Andrius Kalnietis

(This video provides some background on the story.  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HkBiflN1dF4 It contains images that may be disturbing to animal lovers and it isn't essential to understanding the story, so feel free to skip it.)

        Andrius Kalnietis awoke to a blinding light.
         His mouth was drier than he had thought possible and his throat felt like sandpaper. His body ached all over, the pain especially great in his right leg. He was lying down, the icy tinge of cold metal on his back. He tried to get up, but found his hands and feet were bound by padded restraints. He closed his eyes to protecting himself from the bright surgical lights above and fought with all his strength against the restraints.
         A flash of movement in his peripheral. Still trying to break free, Andrius turned his head to the left and opened his eyes to see two men. They both wore white scrubs, latex gloves, and masks. They were both staring at him with an intense, uneasy fascination.
         One of them said, “He’s going to hurt himself. Should I give him a sedative, Doctor?” He spoke in Russian, a language that Andrius did not know.
         A voice from the right side replied in Russian, “No. Just give him a moment.” It was a deep, authoritative voice. 
         Andrius turned his head to face this new speaker. He was a tall man wearing the same white clothes as the others as well as a pair of round, steel-rimmed glasses. His hair was beginning to gray, but the pale blue eyes behind the glasses were full of youthful excitement.
         “Ponas Kalnietis,” said the doctor in a much softer tone. “Please calm yourself. You are safe.” He spoke now in Samogitian, a dialect of Lithuanian, so his patient could understand.
         Andrius stopped thrashing and made a rasping sound as he tried to speak. “Of course,” muttered the doctor to himself in Russian. The doctor motioned to one of the other two men. The attendant left and returned a minute later with a glass of water. He poured it into Andrius’ mouth as the doctor continued.
         “You are obviously very disoriented and frightened,” said the doctor, once again speaking in Andrius’ native language. “That is the reason for the restraints. As soon as you become a bit more lucid, we will let you out. Now, state your name and country of origin as well as the year for the record.”
         It was then that Andrius craned his neck far enough to the right to see a camera recording the scene as it unfolded. “Andrius Kalnietis, Lithuania,” he said with some effort. He stared into the lens for a moment. “…1953.”
         “Cognitive facilities intact,” commented the doctor in Russian to the attendants.
         “Where-”
         “You are in a medical facility in Siberia,” said the doctor. Andrius figured that this was the reason the room was so cold. “You’ve just had a highly experimental operation. We’ll need to run some tests, but it looks like it was a success. For now, you should go to your room and rest.”
         The two attendants undid the restraints and Andrius sat up. They were in a brightly lit operating room. A tray full of bloody surgical instruments sat beside the table and Andrius had to wonder what they had done to him.
         One of the attendants helped Andrius to his feet and guided him to a door across the room. As Andrius was led out of the room, he looked back over his shoulder. Behind the table he had been lying on was a machine that was unlike anything Andrius knew. It was comprised of a complex series of tubes and a glass container which was stained with newly dried blood. Two piston-like steel pumps hooked to a small electric motor were attached to a pair of tubes leading to and from the glass reservoir.
         There was also a table against the wall to the right. On the table was a collection of test tubes, all of which held the same dark blue liquid.
         The attendant led Andrius into a corridor and took him to the third door on the left. The room was small with just a cot, a sink, and a toilet as furnishings. It reminded Andrius of a prison cell.
         The attendant sat him down on the bed and left. When closed, the door automatically locked.
         Andrius lay on the cot. He thought of his wife Aušra and his son Vytautas back in Palanga. He had made his living as a fisherman there. He had always been passionate for his job and he worked hard, but times were difficult. It was becoming harder and harder for his family to get by.
         He could not remember how he had gotten here or how long he had been gone, but he knew if he was gone from work for too long, his family would not be able to survive. He had to get back to them.
         Uncertain of his future, Andrius’ mind turned to the past. He remembered when he was ten years old and his parent took him and his older brother, Domas, to the Hill of Crosses.
         Andrius recalled being amazed by the place. There were thousands of crosses of all sizes, made of iron, bronze, copper, and stone. His father dug a small hole and set up his own cross, a humble wooden one that he had carved himself. Domas’ right cheek was swollen and purple from a fight he had gotten into at school the previous day. Domas was always fighting.
         When his father was finished, they all prayed. Andrius wasn’t sure why he thought of this as he sat in his cell.
         It was then that he discovered the sutured gash in his right leg and the smaller scratches and cuts on his arms and torso. He wasn’t sure how he gotten these injures.
