Wolf Island (15 page)

Nobody says anything for several minutes. We can’t — the air’s clogged with dust and bits of debris. We crawl away from the
rubble in search of cleaner air, heads low, covering our faces with jackets and T-shirts, breathing shallowly. The roof slopes
downwards and after a while we have to bend. When that becomes uncomfortable, we sit and wait for the air to clear. I’m exhausted.
I could happily fall asleep where I’m sitting.

Shark breaks the silence. He coughs, spits out something, then says, “Who’s still alive?”

“Me,” Timas answers brightly.

“Me,” Prae Athim gasps.

“Me,” Stephen says morosely — I think he was good friends with Liam.

“Me,” I mutter through the fabric of my T-shirt, not ready to chance the air yet.

“Me,” Meera groans, “though I feel like half my ribs are broken. What the hell did you throw me in for, Grubbs?”

“I was trying to save you,” I growl.

“I could have saved myself,” she snaps.

“Ungrateful cow!”

“Chauvinist pig!”

We laugh at the same time.

“Cute,” Shark huffs. “Now somebody tell me they brought a flashlight.” Nobody says anything. “Brilliant. So we’re stuck here
in the —”

Something glows. I tug my T-shirt down and squint at the dim light. It’s coming from Timas’s gun, from the small control panel
I noticed earlier. Humming, Timas makes a few adjustments and the glow increases, just enough to illuminate the area around
us. He looks up. His grin is firmly back in place, though it looks a bit eerie in the weak green light.

“Remind me to kiss you when this is over,” Shark says, struggling not to smile.

“Me too,” Meera adds. “Seriously.”

Timas shrugs as if it’s no big thing, then raises his rifle so we can see more. We’re in a tight, cramped cave (or spacious
tunnel, depending on how you look at it). The roof is much lower than it was at the entrance and dips even more farther back.
The rocks are jagged and jab into me. The floor is sandy and littered with sharp stones. It’s humid and dusty from the explosion.
But I’m too grateful to be alive and in a werewolf-free zone to feel anything but utter delight — love, almost — for our surroundings.

“How far back does this run?” Shark asks.

“That information wasn’t on the charts,” Timas says, then sets his rifle down. “Wait here.” He crawls away from us. We wait,
breathing softly, nobody needing to be told that air might be precious. Timas is gone for what feels like two minutes… three…
four.

I see him returning before I hear him. He can move in almost perfect silence when he wishes. He returns to his rifle, picks
it up, and sets it on his lap. “The news is both positive and negative,” he says. “The cave is approximately one hundred feet
long, but it doesn’t finish with a wall. There’s a small gap between roof and floor. Air is blowing through from the other
side. So we needn’t fear suffocation.”

“That sounds good to me,” Shark says. “What’s the bad news?”

“The floor isn’t solid.” Timas scrapes a nail through the layers of sand, grit, and small stones beneath us.

“So?” Shark growls.

“This area is riddled with small caves and tunnels. I’ve no idea how large the opening on the other side of the hole is —
it wasn’t on any of the maps — but if it’s large enough to permit entry, or if it can be enlarged, and the werewolves catch
our scent, they’ll be able to burrow through.”

Shark frowns. “If the hole’s small, we could block it.”

“Yes,” Timas says, “but that won’t hold them. As I said, the floor isn’t solid. With their claws, it wouldn’t take them long
to dig through. We could shoot the one in front and use its body to jam the entrance. But the soil here is extremely poor.
Others would be able to dig under or around it.

“But, hey,” he adds with a shrug. “It might never happen.”

“Let’s assume it will,” Shark sniffs, then peers around for me. “What about that window you promised?”

“I’ll get to work on it.” I lean against the wall and rotate the creaks out of my neck. I’d kill for Tylenol.

“Do you need us to be silent, get out of your way or anything?” Shark asks.

“No.” I close my eyes, reaching down to the magic within me. As the others start discussing the situation, I drown out their
voices. There are all sorts of ways to open windows, depending on the mage or magician. Some need to sacrifice a human or
even themselves. Most just use spells. A powerful mage can open a window in half a day, no matter where they are, while others
need several days.

I’ve only opened windows twice before, once in the cave where Beranabus was based before he started searching for the Shadow.
The other was in an area within the demon universe. Both times there was plenty of magic to tap into, and I managed to complete
the window within a couple of hours. It will be hard and slow this time. I told Shark I could do it in a few hours but it
might take me —

Between seven and eight hours,
says the voice of the Kah-Gash, startling me.

“Where were you when I needed you?” I growl silently.

It won’t be enough time,
the Kah-Gash says, ignoring my criticism.

“What do you mean?”

