Page 33 of Lycan Prey
• Aubrey •
Max’s laughter echoes up the street as he skips ahead of me, and it still rings in my ears as we reach the front porch of my house. He’s been teasing me relentlessly about my fall from the tree.
“I can’t wait to tell her,” he gushes with the unrestrained enthusiasm only a child can muster, barreling up the steps through the door ahead of me.
“Wait up, you little rascal,” I call out after him. My words are light, devoid of any real scolding. A chuckle escapes me, shaking off the last remnants of embarrassment as I close the door behind us. The comforting familiarity of home wraps around me like a warm blanket—until it doesn’t.
I turn, nearly tripping over Max who has stopped and the atmosphere shifts palpably. Max stands rooted to the spot, his laughter extinguished like a candle snuffed out by an unseen force. His tiny body is rigid, a miniature statue carved from stone, his usual vibrance drained away in an instant.
“Bree?” His voice is a mere whimper now, a thread of sound barely weaving through the air between us. It weaves a knot in my stomach, tight and unforgiving.
“Max, what’s wrong?” A thunderous drumbeat reverberates inside my chest, each pounding rhythm echoing against the walls of my ribs as I cautiously approach him. Max’sface contorted from joy to fear, his eyes wide and unblinking as he stares at something ahead.
“What is it?” As I follow his line of sight, a sudden wave of terror washes over me. My eyes land on Granny’s still body, and my heart stops at the sight of her motionless form.
My breath hitches, the very ground beneath me seems to waver, and in that instant, the air escapes my lungs.
“Granny,” I murmur, a solitary word lost in the silence. The silence in Granny’s veins is only broken by Max’s labored breaths.
“Bree, is she…” I stare at Max whose eyes are wide. My chest tightens, gasping for air in rapid succession, as I dash frantically across the space to where Granny lies motionless. Her once comforting warmth is now replaced by a chilling pallor, drained away by death’s icy grip.
“Get the house phone!” I rasp at Max, my trembling hands hovering over her lifeless form, fearful to acknowledge what my heart already mourns. The floor beneath my feet feels cold and hard, making my already trembling legs shudder. And as I reach out to touch Granny’s lifeless hand, it feels unnaturally cold and stiff, like a mannequin’s instead of a human’s.
“Granny, please,” I plead under my breath, pressing two fingers to the side of her neck, praying for a pulse that refuses to greet me. Nothing. The silence in her veins is deafening, drowning out the chaos that begins to swell within me.
“Granny?” His voice cracks, a mixture of confusion and dawning horror. He’s looking to me for answers, for reassurance; all I can offer is the crushing weight of my own dread as tears burn my eyes.
“She’s alright. She just had a fall, isn’t that right, Granny,” My words are brittle, shards of hope I desperately cling to even as they cut into me as I tap her face trying to wake her. All sense, all reason leaves me as I try to wake her, though I alreadyknow she is gone. My heart refuses to believe what my mind is screaming at me.
Max rushes for the phone, and my hands shake as I punch in the number for emergency services. Yet when they answer, I am mute, deaf, as I try to communicate what I’m at loss for words over. Max, however, snatches the phone. I vaguely hear the person ask the address which I fail to communicate. Instead he runs outside reading the letters to the woman on the other end.
Moments later, the paramedics burst through the door, a flurry of navy and fluorescent yellow. They sweep past me, their movements a blur of urgency. “What happened?” one barks out as they kneel beside Granny, unpacking their life-saving equipment with practiced hands.
“She was just there,” I manage to say, my voice a hollow echo in the suddenly too-small room. Max squeezes my hand tighter, reminding me I have him in my care right now. His wide eyes never leave Granny’s still form, his innocence shadowed by the harsh reality unfolding before us.
I can’t tear my gaze away either. The paramedics are a flurry of action, their defibrillator pads and IV lines, weapons working against the silent thief that is death. Though, even as they work, the leaden feeling in my chest tells me it’s a battle already lost and they know it too, they are just trying for Max’s sake.
“Clear!” The sharp command cuts through the tense air, followed by the harsh zap of electricity. Granny’s body jerks, a grotesque jolt of life. Her chest remains still. Again and again, they try, each attempt a glimmer of hope that dies as quickly as it sparks.
“Let’s move!” one paramedic calls out. They scoop Granny onto a gurney and rush out the door, with me right on their heels.
“Shit… Max!” The reminder hits me like a physical blow. I can’t leave him; he’s my responsibility. I whirl around, spotting his small frame rooted to the spot, terror etched into every line of his face where Granny just lay.
“She didn’t wake up,” he tells me. I blink at him and swallow the lump forming in my throat. I don’t know how to reassure him when I can barely gather my own sense right now.
“Come on, buddy, we’ve got to go to the hospital.” My voice is steady, but inside, I’m shattering. When he doesn’t move, I scoop him up in my arms, his little body clinging to mine.
We race to the ambulance, its doors gaping open like a portal to another world—a living nightmare. Max buries his face in my neck, his breath hitching in quiet sobs.
“Everything will be alright.” I don’t know if I’m lying to him or myself, but what else can I do? I can’t let him see the dread that coils in my stomach, the betrayal I feel at the universe for allowing this to happen.
The ride is a blur, the sirens a wailing lament that seems to resonate with the turmoil in my soul. When we arrive, Granny is whisked away from us, disappearing behind sterile doors that separate the living from those who teeter on the brink.
“Granny will be okay,” Max says, more to himself than to me, his words a thin veil over the gaping wound in our hearts. I nod, unable to trust my voice, my throat tight, knowing she won’t be.
I clutch Max’s small hand, the tiny bones fragile within my own. We sit in the sterile expanse of the hospital waiting room, surrounded by a stench that is both clean and repugnant—the antiseptic tang wrestling with the odor of stale coffee. It’s an unnerving aroma.
Max swings his legs back and forth, the sound of his shoes scuffing lightly against the linoleum floor. He’s oblivious to thegravity of the situation. It’s too loud in the hush of the room, reminding me that I am very much alive while Granny...