         The signs of the surgery were far more unnerving. A puncture wound in each of his forearms and a long surgical scar reaching from the top of the sternum to the bottom of the abdomen were the only clues as to the operation the good doctor had performed on him. 
         Andrius closed his eyes and silently prayed for his safety and for the safety of his family.
         A man in a lab coat came into the room and told Andrius to follow him. Andrius was led into a small, cramped room with a small table in the center. A large mirror covered most of the far wall. Andrius suspected that there was another camera filming him from the other side of the glass.
         The doctor sat at the far end of the table with a clipboard in his hands. He motioned for Andrius to sit down and the other man left the room.
         Whether he was a patient or a prisoner here, Andrius knew he had to watch his every word. He sat down.
         “How are you feeling, Ponas Kalnietis?” asked the doctor.
         “All right now,” said Andrius. “Thank you, Doktor…”
         “Faustin. Now, I have some questions you need to answer…”
         “If it’s all right with you,” said Andrius, “can I ask about the operation first?”
         Doctor Faustin chuckled. “Of course. You must be quite confused. I’m sure you noticed the machine by the operating table. We call it the Autojector, a true marvel of modern science. It was invented by my associate, Doktor Bryukhonenko.”
         “And its purpose?” asked Andrius.
         The Doktor spoke with a great deal of passion as he explained. “Its original function was to provide a sort of artificial life support for a patient, but it’s so much more than that now. Under optimal conditions, the Auto-jecter can recreate circulation of the blood in a dead organism and even restore life.
         “Some time ago, there were some experiments in which the Autojector revived a dead dog, as well as a severed dog’s head. Back then, the window of opportunity for successful resuscitation was very small. The operation had to take place moments after death to prevent tissue damage from oxygen deprivation.”
         Doktor Faustin smiled proudly and continued. “I’ve developed a serum that reduces the effects of hypoxia of a dead organism. If it is administered within an hour of death, as it was in your case, we may be able to revive a person days after their death. Of course, cold temperatures are also required to keep tissue degeneration to a minimum, hence our location.”
         “That’s incredible,” said Andrius. “I had no idea we had this kind of technology…but you are telling me that I am…”
         “Dead,” finished Doktor Faustin. “Yes, comrade. That’s right. Nineteen hours, thirty-four minutes, and twelve seconds passed between when your heart stopped and when we restarted it.  You are the first human test subject for my new operation.”
         Andrius couldn’t believe what he was hearing, but the Doktor’s demeanor was too serious for this to be a joke. “…What happened?”
         “Don’t worry. Some memory loss is to be expected,” said Doktor Faustin. “It was an automobile accident. You were struck by a car in Palanga. You received some minor lacerations, a couple of broken ribs, and some severe internal injuries which lead to your death. We were able to fix all of these problems easily. Most importantly, there was virtually no head trauma. Any damage to the brain would make the operation impossible.”
          As the Doktor spoke, Andrius began to remember bits and pieces of what had happened. Walking home from work. The screech of tires and a window shattering. Lying motionless on the street as people began to gather around him. Darkness closing in and then…He didn’t want to believe what the Doktor said, but it made sense.
         Andrius was astonished and horrified by what the Doktor was saying, but his mind quickly returned to the only thing that mattered to him now.
         “When can I see them again?” he asked.
         “I assume you refer to your family,” the Doktor said. The tone of wonder and pride he had when he spoke of his invention and his accomplishments was gone. He now spoke in a cold, emotionless voice. “Your wife Aušra and little… Vytautas, yes? Named in honor of the great Lithuanian folk hero, I suppose?”
         Andrius nodded. 
         “All in good time, Andrius,” Doktor Faustin said. “You will return to them and, in the meantime, we can provide them with whatever they need. For now, we must continue to observe you to make sure there are no complications. As I said, you are the first test subject and we want to make sure the operation is safe.”
         As Andrius was escorted to the door by a guard, the Doktor said, “Speaking of names…If I am not mistaken, the name Andrius comes from St. Andrew.”
         Andrius paused and turned to Doktor Faustin. “I wouldn’t know. It is a traditional name in Lithuania. Very common. I think my parents just liked the sound of it.”
         “Right,” said Doktor Faustin with a smile. “That’s all for today.”
