Wolf Island

RUNNING THE GAUNTLET

“The helicopter!” Shark roars, leading the break for our only hope of survival. We pound after him, but I see within seconds that we haven’t a snowman in hell’s chance. The werewolves are closer to the helicopter than we are and they can run faster.

Alert to the danger, James starts to take his Farrier Harrier up, out of the reach of the onrushing werewolves. But he’s not quick enough. One of the larger beasts takes a running leap and grabs hold of the skid on the pilot’s side. Marian levels her gun at it, but the weight of the werewolf causes the helicopter to lurch and she’s jolted off target. The werewolf hauls itself up on to the skid and drives its fists and head through the pilot’s window. It locks its jaws on James’s terror-stricken face and savages him.

James battles hopelessly against the werewolf, tries to thrash free, fails, then goes limp. The helicopter spins out of control, swishes left then right, then banks and smashes into the compound wall. The rotors snap off with an ear-splitting squeal. The blood-spattered glass shatters and the body of the helicopter buckles inwards. But it doesn’t explode like I expect it to.

I spot a shaken, bloodied Marian struggling from the remains of the wreckage. Three werewolves jump her while she’s half out of the helicopter. They drive her back inside and finish her off, fighting over the scraps.

The first werewolf is on us before we can feel any pity for James and Marian. Shark takes careful aim and fires a bullet through the centre of its head. Then he changes direction and darts for the helicopter which was already here when we arrived. He bellows at us to follow.

Werewolves quickly fill the area around us. Shark and his remaining soldiers fire at them freely, wounding, maiming, killing. I can’t work up any sympathy for my unfortunate relatives. It’s them or us now.

Timas stoops over Pip’s body as we pass, swiftly loosens her rucksack and burrows through it as he runs, whistling casually. He picks out a device, smiles, shakes his head and carefully replaces it. Never drops his pace, keeping up with the rest of us even though he’s not concentrating.

Some of the werewolves are distracted by the stranded, wounded survivors of Juni’s forces—easy pickings. The ground between us and the helicopter partially clears. Shark and his team focus their fire on those who remain in our way, opening a path. Hope flares within me. The despair I felt seconds ago evaporates. We’re going to make it!

We reach the helicopter. More and more werewolves are closing on us, but it doesn’t matter. Liam, Stephen and the injured Leo cut down those closest to the helicopter and stand guard outside, keeping the area clear while the rest of us clamber in.

Shark and Timas bundle into the cockpit. Shark whoops and tries to start the engine. There’s no response. He frowns, ducks, looks beneath the control panel. Comes up pale-faced. “They removed…” He curses, then stares at Timas with wild hope. “Any way you could…”

Timas takes his nose out of Pip’s rucksack long enough to peer down. “No,” he says. “This is going nowhere.” He continues rummaging through the rucksack.

“The boats,” Meera gasps. “Werewolves can’t swim.”

“It would take at least two minutes to lower a boat,” Prae says miserably. “We could cut one free and drop it, but we’d still have to climb down the ladders. They’d clamber after us or hurl themselves off the cliff on top of us. We’d never make it.”

“I could put a shield in place at the top of the ladder,” I pant.

“You’d need a bigger shield than that,” Timas murmurs. “Didn’t you notice the slits in the cliffside walls of the compound when you were studying the maps? They’re so the guards can fire at anything attacking from the seaward direction. They can pick us off if we try to descend.”

“Could you cover us from gunfire and werewolves all the way to the bottom?” Shark asks.

“I don’t know,” I groan. “I can try.”

“I don’t like it,” he growls. “We’d be too exposed. Any other suggestions?”

“Can you get us inside the compound again?” Meera asks Prae.

“No. I don’t know the security codes.”

“Timas?”

“I could figure them out,” he says calmly, “but it would take several minutes.”

There’s a scream. Leo goes down, tackled by a pair of small werewolves. Liam and Stephen fire into them, but it’s too late. When they fall away, Leo’s eyes are wide and lifeless, a shredded mesh where his throat should be.

“Out of time,” Shark sighs. “Let’s try for the boats and just hope for—”

“Caves!” I shout, flashing on an image of a map of the island. I grab Prae’s right arm. “Are there caves near here?”

“I don’t know,” she scowls. “I wasn’t involved with this project. I haven’t—”

“There are a few within reach,” Timas cuts in. He looks at me curiously. “What sort of cave are you interested in?”

“One with a single entrance, so we can block it off and seal ourselves in.”

“What will that achieve?” Shark frowns.

“If I have a few hours, I can open a window to the Demonata universe.”

Shark stares at me, then the boats, then the breached perimeter wall and the hordes of werewolves flooding through. He calculates the odds.

