It was four in the morning and Douglas was sweating, the harsh Alaska sunlight blasting through the window of his efficiency cube.

“Hell!” Douglas said, the worst word he could say without risking a fine.

He sat up and fumbled for the air conditioner. His cube was such that he could reach almost everything, from door knob to toilet handle, while sitting in bed. Douglas turned all the dials on the AC unit and checked the plug seven times. He was about to kick it again when he saw that his alarm clock was blank.

“The power is out?” Douglas asked aloud. “Then why do I smell squid-waffles, huh?”

He didn’t really expect his squid-loving landlord, Gregor, to answer him. Nobody in the building had spoken to him in months. They’d accused him of stealing ice from the community freezer, which he was guilty of, but didn’t have any proof so shame on them for jumping to conclusions.

Douglas heard reggae coming from upstairs, and a cheese printer churning out slices in the cube next door. Everyone had power but him.

He carefully cursed for five hours, then reluctantly put on pants to walk to the Central Power Inc. offices because he didn’t have money for the bus and he refused to ride a bike for fear of spontaneous combustion.

It was only four blocks, but Douglas made eleven stops along the way, all for AC. He was a known freezer-freak, a person who loiters in air-conditioned stores and molests the frozen foods, but never purchases anything.

“Ya gonna buy those peas, or ain’t ya?” Mr. Stevenson asked from behind the counter of his convenience store.

“Uh…” Douglas removed the bag from his pants and looked at the nutrition facts. “Just checking the ingredients.”

“The ingredients is peas!” Mr. Stevenson shouted, slapping the counter. “Buy something or I’m callin’ the army.”

“All right, all right,” Douglas said, tossing the peas to the old man.

Reaching the power company ten minutes later, he paused to check his reflection in the mirrored door, arranging thinning hair into an attractive bird’s nest and forcing a smile.

The door slid open and Douglas waited for the sweet blast of chemically cooled atmosphere to caress his face. Instead there was a sucker punch of hot, stale air. Douglas entered the lobby, his smile now a snarl. A big black eye stared at him from a brick wall.

“I’m Douglas Beachum,” he said. “I want to know why my power was shut off. Is there someone I can talk to?”

“I would be happy to assist you,” the eye said. “According to my records, Duh-glass Beach-um, you owe five dollars and thirty-seven cents on your power bill. Would you like to make a payment?”

“Five bucks! That’s twice what my bill was last month. I want to talk to a real person, please.”

“All humans are busy,” the eye said. “Would you like to make a payment?”

“Yes, obviously I would like to, but I don’t have any money.”

“You chose yes. Five dollars and thirty-seven cents will be automatically withdrawn from your bank account.”

“Nice try, cyclops, but it’s empty,” Douglas said with a smug grin. “And I only have three dollars available on my credit card.”

“You chose to pay by credit card. Goodbye.”

Douglas punched the eye, rubbed his fist, and continued down the street. He had a couple hours before the credit card company would issue an overage fee and charge him money for not having money. He’d been out of work for half a year, surviving by selling blood, plasma, and other bodily fluids to science (unfortunately, they did not want his plentiful sweat).

Last time he went into the lab to donate he was told he’d reached the six-month limit. They said he may be eligible for other types of donation, but Douglas was reluctant. Still, he entered the Body Harvest building for the twenty-fifth time that year.

“Good to see you again, Mr. Beachum.” A receptionist named Denise sat behind the desk with a smile on her face and a pen in her hand. “I take it you have reconsidered our offer.”

“What was it again?”

“How jazzed are you about donating bone marrow?” Denise’s eyebrows waggled with encouragement.

“What does that entail?” Douglas asked.

“Well…” Denise took a deep breath and spoke in a burst. “Basically, a large needle will penetrate your pelvic bone and suck out the precious goo inside.”

“Hmm,” Douglas considered. “Does it hurt?”

“We can almost certainly numb the top layer of your skin.”

“I see.” Douglas pictured a huge steel needle drilling into his spine, and his testicles, which were trying to stay as far away from his overheated body as possible, retreated half an inch. “I don’t know…”

“You get forty smackers for the whole shebang,” Denise shot back.

It would be enough smackers to cover the credit bill and keep him in cannoli for a couple weeks.

“All right, I’ll make an appointment,” Douglas said, figuring he could always weasel out on extraction day if his lottery number came up in the meantime.

“Great!” Denise said. “How does thirty seconds from now work for you?”

