by Darren Shan
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.
>
CAVEMEN
The howls intensify as we run, coming from all directions, a cacophony of wolfen roars tightening around us like a net. But we don’t spot another werewolf until, cutting our way through a small copse, one leaps from a tree without warning and drags Shark to the ground. The pair roll away from us, and though the soldiers in our group swiftly train their weapons on the beast, I’m sure they’re too late. I resign myself to the loss of our leader.
But Shark isn’t ready for the grave just yet. Staggering to his feet, he shoulders the howling werewolf away. The others can’t shoot because he’s in their way, and Shark lost his gun in the attack.
“Down!” Stephen yells, desperate to put a bullet through the werewolf’s head.
Shark has other ideas. Jerking a knife from his belt, he leaps on the savage beast and drives the blade into its stomach, chewing on its left ear for extra impact. The werewolf screams and claws at Shark’s back, ripping his shirt and much of his flesh to shreds. But Shark jabs at it a second time and a third, and its hands drop away. Moments later he shrugs it off and hobbles free.
“Are you OK?” Meera asks as he rejoins us, casting a worried look at his injuries.
“I’ve cut myself worse shaving,” Shark grunts. He retrieves his rifle and pushes up beside Timas, ignoring the blood pooling around the waistband of his trousers.
As we clear the copse, we spot an army of werewolves surging towards us from our far left. The beasts at the front look like they’re part of the enhanced breed. We can also hear crashing and snapping sounds in the trees behind us—the pack from the compound has almost caught up.
“There!” Timas shouts, swivelling right. I can’t see anything except a lot of rocks jutting out of the ground, but he seems sure of himself. As we hurl ourselves after Timas, I pray desperately that his map-reading skills were as accurate as he led us to believe.
I don’t look back as we run, but I hear the werewolves closing in. The creatures who’ve been chasing us from the compound have merged with those arriving fresh on the scene to create a chorus of howls and screeches that could drown out the sound of a nuclear detonation. I feel hot breath on the back of my neck. I hope it’s just my imagination.
Timas reaches a rock, grabs it with his left hand and pivots, lobbing a bomb over our heads as he swings out of sight. The explosion and screams of the werewolves are music to my ears. But as I come in line with the rock and duck around it, I catch sight of the beasts, no more than several metres behind, and my glee shrivels up like the petals of a flower at the heart of a furnace.
There’s no sign of Timas. For a horrified second I think he’s been snatched by a werewolf. But then I see his bony arm and narrow fingers jerk out of a hole, beckoning us on.
Shark is next to make it. He dives in and Timas’ arm disappears. The rest of us come abreast of what looks like just a hole in the rock, less than a metre high. But as I look closer I see that the floor is lower than the ground out here, so you can stand inside. It’s more of a tunnel than an actual cave, but I’m not going to complain about that.
Shark pops up like a jack-in-the-box. He aims over our heads and fires at the werewolves. There’s a grunt three or four centimetres behind my ear and I realise they’re even closer than I feared.
Screaming madly, I wrap an arm around Meera’s waist and hurl her into the hole, like a basketball player making a slam dunk. She smashes against one of the walls inside the entrance and cries out with pain. But at least she’s out of the reach of the werewolves.
Prae ducks in after Meera and scurries forward. I almost collide with Stephen as we both try to push in at the same time. We pause and I flash on a ridiculous image of us standing here, politely muttering, “No, after you,” until we’re carved up and consumed. But then Stephen slaps my back and I gratefully dive in ahead of him.
Meera and Prae have shuffled deeper into the cave. Timas is hooking up a series of devices to the walls around the entrance. For once he isn’t grinning. By his expression, you might even think he was slightly perturbed.
Shark is still standing half out of the cave, roaring as he empties his cartridge into the hordes of werewolves. Stephen falls into the cave backwards, firing as he topples. He takes out a werewolf which was just about to snap Shark’s head off.
“Back!” Timas yells.
Shark immediately withdraws. Liam, who was covering the rest of us from outside, dives into the hole after him. But he comes to a stop mid-air, arms outstretched, legs caught. He screams. Shark curses and grabs for Liam’s hands. He catches them and tugs hard. Liam screams again.
“Hold on!” Stephen shouts, wriggling forward, firing around Shark and Liam.
Liam jerks forward a few centimetres. It looks like Shark has him, but then he’s wrenched out of the cave.
