheated skin. Another breath, her cheeks rounding out, neck swelling slightly as the breath made its way down her airway. Micah turned, quickly getting back into position for compressions, his hands skimming her smooth skin as he found his landmark.

“One, two, three…” Her breast felt soft under his fingers as the heel of his stacked hands thrust into her. Her nipples, erect in the cool autumn air, pointed briefly inward with each hard compression. Oblong tracks appeared in the dirt beneath her slim-fingered as her body danced to the rhythm of his thrusts.

“…twelve, thirteen…”

Her brainstem stopped trying to make her breathe as her eyes locked on nothing, already glassy with death. Shadows gathered beneath her eyes.

“…eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty-one…”

A glance down toward her feet showed him that her entire body twitched with each thrust, legs rocking, toes drawing little circles in the air.

“Please, Gretchen!” he begged, before giving her another deep breath. Her breasts swelled once, twice. His eyes darted to the illuminated display in her side as he resumed chest compressions. One line, regular and jagged, represented his chest compressions. The second line, however, lay flat. Asystole.

“…nine, ten, eleven, twelve…”

Micah rocked into her chest, forcing himself to work as perfectly as he was capable, judging his compression depth with a critical eye and keeping the rhythm going as he counted. Each harsh thrust forced her sternum to squeeze blood from the useless artificial organ. As he pressed, her belly rounded against the waistband of her leggings, the hollow of her navel riding the crest of each wave. Sunlight stretching through the canopy dappled her body, leaves rustling as he shifted on his knees. A snoring sound abruptly emitted from Gretchen’s throat.

“…Christ! Thirty!” He sucked in a breath and covered her mouth with his, closing her nostrils just in time. Again, the air puffed out her cheeks and throat visibly. A thin string of saliva pulled between them as he broke the seal long enough to let her body exhale. Micah pressed his lips to hers again and gave her another breath. Then his hands slammed back into the center of her chest, fingers quickly linking. “One, two, three, four…”

“Hurk, huh, huh, hurk…”

“…nine, ten…” Her chest popped, the sensation crackling under his palm. He kept at it, watching her sternum and ribcage sink and bob beneath the strength of his pumping arms as he hoped, begged, that his effort was good enough.

“…sixteen, seventeen, eighteen…” Watching the wave of force ripple down her abdomen, eyes burning, he choked back the tears that threatened to fall.

Let this be enough. Let me be enough…

As he bent for mouth-to-mouth, he thought of her that morning, legs spread wide beneath him, mouth ripe for the taking, skin so soft as he stroked her. Now, she lay lifeless beneath him, her mouth slack and her eyes staring as he forced air into her silent lungs. The flat line on her prosthetic monitor haunted him as he shifted back over her bruised, motionless chest. Panic threatened to overwhelm him, even as the sensation of her body softening under his hands sent a wave of nausea rolling through him.

“…nine, please just start beating, fuck, come on! PLEASE! Fifteen, sixteen…” Micah worked desperately, letting his weight fall into his hands. She made abortive grunts as he thrust down into her chest, air escaping her lungs in harsh wheezes. “…twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty—”

BEEEEEEEP! An artificial sound cut through his panic.

“Gretchen?!” Micah leaned closer, hands shifting to frame the heart prosthesis screen. The chest compression line disappeared, but beneath it, where the flatline had been…

A rhythm!

“Gretchen!” Micah lunged, planting his hands to either side of her head. Her face tipped slightly to the side, skin ashen, eyelids slightly lifted. He moved one hand to her face, patting her cheek gently at first, then harder. “Honey? Gretchen!” Micah’s eyes trailed over her mottled chest, looking for signs of life. Despite her beating heart, Gretchen remained completely still.

He moved a hand over her mouth, suspicion leading him to feel for breath that apparently wasn’t coming. Fear made him shiver as he bent to open her airway and tip his ear close to her pale lips. He hovered there, silently counting out the seconds as the dead air spread between them.

With a groan of anguish, Micah crashed his mouth into hers, the angle of his face blocking her nostrils as he filled her lungs, pressure forcing a buzz of air out of the corners of their mouths. He pulled back enough to feel the air drift across his face, remembering then to pinch her nose. His eyes grazed the display embedded into her side, reassuring himself that the artificial heart still beat. Then he gave her another breath, the fingers of his other hand gently stroking the soft skin of her throat as it expanded beneath his fingertips.

“Please, Gretchen…” His plea came out quiet and broken. “I was right here. I helped you. Please!”

Another breath. His mind filled with awful thoughts. Gretchen dead, Marcus forced to sign paperwork to remove the heart surgically prior to her burial. Gretchen in long-term care, unable to recognize him or care for herself. His Gretchen, dead as her body lived. His eyes grew wet as he exhaled a fourth breath.

As he broke the seal, Gretchen flinched beneath him and sucked in a shallow, ragged breath. Micah gasped and cupped her face with both hands, watching as her eyelids fluttered. “That’s it, Gretchen! Just breathe! You’re okay. I love you, you’re okay!” He shook with relief, his eyes blurring with tears as she coughed and gasped and moved her hands weakly. She curled them onto her chest, covering the redness there and letting out a soft groan.

Micah brushed her hair back from her face and then covered her hands with his. “I’m sorry. I know you’re in pain. Just open your eyes for me so I know you’re alright.”

Gretchen complied, her eyelids peeling open. She blinked several times before her eyes focused, latching on to his own. “Micah,” she whispered, barely audible.

Micah shuddered and curled over her, pressing his forehead to hers and choking out: “Thank you… Thank you! Oh, I love you…”

“Love you…” she wheezed. “S’okay…”

His fingers threading in her hair, Micah wept.