Translucent by Dan Rix Page B

out of here.” He nodded between the cleanup crew and me, then stepped back.
    “Wait, wait, wait—”
    One of the hazmat suits loomed in front of me, face unreadable behind a aluminized face plate, and my words cut off.
    Were they going to throw me away too?
    His tinny voice projected from a speaker on his helmet. “Where did it touch you?”
    With growing unease, I pointed to my right hand.
    “Hand out, palm up,” he ordered.
    I did as told, and he roughly yanked my hand forward, his gloved grip like a vice. From a toothpaste tube, he squeezed a sticky, plaster-like goop onto my palm, which he worked in between my fingers, rubbed into every pore, and forced under my fingernails, encasing my whole hand. It tingled a little, and I felt it hardening around my fingers. Next he wrapped my hand in strips of fabric like a mummy.
    “This might sting.” Without waiting for a response, he gave the fabric a sharp tug, and with a tearing sound, the hardened plaster came off my hand in the shape of a glove.
    Along with the top layer of skin.
    It felt like a million needles puncturing me everywhere. I screamed and jerked my hand back, now raw and throbbing. Spots of blood dotted the pink skin.
    “Where else?” he said.
    Trembling, I pointed to my left hand, and the process was repeated. This time I only flinched.
    “Anywhere else?” he asked.
    I shook my head.
    “Are you sure?”
    “Try to think,” said Connor from the sidelines, arms folded. “Did it touch you anywhere else? Try very hard to remember, Leona. Did it touch you anywhere else.”
    I hesitated, then nodded, lowering my eyes.
    “Show him where,” said Major Connor.
    On the verge of tears, I pointed at my belly button.
    The guy in the hazmat suit knelt in front of me, toothpaste tube at the ready. “Lift your shirt.”
    An ache rose in my throat. Slowly, I lifted the bottom hem of my hoodie, flames burning in my cheeks.
    “A little higher,” he said, squeezing plaster onto his hand.
    Reluctantly, I pulled the fabric up to the bottom of my rib cage, keeping my eyes focused vacantly on the ceiling.
    I felt his gloved fingers massage the sticky cream onto my abs, around my belly button, then briefly dip into it. I squeezed my eyes shut, blocking it all out. Ice cold on my skin, the stuff drew out goosebumps. I tried to focus on something else— anything else—but couldn’t. My heart made heavy thuds somewhere far away. No one spoke. I sensed the tension in the room. Even shielded behind their hazmat suits, the team’s discomfort was palpable. 
    They didn’t like this either.
    I barely noticed the sharp sting when he yanked off the strips. I pulled my hoodie down, covering myself again.
    The man stood. “Anywhere else, ma’am?”
    I shook my head, unable to meet anyone’s gaze.
    “Here, take these—”Connor thrust a change of clothes into my hands, one of only a few articles that hadn’t been contaminated. “Go to the bathroom and change. We’re going to take the clothes you’re wearing.”
    I nodded and took the clothes without a word.
    After I handed over my hoodie and jeans, Connor handed me his business card—in case anything else came up—and they finally left me alone. I stood trembling in my bedroom doorway and took in my gutted bedroom, the throbbing skin around my belly sending out twinges of pain every time it brushed my shirt. Despite the late-afternoon heat, the sight sent a chill through me—walls stripped of paint, carpet ripped up, a single trash bag of my belongings that hadn’t been contaminated.
    All for a tiny fragment of radioactive rock.

Chapter 6
    Well, that was that.
    The meteorite was gone, which meant I wouldn’t have to destroy it myself. All in all, I felt relieved to have it off my hands.
    Besides, they knew what they were doing.
    They had also taken everything I owned. All my furniture, all my clothes, all my toys. They had even stripped off my outer layer of skin. But it wasn’t enough.
    I still didn’t feel