“If we don’t make it to the cave, we can break for the sea and jump off one of the cliffs,” Timas says thoughtfully.

“So we’d have a plan B,” Shark nods. “OK. The cave. Go for it!”

Spilling out of the helicopter, we face the oncoming ranks of werewolves and press stubbornly—suicidally—forward into the thick of them.

Barbaric madness. Blasting our way through the wild, fast, powerful, stinking, howling creatures. Shark, Timas, Liam, Stephen, Spenser and Prae gather in a tight circle around Meera and me. They stand three on either side, backs pressed in against us. We move like a crab, edging forward awkwardly. The soldiers and Prae shower the werewolves with bullets, but it won’t be long before one breaks through, then another, then all.

“This is crazy!” I yell, changing my mind. “We’ll never make it. Let’s try the boats.”

“No,” Timas responds. “If we reach the wall, we’ll be over the worst. Notice how the flow of werewolves has lessened? Most of the beasts within quick reach of the compound are already here.”

“So?” Shark shouts, never taking his eyes off the beasts, firing every few seconds, measuring his bullets carefully, not wasting any.

“I have a plan,” Timas says. “It should buy us some time.”

“What sort of a plan?” I ask suspiciously.

Timas jiggles Pip’s rucksack at me. “The sort that goes boom!”

One of the larger, incredibly muscular werewolves leaps through the air. Bullets from more than one gun lace his body, but he lands on top of Spenser and yanks him away from us. The werewolf tumbles after the soldier and drops dead a second later. But the damage is done. Spenser’s cut off. Before he can rejoin the group, half a dozen wolfen savages are covering him. He dies screaming a woman’s name.

We push on, no time to mourn our fallen friend. I’m itching to use magic, but I have to save myself. No point wasting my energy on getting to the cave if I can’t open a window to safety once we’re there.

We creep closer to the wall, the werewolves dogging our every step, snapping and clawing at us, trying to press through the rain of bullets. I notice that most of the larger beasts are hanging back behind the smaller specimens. They must be some of the enhanced creatures, those who were physically and mentally altered, trained to hunt in packs. They’re letting the weaker creatures hurl themselves at us, to tire us, so they can move in when we’re more vulnerable.

According to Timas, the Lambs created more than two hundred of these newer, deadlier werewolves. I can’t count more than fifty around us. That means the rest must be spread across the island—or waiting for us outside the wall.

I think about sharing this potentially fatal piece of news with the rest of the team, but see no point in freaking them out. If a hundred-plus of the stronger, smarter savages are lying in ambush, we’re finished. No point worrying the others. If that’s our fate, let their last few minutes be filled with hope instead of dread.

We make the wall without any more casualties. Shark and the soldiers look completely drained. But they never slow or waver. True professionals, driving themselves on past the point of exhaustion.

We move into one of the gaps in the wall and pause at a shout from Timas. He, Shark and Liam train their weapons on the mass of werewolves on the compound side of the wall. Stephen and Prae cover the rear, picking off the stray werewolves who haven’t invaded yet or are just arriving.

“Give me a few seconds,” Timas says once we’ve established our precarious position. He slips out of his place, passing Meera his gun.

“I don’t know how to use this,” she screeches.

“Point it at a target and pull the trigger,” Timas says. “I’ve set it to its simplest mode.” He nudges her forward with an elbow, then digs into Pip’s rucksack and produces several small devices. He hands a few to me.

“Do I just throw them?” I ask.

“I’d rather you simply held them for me,” he says, fiddling with those in his own hands. “If they’re not lobbed accurately, they might explode in the wrong direction. That would be bad for us.”

“Timas!” Shark shouts. “We can’t hold much longer. They’re crowding in.”

“My plan wouldn’t work if they didn’t,” Timas says, then gently tosses one of his devices forward. It lands a metre ahead of us, less than two metres from the rabid wave of werewolves. “Close your eyes,” he purrs, lobbing another bomb after the first, then covering his face with an arm.

The first device explodes as I snap my eyes shut. The second explosion follows almost instantly. Screams replace howls. I chance a look. It’s like a bulldozer has ploughed through the werewolves ahead of us. Dozens are on the ground, dead or bleeding, whimpering and confused. Those to the sides are barking with anger and fear, backing away from the carnage. Before they can recover their wits, Timas lobs three more devices, one left, one right, one straight ahead.

“These are a bit more destructive than the first two,” he warns. “You might want to cover your ears also.”

His warning comes just in time. I’ve only barely jammed my hands over my ears when the devices explode. The vibrations shake my brain around inside my skull. When I look again, the devastation is unbelievable, like a field of dead in a war movie. Those not caught by the blasts are scrambling backwards, yowling with pain, ears and noses bleeding. Werewolves have much sharper senses than humans. This must be sheer agony for those not killed.

