I toss a piece of bacon in my mouth and survey the rest of the cabin. It is wide and spacious, logs running the length of the twenty-five-foot ceiling. It is filled with all the amenities and luxuries one would expect for the $4,000-a-week price tag: giant flat screen television; suede couches; antiques, picture frames, and vases that were surely haggled over at auction houses all over the world. Four windows have been cut from the ceiling, revealing the dark denim that is the sky.

Four minutes until sunrise.

Lassie has already finished his breakfast and stares at me with sad eyes. I crack a piece of bacon in half and feed it to him.

“What have you two been up to?” I ask.

Ingrid gives me a quick rundown of how we landed at Fairbanks International Airport at 11:30 a.m. — it was an eleven-hour flight, but we gained four hours going west — and then arrived at the cabin forty minutes later. Once I was situated, she and Lassie headed to downtown Fairbanks — which was only a short mile upriver — to buy groceries and hit the shops. She did some cooking and then went to sleep around 9:30 p.m. She woke up an hour ago.

“What’s on the menu?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “It’s a surprise.”

I hunt for the refrigerator, but all I see is oak in every direction. Ingrid pulls one of the oak panels open, unveiling a fully stocked refrigerator. She removes a smoothie and hands it to me.

I take it from her as though it is made of Uranium. “Why is it green?”

“I added a little kale to Isabel’s recipe.”

Isabel is my housekeeper/executive assistant/personal shopper/cook. She not only prepares smoothies for me but also every meal I eat. She finds small ways to save me precious seconds throughout my “day” — from having my toothbrush pre-pasted to writing down the closing numbers of some of my more important stocks to ordering the bug spray that I would need for this trip.

I take a drink and cringe.

“What is your definition of a little?”

“Okay, a lot. But it’s good for you.”

The last month or so, Ingrid had grown increasingly curious about my condition — I’m Henry Bins and I have Henry Bins — and in turn, decided to take a more vested interest in my health. Being asleep for twenty-three hours a day, she couldn’t believe I drank enough water and consumed enough nutrients to get me through each night’s hibernation. Whenever I woke up, there was now a bottle of Smartwater, an organic energy bar, and a packet of vitamins sitting on the bedside table.

I told her I would eat whatever she wanted me to eat if it would make her feel better.

That was before now.

Before Kalemageddon.

“Just drink it,” she says, looking at her watch. “We have to go.”