H.A.L.F.: The Makers by Natalie Wright Page A

but it was no use. What little concentration she might have mustered was destroyed by the disorientation of floating in the air. Her stomach fluttered with the panicky feeling that she would fall out of the air. She knew they would not drop her, but she couldn’t help feeling that way.
    The Conexus stopped. The one on the right waved its hand and a door swooshed open. A brighter light came from inside the room. Not as bright as she’d seen at the end of that hallway that led to their way out, but brighter at least than the corridor. A slight breeze wafted over her skin as she was hovered to a table. She was slowly lowered onto a hard, cold slab.
    She was glad to be out of the air. No sooner was she aware of the hard surface against her backside when a bright, white light turned on over her head. The light pained her eyes. She tried to raise her hand to shield her eyes, but her arms were pinned to the table by invisible restraints. Her legs too were pinned to the table.
    She could move her head, but with the bright light blinding her, she saw nothing but shadows beyond the cone of brightness. “Dr. Randall?”
    He didn’t answer. Erika didn’t know if he’d been left behind or if he was passed out.
    “Ian?” Erika yelled. “Are you there?”
    “Yeah. I’m here. This doesn’t seem good, does it?”
    “No. Not good.” It didn’t bode well that she was immobilized on the table like a specimen pinned to a board, awaiting dissection. “Ian, whatever happens … I’m sorry.” A tear welled in the corner of her eye. “I’m so sorry.” She snuffled.
    “Don’t blame yourself, Erika. I chose to come. I’m not like Jack. I don’t follow you around like a dog.”
    Erika laughed a dry, small laugh. But at the mention of his name, visions of lazy afternoons listening to Jack strum the guitar and sing and of curling up against him while they watched movies came to her mind. And that thought led to other memories of her life on Earth. A life that now seemed like it belonged to another person entirely. Was that even me? On the precipice of what could be the end, any anger toward her mom melted away like ice in a Big Gulp on a summer day in Arizona. Her life played like a fast-motion movie in her mind, and the memories her brain chose to recall were the happy ones – of laughing and cooking in the kitchen with her mom and aunts, of the wind whipping her hair as she rode her bike, and the feeling of hot sun on her face.
    Out of the blackness, a metallic arm swung toward her. Beyond the halo of bright white, she saw nothing. The terminus of the arm was a set of dull, grey pinchers holding what looked like a needle. As the arm moved, the air in the otherwise silent room was filled with the low whir of a machine’s motor. The arm swung up and came slowly toward her midsection.
    Erika’s pits were wet with sweat and her face wet with tears. The needle reminded her of her narrow escape from Dr. Dolan’s injection of death.
    The needle plunged into her stomach. It was more alarming than painful, and an involuntary scream escaped her lips. She could do nothing but watch as the needle’s plunger rose and sucked blood out of her.
    A second arm whirred into action armed with a small silver gun. Erika trembled, her head shaking uncontrollably. This is it . Though why they’d take her blood then shoot her, she had no idea. Questions no longer mattered. Answers would not be given. It was the end.
    The gun did not shoot her but instead injected something into her abdomen. It hurt less than a vaccine shot. Relief flooded her but was short-lived. At first her core was cold as though filled with ice. She shivered as threads of ice spread into her veins. But the chill soon turned to an inferno as liquid fire wound its way through her entire system.
    Erika writhed and pulled at her invisible restraints, but she couldn’t get up off the table. She was forced to lay and wait for the fire to consume her from the inside out. As she lay