Page 5 of Banished From the Pack

I scoop up Mama’s limp body with a bit of a struggle and carry her toward our house, the one I built with my own hands when I was twelve years old, according to Mama. I don’t know how she knows that.

“I’ll get you help,” I say as I scramble through the damp bog. “Don’t you die on me, Mama!”

She doesn’t answer, and I’m afraid she’s done for. I swallow hard, tears flowing down my cheeks before I offer the suggestion that comes to mind. I only dare speak it in a small voice, and only then because I’m not sure she’ll hear. “Maybe the other wolves can help?”

A fierce growl emerges from my mother’s throat, and her eyelids pop open, staring at me from a long-ago time and place. “No wolves. Never the wolves. They killed your father. Never trust a wolf!”

“But Mama. I don’t know what to do,” I say, rounding the bend with a noisy splash through the swamp water. “I don’t know how to fix something this bad, and I can’t lose you!”

I sniff up my tears and scramble up the bank toward our house, out of breath from carrying her weight.

Mama’s breathing comes weak and shallow “You’re eighteen,” she wheezes. “That’s full grown in the human world, and you came of age as a wolf a long time ago. I raised you as best I could. It’s time to let me go. Remember all I’ve told you.”

“No!” I cry, kicking in the door to our home. As I enter, I lurch to a halt.

There’s someone in our house.

Fear bolts through me like lightning strikes. The intruder is a woman with long, glossy hair the color of the night, like the panthers. Is she another one here to finish us off? What did we do to offend them?

“Are you a wolf known to the panthers as Looney Luna?” she asks.

“Who wants to know?” I say, backing against the tin wall. My arms shake with the effort of holding my mother’s body, so I squat and gently lay Mama down. Then, I move in front of her to protect her.

The panther-haired woman shakes her head and gives me a look I can’t decipher. “I’m Ama, and I came to fetch you. Our Alpha has requested your presence.”

My head whips around to gaze at my mother. If Mama didn’t bark out a retort, it means she’s unconscious… Or dead. I reach out and shake Mama’s still form. “Mama. Mama. Are you with me?”

Mama lets out a low moan, indicating life still thrums through her veins. But she doesn’t speak.

“Didn’t you hear me?” the Ama-woman says, speaking in Mama’s hurry-up tone.

“Of course I heard you,” I snap. “I’m not deaf.”

“Then let’s go.” Ama stands tall and steps toward the door, and something in her commanding presence makes me want to quake. But I stand firm, for Mama.

“I’m not going anywhere. You’re the one who should leave.”

I cross the packed-earth floor in two steps and reach for one of the plastic water jugs I use to catch rainwater. I pour water into my favorite cup, a tall, red plastic glass that you can see through when you hold it up to the light, that I found floating in the swamp one day after a flood. Maybe it’ll let the light shine from Mama again, too. I turn and make haste back to her side. Crouching, I lift her head with one hand and try to get her to drink some water with the other. “Come on, Mama. Just a little water.”

The water simply drips onto her face and pours off her chin.

“She needs more than water,” Ama says, crossing her arms and raising her chin.

“Are you a healer?” I ask hopefully. She hasn’t attacked yet, so that’s a good sign, but I don’t know her, and Mama told me to never trust strangers. Everyone’s a stranger, so I don’t trust anyone.

“No,” says Ama.

“Then you should probably shut up.” I use my index finger to pry open Mama’s lips, then pour a little water into her mouth.

A violent coughing attack ensues.

“Shit, shit,” I say, setting the glass of water to the side. I help Mama to sit up and whack her on the back a few times, desperation making me cry again. “I’m sorry, Mama. I don’t know what to do. Tell me what to do!”

Mama collapses in my arms as her blood pools on the dirt floor.

“Damn it.” I press my fists to my stinging eyes, my mind reeling. I know how to deal with Mama’s moods, her quiet spells, her thinking things are out to get us. I know how to bandage scrapes and put poultices on bruises and swellings and snake bites. But this… There’s too much blood.

“I can help you,” the Ama woman says.