Wolf Island (The Demonata 8)

“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 backpack 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 yard ahead of us, less than six feet 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 plowed 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 disorganized 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 that I’ve been holding. His backpack 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 gape 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 w

ant 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 backpack.

“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, snapping 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.