Bonechiller by Graham McNamee Page A

gone dry. I have to swallow before I can speak. “See what?”
    “That thing. With the teeth.”
    I lean against the bed to keep my knees from folding on me. I didn’t want to hear that—really didn’t want to hear that!
    I open my mouth to say something like:
You’re still in shock, you were seeing things
.
    But I know better.
    “We heard it. But it was out of sight by the time we got to you.”
    “It was huge,” he says. “Bigger than anything I ever …” He trails off, shaking his head. “It had these paws, the size of them … and the claws …”
    His breathing’s starting to get ragged, scratching in his throat.
    “Howie, you gotta rest. Take it easy.”
    But he’s not listening. “Those tracks you showed me. That thing, that’s what made them. It’s real.”
    “Don’t think about that now. You’re safe here.”
    “You said it chased you that night. Did you see it?”
    I nod, tugging down a blanket to cover his foot.
    “Come over here,” he mutters, fumbling with the sheets pulled up to his neck.
    I walk around to the head of the bed. “You need something? Water?”
    He stops fooling with the sheets and falls back exhausted. Even his eyes seem a paler shade of brown.
    “Look,” he mumbles. “On my neck.”
    “You finally get someone to give you a hickey?”
    I was hoping to make him smile or bring some pink back into his cheeks.
    “Right here.” He touches the left side of his neck. “Do you see anything?”
    My stomach goes cold.
    A pinprick blue dot, as if someone stabbed him there with a pen.
    I start hyperventilating, hit by a surge of panic. I have to sit on the edge of his bed to keep from falling. Closing my eyes only makes it worse.
    “That’s where it … bit me.” Howie feels the spot on his neck. “What’s there? What’s it look like?”
    Reluctantly, I hold the back of my right hand close enough for him to see and point out the small blue mark.
    “Looks like that.”

FIFTEEN
    I have to get out of here.
    Hospitals are poison to me. Every sound, sight and smell brings back bad memories.
    By the time Pike and Ash return, Howie’s out for the count. He could barely keep his eyes open as I sketched out my own encounter with the beast. Finally, his eyelids drooped shut.
    Pike takes his post by the bed, with a tall coffee and a fistful of candy bars. We leave him thumbing through old copies of
Sports Illustrated
.
    “Want to hit the cafeteria?” Ash asks as we walk down the hall.
    I’m finding it hard to breathe this hospital stink. It’s making me nauseous. “Can we just get out of here?”
    But before I make it to the elevators, my stomach starts to heave. I can’t wait for the elevator. Gotta get out. Now!
    I clamp my jaws, push through the door to the stairwelland race down the stairs. My guts are trying to turn inside out. Down two flights I hit the exit door hard and stumble out onto the snowy parking lot.
    Cold fresh air. My freakout dies off fast with the wind in my face.
    Behind me, the door bangs open. “You gonna puke?”
    “Sorry,” I say. “Kind of lost it there.”
    She gives me a moment to get a grip, pulling on her leather gloves and zipping up.
    “You want to ride back to the Cove, or what?”
    I shake my head. “I need to stick around town a couple hours. So I can talk to Howie when he wakes up. Maybe we can walk around? Find someplace?”
    So we walk for a couple blocks, silently, with Ash shooting side glances at me like I might jump into traffic or something.
    “So what was that?” she says, finally. “Back there.”
    “Just a little temporary insanity.”
    “You want to talk about it?”
    I shake my head, but I start talking anyway.
    Before I can stop myself, I’m telling her about Mom. It all comes spilling out. Mom getting sick, all the tests, and the doctors who couldn’t do squat to help her. But they kept finding new ways to hurt her. Useless treatments, burning her with beam radiation. Implanting radioactive
seeds
into the