Wolf Island (The Demonata 8)

We stumble out of the tunnel, Stephen and Shark in the lead, Meera and me in the middle, Timas and Prae bringing up the rear. The sunlight is glorious after the darkness of the cave, but there’s no time to lap it up. A couple of werewolves are staggering around, bloodstained, shaking their heads, dazed. No sign of any others. We’ve come through on the far side of the rocky outcrop, out of sight of the multitudes.

“Come on,” Shark hisses. “Let’s —”

A growling sound from my left. I whirl and catch sight of a werewolf leaping through the air. It was hiding behind a rock. Three others emerge from behind similarly sized rocks. The cunning beasts have set an ambush!

The first werewolf lands on Shark and knocks away his rifle. Shark snarls as the werewolf growls. He grabs its head and jerks it left then right, trying to snap the beast’s neck before it chews his face off.

Stephen makes the crucial mistake of aiming at the werewolf attacking Shark instead of the other three behind it. Two of them tackle him as he squeezes off his first shot. He yelps, then he’s gone, covered by the werewolves, their claws and fangs glinting in the sunlight as they tear into him. He doesn’t even have time to scream.

The final werewolf bounds towards Meera, Prae, and me. Meera raises her rifle and the beast stops and glares at us — it clearly knows what a gun is, the damage it can cause. It looks around. Stephen’s bullet struck the first werewolf just above its heart, wounding but not killing. It’s still struggling with Shark and has driven him back into the tunnel. He’s managed to free his knife and is slicing at the beast’s throat.

The werewolf who was coming after us chooses the easier option. It changes direction and dives after Shark, driving him farther back. Meera fires at it. Misses. Starts after it, to help Shark.

“Get the hell out of here!” Shark bellows, smashing the first werewolf’s face with an elbow, ducking to grab the second by its waist. He whirls it around and hurls it away. “Go!” he screams at us furiously as the werewolf regains its feet and leaps at him again.

“Come on,” Timas says, tapping my shoulder.

“But —” Meera and I start to protest at the same time.

“Stay and die,” Timas says calmly, “or run and live. Your choice.” He sets off, Prae Athim just behind him.

Two of the werewolves are still snacking on Stephen. The other two are forcing Shark farther back. There are no more in sight, apart from the befuddled few we first spotted. But it’s surely a matter of seconds rather than minutes before others come running to investigate the explosion and howls.

I find myself moving before I consciously make the decision, my feet one step ahead of my brain. Shark’s our leader. He gave us an order to run. We’d be fools if we ignored him, and Shark never tolerated fools gladly.

My last glimpse of the burly ex-soldier is of him wrestling with one werewolf, while keeping the other at bay with his knife, backing up into the shadows of the tunnel, conceding ground reluctantly, stubbornly. Then the dust from the explosion enfolds and obscures him and the werewolves, swallowing them whole.

With a cry of hate and fear, I turn, grab Meera, and flee after Timas and Prae. It seems hopeless without Shark. I was sure he’d be the last of us to fall. Without him all is surely lost. But he went down fighting and the rest of us owe it to him to give it our best shot. If we fail, we should at least die valiantly — like Shark.

The scent of the sea thickens in my nostrils as we run, drawing me towards it. There are howls behind us. The werewolves have found our trail again. But we’ve worked up a solid lead. We have half a chance.

“This is it,” Timas pants as we struggle up a steep rise. “When we get to the top… it’s two hundred feet… to the edge… give or take a few… yards.” He sneaks a quick look

back. His brow creases and his large eyes narrow. “We won’t make it. They’ll catch us.”

“We have to… try,” I cry, lungs bursting, legs aching.

“Someone has to lie down… covering fire,” he says. “I’ll stop at the… top and make my last… stand.”

“No!” Meera shouts. “We’ve lost too many already.”

“We’ll all die if I don’t,” Timas says simply.

“I’ll do it,” Prae gasps. She’s lagging a few paces behind the rest of us. “I’m the slowest. Besides, they’re my werewolves.”

“I’m a better shot,” Timas says. “This is my job. It makes more sense… for me… to stay.”

“What the hell,” Prae wheezes. “Let’s both do it… and die together.”

“As you wish.” We’re almost at the top. Timas slaps my back. “One last push and… you’re there. Don’t slow or look back. Run, jump, swim. Meera…” She looks around. “I’m sorry I won’t… be able to claim… that kiss you promised.”

“Don’t worry,” Meera says. “I lied. I wouldn’t have kissed you anyway.” The tall man’s face drops and Meera groans. “I’m joking!”

Timas’s smile lights up his face again. With a cheerful wave he stops, turns, swings his rifle around, and opens fire. Glancing over my shoulder, I see Prae halt, drop to her knees, take aim. The werewolves are damn close, dozens of them, the larger, enhanced members to the front, leading the pack.

I mount the crest of the rise after Meera. The clifftop lies enticingly ahead of us, the two hundred feet away that Timas calculated. My heart leaps in my chest. I catch up with Meera. We’re going to make it! I don’t care if we perish when we dive, if the tide’s out, or if we’re driven under by vicious currents. At least we won’t die here on this cursed, savage island of…

Werewolves. Streaming towards the edge of the cliff from our left and right. They’ve split into two groups and flanked us. The smarter beasts must have guessed our plan. Rather than waste themselves on Timas and Prae, they branched around. As we watch in horror, they dart ahead of us and form a barrier across the top of the cliff, two or three bodies deep. Some remain to the sides, to ensure we don’t veer off.