For a brief moment I’m dazzled by sunlight. Then the hole fills with the heads and upper torsos of dozens of werewolves. They snap and lash at each other, fighting to be first in.
Before the werewolves can sort themselves out and slither into the cave, Timas yells, “Everybody down!” I catch sight of him pushing a button on a tiny detonator as I leap for safety. Then there’s the mother of all explosions and the roof around the entrance comes crashing down, muting the howls of the werewolves, plunging us into darkness, entombing us beneath the ground.
Nobody says anything for several minutes. We can’t—the air’s clogged with dust and bits of debris. We crawl away from the rubble in search of cleaner air, heads low, covering our faces with jackets and T-shirts, breathing shallowly. The roof slopes downwards and after a while we have to bend. When that becomes uncomfortable, we sit and wait for the air to clear. I’m exhausted. I could happily fall asleep where I’m sitting.
Shark breaks the silence. He coughs, spits out something, then says, “Who’s still alive?”
“Me,” Timas answers brightly.
“Me,” Prae Athim gasps.
“Me,” Stephen says morosely—I think he was good friends with Liam.
“Me,” I mutter through the fabric of my T-shirt, not ready to chance the air yet.
“Me,” Meera groans, “though I feel like half my ribs are broken. What the hell did you throw me in for, Grubbs?”
“I was trying to save you,” I growl.
“I could have saved myself,” she snaps.
“Ungrateful cow!”
“Chauvinist pig!”
We laugh at the same time.
“Cute,” Shark huffs. “Now somebody tell me they brought a torch.” Nobody says anything. “Brilliant. So we’re stuck here in the—”
Something glows. I tug my T-shirt down and squint at the dim light. It’s coming from Timas’ gun, from the small control panel I noticed earlier. Humming, Timas makes a few adjustments and the glow increases, just enough to illuminate the area around us. He looks up. His grin is firmly back in place, though it looks a bit eerie in the weak green light.
“Remind me to kiss you when this is over,” Shark says, struggling not to smile.
“Me too,” Meera adds. “Seriously.”
Timas shrugs as if it’s no big thing, then raises his rifle so we can see more. We’re in a tight, cramped cave (or spacious tunnel, depending on how you look at it). The roof is much lower than it was at the entrance and dips even more further back. The rocks are jagged and jab into me. The floor is sandy and littered with sharp stones. It’s humid and dusty from the explosion. But I’m too grateful to be alive and in a werewolf-free zone to feel anything but utter delight—love, almost—for our surroundings.
“How far back does this run?” Shark asks.
“That information wasn’t on the charts,” Timas says, then sets his rifle down. “Wait here.” He crawls away from us. We wait, breathing softly, nobody needing to be told that air might be precious. Timas is gone for what feels like two minutes… three… four.
I see him returning before I hear him. He can move in almost perfect silence when he wishes. He returns to his rifle, picks
it up and sets it on his lap. “The news is both positive and negative,” he says. “The cave is approximately thirty metres long, but it doesn’t finish with a wall. There’s a small gap between roof and floor. Air is blowing through from the other side. So we needn’t fear suffocation.”
“That sounds good to me,” Shark says. “What’s the bad news?”
“The floor isn’t solid.” Timas scrapes a nail through the layers of sand, grit and small stones beneath us.
“So?” Shark growls.
“This area is riddled with small caves and tunnels. I’ve no idea how large the opening on the other side of the hole is—it wasn’t on any of the maps—but if it’s large enough to permit entry, or if it can be enlarged, and the werewolves catch our scent, they’ll be able to burrow through.”
Shark frowns. “If the hole’s small, we could block it.”
“Yes,” Timas says, “but that won’t hold them. As I said, the floor isn’t solid. With their claws, it wouldn’t take them long to dig through. We could shoot the one in front and use its body to jam the entrance. But the soil here is extremely poor. Others would be able to dig under or around it.
“But, hey,” he adds with a shrug. “It might never happen.”
“Let’s assume it will,” Shark sniffs, then peers around for me. “What about that window you promised?”
“I’ll get to work on it.” I lean against the wall and rotate the creaks out of my neck. I’d kill for paracetamol.
“Do you need us to be silent, get out of your way or anything?” Shark asks.
“No.” I close my eyes, reaching down to the magic within me. As the others start discussing the situation, I drown out their voices. There are all sorts of ways to open windows, depending on the mage or magician. Some need to sacrifice a human or even themselves. Most just use spells. A powerful mage can open a window in half a day, no matter where they are, while others need several days.