         
         A couple of weeks passed. Every afternoon, Andrius met with Doktor Faustin to answer questions and take simple tests. Andrius was allowed to roam about the facility during the day. There were three doors which he could not get through. The two doors that led to the operating room and the faculty living quarters were always locked. The third was a strong, metal door at the end of the hallway that Andrius’ room was in. He was sure that this door was the exit.
         Guards were always stationed at the metal door and, even if it were unlocked and unguarded, Andrius had a feeling that there would be no chance of making it back to civilization. As the days went by, Andrius became increasingly restless and homesick.
         “How much longer do I have to stay?”
         Doktor Faustin stared at Andrius from across the table. “You’ll be back home soon. The reanimation process seems to have had no adverse effects, but just to be safe…”
         “How many days?” Andrius insisted.
         “Soon,” the Doktor replied sternly. “You must understand that we are doing great work here. Your name will go down in history.”
         “I never asked for this,” Andrius said. “Any of it.”
         "They say ’some have greatness thrust upon them’,” said the Doktor. “You may not have volunteered, but you have served the Motherland well. Thanks to you, we are one step closer to immortality. Do you know what that means? We could send Autojectors to those fighting capitalist oppression all over the world. The armies of the people will be nigh-invincible…”
           It was then that Andrius became lost in the memory of a sunny day. The image was as vivid as a photograph, as if it had been burned into Andrius’ mind. His brother, Domas, was sprawled face-down in a puddle of blood in the streets of Palanga. His left hand, which was extended toward Andrius, still clutched a second-hand Kalashnikov rifle.
         Andrius tried his best to hide his anger when this involuntary reflection occurred, but it was clear that the Doktor noticed his agitation. “…You should be proud of your service,” finished Faustin.
         “Yes, of course,” said Andrius dryly. “I just miss my family.”
         Doktor Faustin leered at Andrius. “Just a few more tests.”
                   
         Andrius felt like he was going mad. Eight days had passed. He had been confined to his room since the last meeting with Doktor Faustin. The sense of dread he had from the moment he woke up on the operating table was growing worse with each passing minute. Up until now, he couldn’t tell if this paranoia was justified, if it was all in his head, or some strange symptom of the operation. Now, he knew.
         They were going to kill him.
         Andrius began plotting a way to escape. The orderly who brought him his dinner every night usually reeked of vodka and Andrius knew that Victory Day was fast approaching. Whether out of celebration or mourning, it was likely that the orderly would be drinking heavily that night.
         On the night of Victory Day, the orderly was clearly more intoxicated than usual, as Andrius had hoped he would be. While the man set the tray of food on the bed in the cell, Andrius deftly snatched the keys from his belt. The orderly left, the door locking behind him.
         Later that night, long after the passing footsteps of guards and scientists in the hallway had ceased, Andrius opened the door of his cell.
         Most of the lights in the hallways were turned off and it was difficult to see. Andrius went into the office of one of the researchers. In the room, he found a map of Russia with the facility he was in highlighted, a heavy coat, a pair of boots, a flashlight, a scalpel, and a set of keys, all of which he took.
         According to the map, there was a railroad about a mile east of the facility. If he followed the tracks north for several more miles, he would find a labor camp. Andrius knew that the prisoners of these camps often started settlements in the surrounding area when their sentences had been served. With any luck, there would be one of these free settlers’ colonies near the labor camp where he could find help.
         Andrius knew this plan had almost no chance, but the thought of freezing to death in the tundra sounded better than awaiting his execution here.
         Before making his escape, Andrius used the keys to open the door to the operating room. Inside he found the Autojector. Andrius cut the tubes and torn out the electric wiring with the scalpel. Then he lifted the machine over his head and dashed it on the ground. The pumps broke apart with the impact and the glass basin shattered with a crash. Finally, Andrius smashed the test tubes containing the preservative serum the Doktor had talked about. The sleeping quarters for those who worked in the facility were on the other side of the building, so he was confident that no one heard the noise he made.
         Leaving the operating room, Andrius opened the metal door with the keys. As he had suspected, it led outside. The starless black sky and the pale, frozen earth stretched on as far as Andrius could see, meeting at the horizon. The harsh wind slashed and tore at his exposed face as a light snow was beginning to fall. After consulting the map, Andrius started heading east.
         There were very few landmarks in the endless fields of snow. Off in the distance, Andrius spotted a large, unnatural mound of snow. Andrius, fighting against the elements, headed for the mound.
         When Andrius reached the mound, he saw the railroad tracks about one hundred yards ahead of him. Heading toward the tracks, Andrius lost his footing. He fell to the ground and the flashlight slipped from his hand.