Timas turns neatly and takes another device from me. Looking back, I see that the creatures on the other side of the wall have come to an uncertain halt. Several are rubbing at their ears and whining. Nowhere near as disorganised as those who bore the brunt of the explosions, but shaken all the same.

When Timas lobs the bomb at them and it explodes, the surviving werewolves bolt like a pack of panic-stricken dogs. Timas tips an imaginary hat to them, twirls like a ballerina, grabs another device from me and throws it at those on the compound side. The werewolves might not be the brightest creatures in the world, but they’ve seen enough to know that when the tall, red-headed guy throws something, it means trouble. Roaring abominably, they break and flee, even the enhanced beasts.

We don’t waste time congratulating Timas, just bolt for the freedom of the island beyond the wall, determined to take full advantage of the lull, certain it won’t last long. Timas is the only one who doesn’t run immediately. He remains behind, setting more devices in the ground between the gap in the wall.

Moments later he catches up with us and retrieves the bombs which I’ve been holding. His rucksack looks pretty flat now, but he doesn’t seem worried. He grins at me as he pockets a couple of the explosives. “That was the first practical experience I’ve had of controlled detonations,” he says.

I gawp at him. “You’d never used a bomb before?”

“No. I’d read about them, but this was the first chance I had to put my knowledge to the test.” He looks back and frowns at the hole in the wall, the cloud of dust in the air, the dismembered bodies of the butchered werewolves. “What do you think? Eight out of ten, or am I being too generous?”

“Shut up, you genius of an idiot,” I laugh. “And run!”

We race to the top of a small incline, Timas leading the way. We pause to catch our breath and gather our wits. I can already see a few werewolves sniffing around the gap in the wall. As they creep through, one steps on a landmine and sets it off. The others scatter at top speed.

I feel like cheering, but I don’t want to tempt fate. Besides, it won’t take them long to try one of the other, unmined gaps. Once they discover a safe way out of the compound, they’ll pursue us again, only this time they’ll be even more determined to hunt us down, to make us pay.

Timas sets another couple of devices at the top of the little hill, covering them with loose earth, like someone planting seeds.

“What else do you have in there?” Shark asks, nodding at the rucksack.

“Not much,” Timas sighs. “I have a few mines in my pockets and some grenades in case we run into resistance. As for the rest… enough to bring down the cave entrance. There won’t be much left over.”

“Did anybody else notice the larger breeds?” Prae pants. “At the rear?”

“Yes,” I answer softly, but I’m the only one.

“Horwitzer’s work,” she growls. “They’re even deadlier than the others. They hung back where it was safe, waiting for the ideal moment to strike. If there are more of those, or if they catch up with us before we make it to the cave…” She shakes her head.

“If Timas is right, there’s a couple of hundred of them in total,” I tell her.

Prae’s face goes ashen.

“None of that,” Shark snarls, clicking his scorched fingers in front of her eyes. “We won’t have pessimism. By any account we should be dead already. But we’re not. Having come through that, we can survive anything. If you disagree, keep it to yourself.”

Prae chuckles weakly, then pushes to her feet and looks over the island. I stand and stare too. We can’t see anything except grassland, which gives way to bushes and trees. But I can hear the howls of werewolves. They’re getting closer.

“Shark,” I say nervously.

“I know.” He stretches, then groans. “My back’s killing me. Never had trouble before. I might have to think about retiring after this one.”

We all laugh. It’s the free and edgy laughter of people who’ve come through hell and lived to tell the tale, but have to face the journey at least one more time.

Shark clicks his tongue and everyone rises. Liam and Stephen are covered in blood, filth and scraps of hairy flesh. Meera hasn’t returned Timas’ gun, but is cradling it like a baby. Prae’s trembling, but holding herself together. Only Timas looks unconcerned, as if we’re on a leisurely stroll. The rest of us are beaten and worn.

But we’re alive. And that gives me hope. We might make it off this island yet, damn the odds. If we do, it’ll rank as one of the greatest escapes ever, up there with Beranabus’s finest death-defying shimmies. I almost want to survive just to prove to the magician that he’s not the only cat with nine lives.

If he’s still alive. Thinking about him reminds me of Juni’s taunt, that Dervish, Bec and Beranabus have been set upon by the Shadow. Are they in an even worse spot than us? Has Beranabus been catapulted into the afterlife ahead of me, along with Bec and my uncle?

Before I can dwell on that grim possibility, Shark barks a command. As we sprint down the opposite side of the incline, all other fears and thoughts are forgotten. Running… werewolves… the cave. There’s no room inside my head for anything else.