We wait for them to dig through to us. It's horrible, sitting here helplessly, the sounds of the tunnelling werewolves growing louder, coming closer. We can hear them snuffling and whining softly, hungrily. The only positive thing is that there don't seem to be many of them. It looks like I was right about the smarter few opting to keep us for themselves.
The downside is that the smarter beasts are also the stronger, faster, deadlier creatures. But we'll happily take the fiercer few over the weaker masses. Shark did an ammunition tally earlier. They're all down to one rifle each, none of them full, no spare clips. They have handguns which won't last long. They won't be able to keep the werewolves back with sustained fire like before. If we have more than a few dozen beasts to deal with between here and the sea, we'll run dry in no time and it'll be hand-to-hand combat after that.
While we're waiting, the glow from Timas' gun fades, then dies, leaving us in complete darkness.
Luckily Timas has already set his explosives, so it doesn't affect our plans, just our nerves.
The werewolf within me is excited by the closeness of its twisted kin. It wants to dig from this side of the hole and link up with its soulmates. I'm tempted, in a sick way, to unleash it and let it loose on Shark, Meera and the others. It's a bit like the feeling I get when I'm standing on a cliff or high building, looking down at a suicidal drop. I start thinking about what would happen if I stepped off, the rush of the fall, the shattering collision, the quiet emptiness of death. Part of me wants to experience the thrill of complete surrender...
But I've always ignored that niggling voice and I ignore it now. Hold tight. Stay focused. Wait.
We can smell them now and hear their laboured panting. We've moved down the cave, as close to the lowest point as we can crawl. I thought it would have made more sense to stay back from the blast, but Timas insists he knows what he's doing. "Time is of the essence," he says. "We have to risk getting singed."
The werewolves sound like they're no more than a metre away. Maybe the first one is already sticking its head through, sliding into our cave. Impossible to tell in the darkness. I want Timas to detonate the bombs immediately, before it's too late, but he only hums and whistles, waiting... waiting...
Finally, when I think my nerves are going to snap, Timas whispers, "Shut your eyes, cover your ears and keep your fingers crossed." A second or two later the rocks explode outwards. I'm struck by a few chips and stony splinters, but they're only scratches. Light floods the cave. I open my eyes, but can't see very far through the dust cloud.
"Go!" Timas coughs and we crawl on our knees until we can stand and run crouched over.
Scraps of flesh, bones, guts and hair line the floor. Blood's everywhere, making it slippery underfoot. My stomach rumbles. It's been a long time since breakfast. The wolfen part of me would happily tuck in and make short work of the offal.
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 further 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 round 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 further 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 a sixty metre run... to the edge... give or take a few... metres." 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 lay 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' smile lights up his face again. With a cheerful wave he stops, turns, swings his rifle round 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 sixty-odd metres 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.
We come to a stop. Meera points her gun at the creatures ahead of us, then does a quick headcount and lets it drop. She looks at me and shrugs. We share a bitter smile. I'd like to hug her, but I haven't the energy. With incredible weariness we half-crouch and cross our arms on our knees. We're panting like thirsty dogs, surrounded, trapped, waiting for the werewolves to close in and brutally finish us off.