Darren Shan - Wolf Island

“What have they been trained to do?” Shark asks.

“Nothing too complex,” Timas says. “They can hunt in small groups, in pursuit of predefined targets—like hounds, they can be given a person’s scent. They’re not as reliable as hounds. In a crowded environment they might be distracted and chase others instead. And they’ll turn on their handlers afterwards unless subdued. But that’s a huge step forward.”

“I’d no idea she’d advanced to such a stage,” Antoine whispers. “We’ve been trying to install control mechanisms for decades. We could have done so much good if we’d known about this. We still could.”

“The Lambs are finished,” Shark says, “at least as far as werewolves are concerned. Do you really think people will trust you with their young once word of this gets out? And it will—have no doubt about that.”

“You’re right,” Antoine sighs. “But those on the island are still alive. If we can bring them back under our authority and follow up on these incredible breakthroughs…”

“You’re assuming we’ll leave any of them alive,” Shark laughs brutally. Before Antoine can react to that, he says to Timas, “What’s the best way to hit them? Do we need more troops?”

Timas purses his lips. “If the original implants had been left intact, we could have electronically disabled them from the air. But they were all secretly removed or rendered inactive prior to the abduction. The safest way would be to blanket-bomb the island.”

“No!” I cry. “You can’t just kill them. They were human once.”

“They’re not anymore,” Shark shrugs.

“I won’t let you,” I growl.

“You can’t stop me,” he says blankly.

“Actually, I can.” I raise a hand and let little forks of blue lightning crackle between my fingertips. Shark squints at me, taking my measure.

“He’d whup you,” Meera says to Shark. “He’s a magician. You wouldn’t stand a chance.”

“Probably not.” Shark grimaces. “Besides, I don’t trust fly-boys and their damn guided missiles. They could level the compound by accident, and we need Prae alive. Options, Timas?”

“Go as we are.” He holds up his copy of the report, flicks to near the end and taps the page. “There are very few guards. It’s mostly scientists and medics. If we just hit the compound, we can drop in and make a neat job of it.”

“You’re sure?” Shark asks.

“Absolutely,” Timas says. “I can provide you with a complete breakdown of the odds if you wish.”

“No need,” Shark smiles. “Twelve it is.”

“Thirteen,” Antoine corrects him.

Shark laughs. “You’re not serious.”

“Never more so. I’m coming.”

“You’re not,” Shark says, his smile disappearing. “This is a job for soldiers and Disciples.”

“I won’t pretend to be an action hero,” Antoine says with quiet dignity. “I’m not your equal in matters such as these. But I’m coming regardless. I run this operation now. I’m not sure what you want with Prae, but if you don’t kill her, I plan to bring her to justice. And there’s the matter of the specimens. They have to be returned. Or perhaps we can continue our work on the island. I need to undertake a study before I make a proposal to the board.”

“You can do that later,” Meera says. “Let us go in, shut down Prae’s operation and take control of the situation. You can fly in after we’re finished and—”

“You don’t understand!” Antoine shouts, losing his temper for the first time. His jaw trembles as he glares at us. “This happened on my watch. I was supposed to control her. There have already been calls for my head. I’m hanging on to this job by my fingernails. If the board of governors finds out about this island and that I let you waltz in unrestricted and unmonitored…”

Antoine looks appealingly at Shark. “I need to come with you. And it won’t be a one-way favour. I can help. I know Prae, her people, the specimens. I can advise and caution if necessary.”

“It’d be dangerous,” Shark says. “If you come, you’re on your own. Nobody will risk their life to save yours.”

“In this business, you never expect anyone to be helpful,” Antoine smirks, in command of his temper again. “Do I have time to pack a few things?”

“No,” Shark snorts and marches out of the office. The rest of us follow him up the stairs to where the helicopter is waiting and off we set for Wolf Island. Aroooooo!

We manage to squeeze into the Farrier Harrier, even though it isn’t meant to hold more than twelve. We fly all day, Shark and James taking turns to pilot. We set down a couple of times to refuel, eat and stretch our legs. Stop at dusk for dinner at an army base, then continue through the night. I catch a few hours of sleep, using a sleeping spell to drop off.

We make our final stop shortly after nine in the morning. Breakfast, a walk, exercise. Then Shark talks us through our plans. We scour maps of the compound, Shark highlighting our route and alternatives in case we run into problems. It’s pretty simple—break in, grab Prae Athim, secure the area around her office and interrogate her there, or else abduct her and make a quick getaway.

Meera doesn’t suggest a polite approach this time. Prae Athim is way out of control. Subtlety won’t work on Wolf Island.

Shark finishes by asking for any last-minute comments or enquiries. Antoine sheepishly raises a hand. “Will you try not to cause unnecessary damage? Some of the equipment is very expensive. If we can recycle it later, we can recoup some of the costs of this debacle.”

Shark glares at Antoine. “If we come through this and I receive an invoice for wreckages, I’ll find you, string you upside down and make you eat your own brains before I kill you. Understand?”

Antoine flushes. “I was only—”

“Be quiet,” Meera snaps.

Antoine pouts, but shuts up. Shark casts an eye around. “Last chance to back out. Anyone?” Seven of the nine soldiers promptly raise their hands. “You should be in a sitcom,” Shark jeers, then claps his hands together loudly and stands. “Let’s go!”

Back on the helicopter. Within minutes we’re over open water. No retreating now. We’re in this to the bitter, bloody end.

The island is one of many in the area, all deserted, most uninhabitable. This is one of the largest. A lot of grass, wild flowers, trees. We spot the werewolves as we skim the treetops. Spread across the island in small groups, most relaxing, some eating (I don’t think much of the natural wildlife exists there anymore), a few fighting. Mutated, vicious, hairy monstrosities, all fangs, claws and muscles. Some howl at us as we pass overhead, though we can’t hear them over the roar of the blades.

The wolf within me tries to force its way to the surface, howling silently in reply to its warped brethren. I’m one of the cursed Gradys. I should have turned into a werewolf. I only survived because I’m a magician. My magic self wrestled with my wolfen side and triumphed. But I’ve never rid myself of the wolf, only driven it down deep inside.

I don’t have any difficulty keeping my wolfish instincts in check, but I’m surprised to find that a part of me doesn’t want to remain in control. I’m excited by the creatures running free beneath us. Life would be much simpler if I abandoned my humanity and ran wild with them, gave myself over to animalistic pleasures, free of the burdens of duty and responsibility.

I’m envious of my twisted relatives, but sad for them too. Because I know their freedom is temporary. If it all goes wrong and Prae Athim turns the tables on us, she’ll use these specimens for her own sick ends. But life won’t be much better for them if we succeed. Antoine Horwitzer will take over, pick the werewolves off one by one, slice them open and carry out all manner of unpleasant experiments.