“Now? I guess that’s okay.”

“Perfect, here’s your complimentary leather strap.” She handed him a thick strip of moose hide pocked with teeth marks.

Douglas was about to complain about his secondhand strap when two orderlies ushered him into an operating room.

“Face down on the table, please,” one said.

Douglas removed his shirt and crawled onto the table. He didn’t know if he was supposed to take his pants off, so he hedged his bets and pulled them halfway down. A second later the doctor came in, a shockingly tall man with curly white hair.

“Thank you for presenting the ilium.” The doctor said, staring at Douglas’ exposed buttocks. “I hate pulling patients’ pants down. It’s degrading for everybody. I guess you’ve done this before.”

“Not really, no,” Douglas said.

“You’re going to feel pressure, then a pop-crunch as the needle punctures your bone, Doug. Do you mind if I call you by a shortened version of your first name? Research suggests that it creates a trust-bond between practitioner and meat bank. Try not to scream, Doug. It upsets the waiting donors.”

Did he say meat bank? Douglas bit down on his strap and barely convulsed as the needle grinded against his pelvis.

“You’re a bit older, so your bone has hardened.” The doctor got on his tiptoes and pounded the syringe like a jackhammer.

Douglas’ crusty old bone finally gave way and the mining began.

“You’re going to feel negative pressure in your abdomen,” the doctor said, pulling back the plunger on the syringe. “Women say the feeling is something akin to menstrual cramps, but for us guys that’s purely academic, eh Doug?”

“I guess,” Douglas said, dizzy with pain. “Ow! Is it almost over?”

“Yep, all done,” the doctor replied.

“Thank God…”

“Now for the other side.”

***

Douglas curled up in bed, sucking on a frozen cannoli. He felt violated, but at least the credit bill was paid and the power was back on. He aimed the AC unit at his face, turned it on full blast, and was asleep in seconds. Seconds after that, the AC unit sputtered and died.

“Double Hell!” Douglas said.

It was now nearly ten in the morning and the sun was nearing its zenith. Douglas called The Cooling Company and they said a replacement unit would cost fifty dollars, plus tax, plus shipping, plus installment, plus several other kinds of tax. When Douglas protested about the cost, they informed him that the other option would be for him to come pick up the 300 pound machine and try to wire and weld the unit into the exterior wall himself. Douglas went ahead and ordered the Deluxe Chap-Master III with all the trimmings.

To kill time before it arrived, he went back to Body Harvest. It was the only way he could afford the unit, plus their waiting room was cold. Denise greeted him while Douglas peeled his shirt away from his back, surprised to find that it wasn’t chemically bonded.

“Help yourself to some complimentary oxygen,” Denise said, gesturing to a chair with a gas tank next to it.

“So what else can I donate?” Douglas sat down and happily jammed the tube up his nose. “I imagine I’ve just about run the gamut.”

“We’re running a special on kidneys,” Denise said. “One for twenty-five bucks.”

“That would give me a down payment on my new AC unit,” Douglas mused. “Is that tall doctor with the curly hair going to do the procedure?”

“Who?” Denise scrunched her aquiline nose.

“You know, the guy who sucked out my bone marrow.”

“Oh, he’s no longer with us,” she said. “Rest assured we will now be doing full background checks and psychiatric evaluations of our surgeons before they are allowed to operate.”

“Well that’s reassuring,” Douglas said. “How long is the recovery for the kidney thing?”

“How long do you want it to be?” Denise asked.

“As short as possible, I should think.”

“Great, then you can leave as soon as you wake up.”

“So there’s general anesthesia for this one?” Douglas said, but he didn’t actually say it at all. He just mumbled the words as his eyes closed and his lungs filled with knockout gas.

He hadn’t even noticed when they made the switch.

***

Forty-five minutes later, Douglas awoke in the waiting room chair, right where he had passed out.

“All done, Mr. Beachum,” Denise said. “You did great.”

“I did.” He shook his head to clear the cobwebs. “You already took my kidney?”

“Yes, they are out and you’re all sewed up!”

“They? You took both?”

“Only temporarily,” Denise said. “Did you read the contract? Your kidneys will undergo a barrage of tests and the one with the best function will be transplanted into the baboon, while the other one will be returned to you in a timely manner.”

“Wait, my kidney is going to a baboon?”

“Wow.” Denise made a disapproving face and wrote something on his chart. “I didn’t realize you were a specist, Mr. Beachum.”

