Hemlock by Kathleen Peacock

and my strength gave out, my arms buckling beneath me. I waited for the wolf to crash into me, to split my body open with claws and fangs.
    The werewolf padded over to me and I recoiled. It gave a sharp growl of displeasure and then licked my hand with its large, wet tongue before nudging my leg with its head. It was brown, I realized. Not white. It wasn’t the same wolf that had kiled Amy and attacked someone three nights ago.
    I got back onto my hands and knees and weakly began to crawl, turning to the street even though it put the wolf at my back.
    The werewolf gave my legs another nudge of encouragement. It wanted me out of the aley.
    It was herding me toward safety.
    I made it six or seven more feet and then my strength gave out a second time. I was close enough to reach out and touch the sidewalk, but I couldn’t cover that last bit of distance. I lay on my sidewalk, but I couldn’t cover that last bit of distance. I lay on my stomach, my cheek pressed to the dirty pavement. Smal pebbles dug into my skin, but I couldn’t raise my head.
    Behind me, Jimmy swore and the wolf growled—not the displeased, impatient growl it had given me but a low, dangerous sound that raised the hair on the back of my arms and neck.
    Something flew past my head and shattered on the wal. A chunk of glass bounced off the brick and sliced my forehead. A beer bottle. Snarling erupted. Behind me, someone screamed.
    I had to move, had to make my way out onto the street, where a passing car might spot me, but I couldn’t budge. I was either too broken or too scared, and at that point I couldn’t tel the difference.
    Something thick and warm ran down my face. Blood.
    “Our Father who art in Heaven. Halowed be thy name . . .” The words stuck in my throat. Hank had been an atheist and Tess went to church only at Christmas and Easter.
    “Thy kingdom . . .”
    A particularly loud scream echoed behind me and I choked on a sob.
    “Thy kingdom come.”
    Tears streamed down my face. Battered, bruised, and terrified, I struggled to curl into a bal. Blackness rose up. There was another scream behind me, and then, mercifuly, I passed out.
    Someone shook my shoulder. “Mac? Come on, Mac. Open your eyes.” The voice was low and insistent. It was keeping me from eyes.” The voice was low and insistent. It was keeping me from oblivion and I resented it.
    I turned my head away from the words. I need to find the dark place. The dark place was safe. Things couldn’t hurt me there. I could hide. Why wouldn’t the voice let me go?
    “C’mon, Mac.”
    Eventualy, I forced my eyes open.
    Kyle was kneeling next to me. He sighed and leaned back.
    Shock forced the air out of my lungs and cut through the fog in my head.
    “You’re naked.” My voice cracked on the last sylable. Not just naked—covered in blood. It stuck to his chest and arms, sickly red-black in the moonlight. I stared past him at the broken shape in the shadows. “Why are you naked?” The words came out high and unsteady.
    Kyle stared down at me, a mixture of fear and sadness on his face. “I won’t hurt you.”
    Of course he wouldn’t hurt me. Why would he? Why was it even a question? “Why is there blood on your arms?” I whisper-asked, my voice quaking.
    He cringed and stared at the ground.
    “Kyle?”
    He shook his head.
    I pressed my hands to the sides of my skul, trying to keep my thoughts from splitting me in two. He couldn’t be infected. Not Kyle. “What did you do?”
    He reached for me and I cringed away, scooting backward on my butt. “Is he dead? Did you kil him?”

    my butt. “Is he dead? Did you kil him?”
    Kyle shook his head. “He’s alive.”
    “But you attacked him? You’re infected. Oh God.” I doubled over, fighting the urge to retch.
    Faster than was humanly possible, Kyle was on me. My whole body stiffened as he cradled me against his chest.
    “I had to.” His voice was thick and I realized he was crying.
    Kyle never cried. It wasn’t Kyle.