Darren Shan - Wolf Island

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.”