She'd fractured his ribs trying to save him. The chest compressions were useless now. Her breath was shallow; she'd dragged him out of the water, pulled his shoulder out of its socket. She hung over him, a specter staring at his blank eyes while droplets rained from her hair, waiting. Where did the water come from? It was a cloudless day—that gem in the sky had shone with such promise. And now here they were. Alone. She didn't even know him. A distant voice emerged; ah, she was screaming. 

And then:

"Reset."

*

She stood on a grassy knoll; a copse of young trees met her eyes in the distance. It was a cloudless day. The air smelled of eucalyptus and the sun's heat brushed the back of her neck. She made to step when a young man appeared – she squinted – she did not know him. She gathered she wasn't much older. He had a lanky build, his mop of hair was unbrushed, and his collared shirt was a generic blue. Her lips twitched a smile. 

"Hey..." 

She straightened. That voice rang deep but flat. As he approached her, she looked around, keeping an eye on him.

"I don't know where we are, if that's what you're going to ask," she said. 

The young man's shoulders slumped. He laughed a little. "Yeah." Then his tone shifted. "Do you hear that?"

She paused. There was trickling. 

"What the fuck..." The young man pointed at the grass beneath them. The tops of his shoes were submerged within seconds as water pushed up from the dirt. "That's not possible." The bottoms of their pants were soon drenched.

The trickling was gone; a torrent of water began streaming from underneath. It shouldn't have been possible, and yet the water was now at their shins. She slipped, hitting her tailbone on a stone and she yelped. The young man hurried over; he hooked his arms underneath hers and helped her up.

"It's flooding," she breathed, her eyes wide. She pointed to the copse in the distance. It was on the tallest knoll, still dry, a hundred meters away. "There. We need to get there."

The young man nodded, but he was suddenly pale. 

"I can't swim."

"Then we better move fast," she said. They made their way as water reached their waists. "It'll be okay," she said, then again, quieter, "It'll be okay." They traveled down the hill, moving into water that now reached their chests. Leaves swept along the muddy current. Her shoes slipped; her clothes clung like clingwrap as the water pulled at her legs. The scent of eucalyptus was gone; it was just petrichor and wet bark. 

"Hey," the young man coughed, "hey, slow down." He grabbed onto her jacket and she let it slip off. "Hey, please." She turned and grabbed his hand.

"It's okay," she yelled. "It's oka—"

She dropped his hand as she stared, unblinking. The low roil preceded the crash; the wave appeared from behind the knoll they were just on and there was no warning, just the plunge and the break of water as she felt the young man catapult into her. She could not recall what happened next; something beyond thought took control of her, a basic instinct told her to kick, to thrash, to find air. When she surfaced, she climbed belly first and heaved herself onto a large rock. 

A yell electrified her, and she spun to see the young man struggling to stay above water. He was too far; if she dove back in, she'd drown. She spotted her jacket tangled in a branch a few meters away. She slipped back into the water, using the roots as handholds as she crawled to her jacket and tore it off the broken branch. She threw the jacket toward the young man as she held tight to one sleeve. He tried to grab it. Missed. Tried again. Missed.

"C'MON!" she screamed. "JUST A BIT MORE!"

But he kept missing. Soon she couldn't see him. And then, as if by a macabre hand, the current moved the young man within her reach. She grabbed him, likely pulling his shoulder out its socket, as she heaved him onto dry ground. For minutes she tried to resuscitate him. She fractured his ribs trying. It was a cloudless day. Someone was screaming. Oh, it was her.

And then:

"Reset."

*

She stood on a grassy knoll; a copse of young trees met her eyes in the distance. It was a cloudless day. She took in a deep breath; the scent of eucalyptus was calming. She heard a voice and turned. A young man appeared – she squinted – she did not know him. But she gathered she wasn't much older. 

He had a lanky build, his mop of hair was unbrushed, and he wore an old puffer jacket that swallowed his arms. She noted his old combat boots. 

"Hey, sorry, didn't mean to scare you." 

She straightened. That voice was gentle yet affirming. She stepped toward him. "I don't know where we are, if that's what you're going to ask," she said with a soft grin.

The young man leaned back. He laughed a little. "Damn and I was going to ask you for directions." Then his tone shifted. "Do you hear that?"

She paused. There was trickling. 

He told her he couldn't swim. She assured him it'd be okay, she'd take them to the other knoll. She didn't let go of his hand when the wave came. She fractured his ribs trying to save him. 

"Reset."

*

Eighteen times she tried to save the young man. On the twelfth attempt she could have sworn she knew him when a guffaw bookended his laugh. On the fifteenth she noticed the lingering scent of sandalwood when he helped her up. She dove into the water that time to try to save him. On the eighteenth, he flared his nostrils when he asked a question and trundled when he walked. She spent three extra minutes trying to resuscitate him. 

On the nineteenth attempt she succeeded. 

It was a cloudless day. She remembered the scent of eucalyptus, like back home in her mother's art studio that nestled along the grove of those tall trees with ever-peeling bark. The sun was a bright gem, brushing a dry, inviting heat along the back of her neck and down her arms. When the young man appeared, she could not move. The lanky build, the mop of hair, the puffer jacket that swallowed his arms, and his old combat boots that somehow, she knew, had to be the only pair of shoes he owned. He trundled, though far too young to have any reason to. He did not resemble anyone she knew, and yet, she could not put her finger on it, there was something uncanny.

She suggested tying her jacket around their hands to ensure they wouldn't lose each other. When the wave crashed she did not let go. Not once. Her shoulder was wrenched out of its socket as the force catapulted him into her. She thrashed and kicked, seeking the surface, pulling him with her. All she could remember was the lingering scent of sandalwood on his neck as she hooked her arms underneath his to keep him afloat. She swallowed too much water.

The young man tried to resuscitate her. He may have fractured her ribs doing so. He yelled.

And then:

"Success."

The young man blinked. What was that?

"Empathy threshold achieved. Terminate sequence."

And, suddenly, the young man was dead, too.

*

A hiss and a gasp as the pods opened. White coats surrounded them, clipboards ready.

"Amelia and Zack, thank you. You did great," said an older man with jowls, already checking a monitor.

Zack rubbed his eyes. "We... did?"

"Well, your nineteen clones did." He smiled thinly. "Beautiful data. We'll process your compensation on the way out."

Neither of them spoke. The air smelled faintly of antiseptic and something sweet, though Amelia couldn't place it.

She touched her ribs. Zack glanced at her.

Outside, the sun was bright, the sky cloudless. Sprinklers hissed, misting their shoes as they walked away in opposite directions.