Pain erupts from all directions, making me cry out. Monstrous, grating sounds wail and squawk from all around, each louder than the next. I see the world as Malachi sees it,a mess of bioluminescent fog clouding his vision, blood red seeping from the corners. I’ve never communed with a mind so scattered and deranged. He’s clearly messed up, hurting, terrified, and raging all at once.
So I do what I can to calm him down.
“Your name is Malachi,”I try to say to him, hoping to bring him back to himself.“Your name is Malachi and you are in control. We’re here to help you. Please. Remember yourself, Malachi. Remember.”
The barrage of clanging, screeching sounds begins to quieten. The fog lifts, the blood red retracting in the distant corners of his peripheral vision.
Back in the real world I can tell Malachi is also growing quiet, his snarls turning to whimpers. I open my eyes and his wolf has settled. Slowly, his transformation begins. His fur dissipates, his claws and fangs retract, his bones crack, making me flinch as they rearrange themselves.
Omar hurries to a large piece of machinery in the corner and pulls a dusty length of cloth off it, then wraps it around Malachi’s shoulders. When he steps back, I take in the frail shape of a broken man, kneeling before us.
He’s as skinny and sunken looking in human form, his eye sockets deep craters, his collarbones protruding through his skin. His hair is a long, gray, tangled mess, his face creased with deep wrinkles and marked with scabs and bruises. With one hand he holds the cloth tightly around himself, the other he presses into the floor as if he’s struggling to stay upright.
“You’re safe now,” Omar says, kneeling by his old friend, rubbing his back.
Malachi takes a few labored breaths, then looks up to meet eyes with Omar.
“Th-th-thank you,” he chokes out, voice hoarse.
“Don’t sweat it.”
Half an hour later, the sun has almost set, the sky arches from a pale orange sunset to a deep navy blue. We sit outside with Malachi on the metal steps that lead to the second floor. Once his friend came back to himself, Omar went to the car and found some clothes for him, though he’s so rake thin they hang baggy on him. He still clutches the piece of cloth around his shoulders like he’s scared of the cold.
“I still can’t believe you’re really here,” Malachi says, leaning on the railing and gazing in wonder at Omar. His voice now that it’s warmed up a little is soft, like the words form in the back of his throat in a nest of cotton wool. His spindly fingers close around Omar’s knee. Omar, who’s sitting on the step behind Malachi, places his hand on top of the old man’s.
“I’m just sorry we couldn’t do more sooner. What ... what happened?”
This faraway look clouds Malachi’s expression.
“I wasn’t sure if I would ever make it back,” he says, coughing a little. “I got so lost.”
He shakes his head, his eyes turning pink.
“You,” he says, turning to me. “You brought me back.”
I’m sitting a couple of steps down, with my knees up to my chest, turned to face them.
“I’m just glad I could help,” I say. “How are you feeling?”
Malachi coughs a bit, thumping his chest with the end of his closed fist. “Still a little rattled, but I’ll be right as rain soon. Never thought I’d meet a blood wolf, though, did I?”
“Can you tell us more about what happened here?” Omar says, pushing gently. “Why were you hiding?”
Malachi clutches the cloth a little tighter, rubbing his free hand on his knee.
“First they showed up at my place, but I know those woods like the back of my paw. I could smell them coming from a mile off. I got out. Came here where I knew there was safety in numbers. But then ...” His pink eyes turn glassy. “I couldn’t believe how many of them there were. They showed up here with no other goal than complete and utter devastation. A few of us fought back. Some of us ran or tried to hide. Eventually, they’d either sent us running or dragged those of us who remained into their trucks. We were done in. I was the only one left behind they didn’t find. I hadn’t left that tunnel since the attack.”
“When was this?” I ask.
“Hard to say. Long enough that I lost myself in my wolf form. Every night as I lay curled up in there all I could see were the wolves they hurt. I fell asleep with their screams in my ears. At some point that was all I could see or hear. Time lost meaning.”
Omar shuffles on his step. “Must have been at least a week or two ago now. Their scents are too faint for it to be more recent.”
I can’t imagine what it must have been like for Malachi, hiding in that tunnel, stuck, trapped in his wolf form and too panicked to shift back.
“They’re coming for all of us now,” Malachi says, “the pack wolves. They’re going to destroy us.”
“Not all pack wolves,” I say.