         As he lay there on the ground, he stared at the mound of snow. The beam of the flashlight lying near him was shining on it. In the pale, artificial light, Andrius saw something sticking out of the mound. He wanted to believe it was his mind playing tricks on him, that it couldn’t be what it looked like. He wanted to just stand up and keep walking, but he couldn’t.
         Andrius got to his feet and approached the glittering object in the snow pile. A closer look confirmed his fears.
         Sticking out of the mound was a gold ring frozen to a withered, blue finger. Andrius brushed away the snow surrounding it with a shaking hand, revealing an arm and a shoulder. He dared not dig any deeper. He turned away from the snow pile and saw Dr. Faustin standing there.
         “I see you suffer from insomnia like me,” said Doktor Faustin. “We think in a very similar manner, you know. I was doing some reading until I heard a sound like glass breaking. When I came upon your cell and found it empty, I knew that it was because of that damned orderly and his Victory Day celebrations. That’s how I would have escaped, anyway.”
         “What is this?” demanded Andrius, gesturing to the mound.
         “The previous test subjects,” said Doktor Faustin. “Fifty-three people from all over the Union. All of them were failures. Brain damage, loss of motor skills, behavioral defects…all manner of problems. You were the first truly successful reanimation.”
         “But I can’t be the face of the Autojector because you think I’m not loyal to the Party,” finished Andrius. “That’s why you locked me up. You were deciding what to do with me.”
         “I’m right, aren’t I?” said Doktor Faustin. Keeping the gun trained on Andrius, Doktor Faustin walked toward him as he spoke. “I did some research and I found that your brother was a dissident who died fighting the occupation of Lithuania. I can only imagine the kind of hatred you have for the Party after something like that. Then again, as a man of faith, you probably think ‘Hate the ideal, not those who hold it.’ Am I close?”
         The snow had begun to come down harder and the wind rose.
         Andrius tried his best to remain calm and remember everything his brother had taught him about close-quarters fighting. The Doktor had a gun, but age had dulled his reflexes. The falling snow limited visibility and obscured Faustin’s vision, so he would have to get in close for the kill shot. Keep him talking, close the distance. Make your move before he can react.
           “You really think you understand me, don’t you?” Andrius asked, taking three steps forward.
         “It is my job,” replied Doktor Faustin, drawing with a few feet of Andrius. “To understand. That is how I learned to conquer death.”
         “Man shouldn’t have that kind of power,” said Andrius. “That’s why I destroyed the Autojector.”
         Faustin hesitated with surprise and anger before composing himself. “I’ll build another!”
           Doktor Faustin got closer and aimed the gun at Andrius’ head. The barrel was almost touching Andrius’ forehead. “And you will be forgotten. Vėsa gera.”
         The driving snow and raging wind now made it difficult for them to even see each other.
         “Do you know what’s really funny about all this?” blurted Andrius as Faustin’s finger tensed on the trigger. The Doktor stopped and waited for Andrius to elaborate.
         “You don’t understand anything.”
         Andrius grabbed the wrist of The Doktor’s outstretched arm, forcing the gun away from him. As he did this, the gun fired and the bullet grazed Andrius’ left cheek.
         Andrius tried to wrestle the gun out of his opponent’s hand. The Doktor, shocked by this sudden attack, fought back with the strength of a man possessed. Andrius punched Faustin in the gut with his free hand and they both fell to the ground.
         As Andrius fought for control of the gun with one hand, he drew the scalpel from his belt with the other. He tried to cut Faustin’s fingers with the blade, but the thrashing from the struggle caused him to slash through the underside of The Dokor’s forearm. Faustin yelled in pain as Andrius pried the gun from his hand.
         Andrius stood up and retreated a few paces as Faustin frantically scrambled to his feet. Andrius pointed the gun at the Doktor and they stood in silence for a moment. The fire in Faustin’s eyes was extinguished, replaced with a docile resignation. He stared back at Andrius as a steady stream of blood trickled down his fingers and dripped onto the crimson snow at his feet.
           Andrius, acknowledging that Faustin was no longer a threat, tucked the gun into his pants and walked away. The snow had died down a little and Andrius could see the railroad tracks stretching off into the distance. As he followed the tracks to freedom, Andrius kept glancing over his shoulder at the fading form of Doktor Faustin standing alone in the wasteland. When the Doktor collapsed, Andrius turned away and said a short prayer. Then he turned his attention to the tundra before him. He was going home.