Lycans Of The Woods

Chapter 17

Bodies laid on the snow, pools of dark blood surrounding them. The people of Corozal moved further into the town, leaving Helda, three others and myself with the former prisoners.

Blood roared in my ears as I surveyed the scene before me, choking back a strangled groan as I saw the teddy bear which a young girl had once held now on the ground, soft music continuing to play from it, barely heard over the sounds of continuous gunfire.

"They don't deserve this." The teenage boy who wore my coat quietly spoke, and I dragged my gaze to him. Sadness had captured his expression, and his hands trembled as he grasped his hair, voice cracking as he continued, "They weren't all like him."

A woman stepped forward then, his mother perhaps, and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Come, boy." She pulled at him, and he stumbled with her through the snow. I dragged in a painful breath, briefly locking eyes with Helda, but she quickly turned her attention to the others around her and began leading them away. I barely saw the glint of fear in her wide eyes before she'd moved.

My fingers lifted to touch my wet cheeks and saw the tears that were left on my gloves when I lowered them. A gunshot pierced the air again, and I swivelled around, hearing the sharp cry of a boy, who looked to be seven years old. He shook in his thin clothes, and tears dripping down his cheeks and chin as he struggled to climb to his feet after stumbling. He must have been one of the prisoners.

Without hesitation I lifted him, holding his body to my chest awkwardly, my focus now on making sure this boy got warmth. His cries lessened in my hold, and his head tucked into my neck as I jogged towards the vans, gunshots continuing to barrell through the air behind me, the sounds of heart-wrenching cries and howls ringing in my ears.

The noises of the van's doors banging open startled the boy, but I quickly lowered him to his feet inside of the vehicle before he could complain.

"Sit down." I told him, moving further into the van and grasping at bags, knowing that one of them held thick blankets. Papers and other items crashed to the floor in my desperate search, and I exhaled loudly in relief when I finally found a thick blanket.

Shaking it out, I moved swiftly towards the boy again, lowering to my knees, and wrapping the blanket around his body, keeping my hands pressed against it as I searched his face.

"What is your name?" I asked him, my fingers lifting to draw away strands of dark hair away from his grey-blue eyes, my own eyes flitting up and down his body hastily, hoping that his shivering would stop. And it was then, while the boy sputtered for a name, and still continued to tremble under the blanket, that I realized the difference in appearance he had compared to the prisoners.

He was thin, but naturally so, not because of ill-treatment. His clothes, although not the best at providing warmth, were clean and he looked healthy. I could see color beginning to return to his pale cheeks, which still had evidence of his tears.

"Your name?" I kept my voice gentle as I repeated myself, despite my now swirling cautious thoughts. My hands were tightly holding the edge of his blanket, and my eyes were beginning to sting from how hard I unblinkingly stared at him.

My suspicion spiked and his nostrils flared. Grey-blue eyes locked with my black ones. "Alec." The boy answered quietly.

"Alec," I repeated his name and nodded, cleared my throat and spoke again, "Where are your parents?"

His eyes flooded with tears. "My ma is dead now."

Behind us, the sounds of gunfire continued to echo.

"Your mother was a lycan." I said, not surprised when he nodded in confirmation. "And your father...?"

"Is a human. He was supposed to come back to town with my half-sister, but I haven't seen him." His body shook as he visibly resisted sobbing. Misery was etched onto his face, and before I could utter any other words, the vans' doors were pulled open. Helda climbed inside the van, ignoring us as she began searching noisily, cases and papers fluttering down, making the mess on the floor even worse.