Chapter 9: Panic and Attack

Two weeks. It has been two whole weeks since I have been to the café on campus. It’s a Tuesday evening of all things. It doesn’t quite feel like the drudgery of a Monday and yet the entire week is waiting for me. The time has dragged on and, for the life of me, I wish more than anything I could go back.

It feels like a piece of me is missing while I’m away from the café, which is odd. A place that I didn’t know existed suddenly feels like the best place to be.

I found a few good places to study around campus. There’s a window seat near the third floor of the library that is open from time to time and a couple of spots outside in park areas, but none of them are as good as the café. There is something about that place that feels welcoming and safe.

But I made a relative promise to Felix that I would stay away from the café. Even if I didn’t promise Felix out loud, I didn’t want to cause him more trouble than I already had. I wondered how he was doing over these past two weeks and, even now, it is on my mind.

I look up at the canopy of trees above me, shielding me from the evening Tuesday sun. A slight breeze kisses my cheek. I wish silently that I brought my base with me, but there are a dozen other assignment due dates creeping up on me.

As beautiful as the day is, I wish I were back at the café. Something about the unintentional caffeine high mixed with the smell of ground coffee beans and the idle chatter of indistinct conversations makes me more creative. I think about my spot next to the window. There is a solid second where I wonder if I miss it just because I wanted to catch a glimpse of Felix, but the answer is obvious.

Yes.

I miss seeing him, but maybe I shouldn’t. Maybe he was right. Maybe I’ve been hurting myself by pining after someone I could not, and should not, have.

But then I close my eyes and see his face and fall all over again for him.

I’ll bet the flannel he wears has a residual smell of coffee by the collar. His forearms are strong from lifting boxes and trays of dishes. I’ll bet he could easily lift me.

The blast of a siren makes me jump out of my skin. I instinctually look up to the nearest siren on one of the poles across from my spot on the bench before looking around. Dread makes my insides sink. I know what that siren means.

A Lycan attack.

Now? Here?

A voice over the intercom begins listing off the location of the attack. It’s by the main road on the other side of campus. A sickening, twisting sensation hits my gut.

A Lycan attack doesn’t occur often, but it is always terrible when it does happen.

It’s like a school shooting. Senseless violence that has some underlying cause. Unpredictable and horrendous when it happens and, after, there is extreme caution and panic. Rules and regulations are put in place. And, naturally, people fear and hate others with similar ideologies and appearances.

It’s not like the Lycan can always help it. They have medication to keep their condition under control, but it isn’t an exact science and I read recently that extreme emotional conditions can trigger a flare up in the condition, forcing a Lycan to shift into their werewolf form.

Because of how volatile their condition is, shelters were constructed so people could hide away and be safe from the rampaging Lycan.

I instantly think of Felix. Is he okay? It isn’t him, is it? I hope and send a silent prayer that it isn’t him as I throw my bag over my shoulder and stand. Already, I see people are picking up their things and starting to panic. They begin to run to the shelter or the nearest building where they can stay until the threat is over.

My heart starts to pound in my chest nervously. It’s a natural response, but I feel a little guilty for feeling scared. I force myself to walk calmly to the nearest lockdown location. Dozens of other students are already there filing into the building, down the crowded staircase, and into the reinforced room.

I hear fearful murmurs in the air, like a whisper with no specific location. There are professors and campus security officers standing guard at the door, eyes trained on the staircase and scanning the faces of every student entering the lockdown location.

I already feel the muggy air of heavy, fearful breathing in a trapped location threatening to suffocate me and everyone else in the room. Gosh, I hate enclosed spaces. I focus on my breathing instead of the fact that we’re several floors down underground in a tight location.

The room itself is made of concrete with heavy metal beams supporting the vaulted ceiling and is the size of two gymnasiums put together. The LED lights above make me feel like I’m in some kind of odd testing facility. It feels mechanical and cold, which only heightens the amount of discomfort riling my insides.

A sudden bump from behind snaps my attention to my right shoulder. I immediately make eye contact with a broad-shouldered guy with dark curly hair and steely eyes who looks at me for just a moment.

“Sorry,” he mutters gruffly as he continues walking toward one corner of the room where several other young men are standing close together.

One of them is the guy with dark curly hair and steely eyes. One of them has red hair and green eyes with numerous freckles while three of them have dark hair and dark eyes. One of them has dirty blonde hair and a little facial hair while the other is a blonde-haired blue-eyed hipster with shaggy hair.

My breath hitches in my throat as I look at the group the stranger stands with, and I see Felix standing with them.

I worry for a moment that the guy is going after Felix, but their body language tells a different story. Their body postures are closed off with their arms crossed against their chests. The way they look around the room is as if they’re being targeted, singled out. They aren’t speaking to one another, but they have a shared look they give each other.

The way they group together is like some kind of solidarity. It’s like they know something that no one else does and are trying to keep it to themselves, but none of them have a poker face.

What is that look on their faces? Sympathy? Worry?

I look for a moment longer at the group of seven individuals and suddenly see it. It’s not that they are related or know one another well.

The big hint is the fact that Felix is standing with them, and they aren’t shying away from him.

They’re all Lycans.

I understand in an instant why they are standing close together now. They’re watching out for each other. They know what is going on and they don’t want to be singled out.

I’m suddenly curious as to why they’re together. Do they have an unconscious draw toward one another because they have Lycanthropy?

The ominous clang of the doors shutting silences the murmuring students around us. The doors are secured, keeping everything and everyone inside safe – in theory. If I listened closely, I could hear a pin drop in the room it is so eerily quiet. I see the guards standing at attention by the door while two others make their way through the crowd.

I know they’re checking on people and making sure everyone is staying calm, but I can’t help but wonder how long this relative peace will last while we are all in here together. Cramped quarters and tense situations never make anyone feel at ease.

There is the added tension of the Lycans who are down here with us. I see no threat, but if anyone else notices Felix or the group of Lycans standing quietly in the corner, things could get ugly within minutes.

I hope we can ride this out together, but that hope is sadly short-lived.