“No, no I’m not,” Douglas said, lifting up his shirt to look for scars. “I was just curious.”

“The kidneys are located closer to your back,” Denise said.

“I know,” Douglas said. “So why is there an oozing wound below my stomach?”

“Well.” Denise put on her most agreeable grin. “The surgeon noticed your appendix was slightly misshapen, so she removed it free of charge.”

“Are you serious?” Douglas jumped to his feet and clutched his aching abdomen. “How am I going to live without my appendix?”

“Take four of these every hour on the hour, double doses at noon and midnight.” Denise leaned across the counter and dumped a giant bottle of pills in his trembling hands.

“Is that really going to compensate?” Douglas said. “Isn’t it the most important organ in the human body?”

“That’s why we pay top dollar,” Denise said. “Can you believe people used to think the appendix was worthless?”

“What a bunch of morons,” Douglas said with a chuckle, relaxing considerably when he heard top dollar.

Denise handed him the first one hundred dollar bill he’d ever seen, enough to cover the unit and fees outright. Douglas left the office feeling like a king—money in his pocket and a slew of powerful narcotics in his veins. He saw The Cooling Company van outside his building and skipped up the steps, eager to enter his frosty new cube. He bumped into a delivery guy coming out the door.

“You Douglas Beachum?” the guy asked. “Sign here.”

Douglas quickly signed, then forked over his hundred dollars. He got some change, but left the delivery guy with a generous tip. He even flipped a quarter to a kid sitting on the stoop of his building.

“Whoa, thanks mister!” the kid said, running off to buy a new gun.

Douglas saw his whole world turning around. His cube would be the coldest in the building, making him an instant celebrity. He put a hand on his doorknob and savored the cold metal against his skin. It didn’t open. He wiped his hands on his pants and gripped it harder, thinking his sweaty palms were throwing off the fingerprint recognition.

Douglas shouldered the door with a grunt, then looked up and saw an eviction notice dangling from the threshold. Apparently he hadn’t paid rent in three months.

“Triple Hell!” Douglas banged on the door until he became exhausted and slid to the floor.

He could hear the gentle hum of the Chap-Master III, which could not be returned or resold. Douglas jammed his lips under the door and tried to suck up the cold air.

Gregor, and three burly teens from upstairs, arrived and physically removed him.

“That’s my cold!” Douglas cried. “I paid for it!”

They hauled him outside and threw him into the street. Douglas laid in the gutter crying and perspiring until he couldn’t tell the difference between his tears and his sweat. He was also in severe agony since the painkillers had worn off and he didn’t have water to swallow his fistful of appendix replacement pills.

Douglas Beachum had no friends to turn to, no family to help him. He’d moved to Alaska from Florida to escape the heat. It was advertised as the “coldest spot in the U.S.” and Douglas had bought it.

He staggered down the street, terribly dehydrated and becoming delirious. Shop owners lasered their doors when they smelled him coming. Soon he found himself back at Body Harvest, nowhere else to go.

“Hello again, Mr. Beachum,” Denise said. “How are we feeling?”

“We are very, very, very hot,” Douglas mumbled.

“Well, I might have just the thing for you. How long have you been dreaming about our total donation program?”

“Never heard of it.”

“It’s not exactly legal just yet,” Denise said, “but basically we put you on ice and extract organs as the needs arise. You will remain in this frozen state until—”

“Frozen?”

“Yes, you’ll be kept at a brisk zero degrees in one of our premier corpse coolers, but there are no guarantees about—”

“I’ll do it,” Douglas said. “I’ll do it right now.”

“Verbal consent achieved,” Denise announced. “Sleep well, Mr. Beachum.”

Two orderlies appeared and wheeled Douglas out on a gurney. Denise waved to him and he happily waved back, all of his problems finally solved.

A minute later, the men slid him into his personal cooler. They checked his vital signs and asked if he needed to go to the bathroom. He said no, even though he did. Douglas figured that would be their problem.

“Okay Mr. Beachum,” an orderly said before sealing him in. “Any last words?”

“Please close the door,” Douglas said with a smile. “You’re letting in the heat.”

————

Alex McNall grew up adventuring in the woods of the Pacific Northwest, relying on his imagination to keep himself entertained. He lives in the San Francisco Bay Area with his lovely partner and motley pack of three rescue terrier mixes (they’d have more if only the city would allow it). He’s recently met a life goal of befriending his backyard squirrels and delights endlessly in feeding them.