If they find me, it’s over. My body still aches from being on the table for so long. My limbs are weak phantoms, warm and bruised, but otherwise numb to the touch. It feels like I’m wrapped in gauze and plastic. The sterile, metallic scent still lingers in each breath, but I can finally smell the cool air. Everything is different somehow. It’s all familiar but uncanny, as if I’m seeing the world through a new lens. What did they do to me? I don’t even feel like myself. I’ve heard stories about the things that could happen. About examinations and experimentation, but it’s different when you’re the one in the room. How long was I on that table? I need to move. The street is too visible. They could be watching. I don’t know how their technology works. I’ve seen some of it, but only briefly. I don’t know what they’re capable of. I just know that I never want to be on a table like that ever again. Maybe they already know where I am. Maybe they’re already on their way. I’m going to end up getting filleted or probed. I’m dead. I’m already dead. No. The shadow of the trees is enough to keep me hidden, at least for now. The house isn’t far. There are lights ahead. Maybe I’m closer than I thought. But, those aren’t streetlights. They’re moving. Small bright circles dart from tree to tree, it’s them. It has to be. Voices call out in the darkness as I turn to run. I have to make it. I have to make it home. Something takes hold of my arm. No. I’m too weak to fight. There’s a soft whimper, that becomes a deep, wet, guttural sigh of relief as I turn. “Katie!” the woman cries. “Where have you been! Oh my god!” She wraps herself around me, pulling me into her chest. I feel her heartbeat against my cheek as she cries. “I’m sorry, mommy,” I say. “I got lost and–” That’s all she needs to hear. She takes me home and tucks me into bed. She doesn’t suspect a thing. The transformation is nearly complete. Infiltration was a complete success. May my sisters fair as well as I on this momentous day. All hail Zebulon.