The werewolves will work their way through within the next hour. They have your scent and a few of the smarter creatures are
already searching for another way in. They’ll find it.

I curse, then ask the Kah-Gash if it can help us.

You can help yourself,
it replies with typical vagueness.
First, get out of here. I’ll explain the rest when I have to. You must trust me and act quickly when I give the order. There
won’t be much time.

“Then why not tell me now?” I grumble, but it’s gone silent again.

Sighing, I open my eyes and debate whether I should try to build a window regardless. Beranabus is wary of the Kah-Gash. He’s
not sure if we can use it or if it might attempt to use us instead. Maybe it’s trying to trick me. Perhaps it wants me to
die here, so that Juni can harvest my soul and present it to her new master.

As I’m mulling over my decision, I listen to the conversation around me. Prae is outlining her fall from grace, how Antoine
Horwitzer outfoxed her.

“I knew about some of the experiments,” she says, “but I didn’t know he’d taken things this far. I sensed something foul when
I found out he was training packs to hunt. That served no curative purpose. I delved deeper, exposed more of the rot, and
revealed my misgivings to the board.”

“Let me guess,” Meera says drily. “They betrayed you?”

“I don’t think they were all involved” — Prae scowls — “but most of the members were on Horwitzer’s side. Next thing I knew,
I was being packaged up and posted here, where I’ve been stewing for the last month or however long it’s been.”

“Dervish thought the Lambs were rotten at the core,” Meera says bitterly. “That’s why he had so little to do with them. But
he never guessed they might be in league with the Demonata.”

“I knew nothing about that,” Prae protests. “Dervish never told me anything about demons, even though I pleaded with him to
share his information. If he’d been more forthcoming, perhaps —”

“Don’t you dare,” Meera growls. “This isn’t Dervish’s fault. And even if you weren’t dancing to Antoine’s tune, you certainly
played along when it suited. You already confessed to knowing about some of the experiments. I bet you knew about the breeding
program, right?”

“Not that they’d been bred in vast numbers or to such an altered state,” Prae says quietly.

“But you knew the basics. You approved the general aims of the project. Yes?”

“We needed more specimens,” Prae sighs. “Where else could we get them?”

“I bet you didn’t let your daughter breed,” Meera sneers.

Prae stiffens. “What do you know about Perula?”

“Nothing,” Meera says. “But she wasn’t one of those picked to be experimented on, was she? You wouldn’t do that to your own
daughter. It wasn’t a case of progress at any price. You spared your own.”

Prae looks at Meera miserably and, to my surprise, I feel sorry for the deposed Lamb. I sense guilt stirring within her. Prae
believed she was following the path of righteous experimentation. Now she’s seen the flipside. Antoine Horwitzer could never
have made his move if Prae hadn’t done so much of the groundwork. She’s responsible for a lot of this, and awareness of that
must hurt like hell.

But that doesn’t matter. If the werewolves dig through, the innocent will perish just as gruesomely as the guilty. I have
to decide whether I can trust the voice of the Kah-Gash. Since I don’t have any real alternative, I choose to heed its advice.

“I can’t build a window.”

The others look at me, startled.

“What’s wrong?” Meera gasps. “Has Juni cast a spell against you?”

“No. There isn’t time. The werewolves will find the other entrance. They’ll be on us inside an hour.”

“That’s an interesting prediction,” Timas says. “What are you basing it on?”

“Magic.” I lock gazes with Shark. “We have an hour. I can’t open a window that quickly.”

“Try,” he snarls.

I shake my head. “I’d just waste my power. We need to find another way.”

“There isn’t any,” he says icily. “You were our only hope once we chose this cave over the other options.”

“I don’t think many werewolves are going to gather at the other side,” I tell him. “Only the smartest ones have thought of
looking for another entrance. I doubt if they’ll share their find with the rest — they’ll want us for themselves. If we can
get through those few…”

“What?” Shark laughs cruelly. “Fly out of here? Find another cave?”

“There isn’t one nearby,” Timas says.

“See?” Shark spits.

“But we’re close to water,” Timas adds. “Maybe a three- or four-minute run. The cliff is much lower there than around the
compound. We could jump and probably survive the fall. From this point we’re out of sight of those in the compound, so we
could swim to another island.”

“Where I could open a window!” I cry, excited.

“I don’t like it,” Shark says stubbornly. “We should stay here and stick to our original plan. You can’t know for sure that
they’ll find…”

A vibrating howl stops him. It drifts to us from the narrowest point of the cave. Seconds later we hear the echoes of soft
scrabbling sounds, distant, but not distant enough for comfort.

“An hour,” I repeat glumly.

Shark sighs and raises a weary eyebrow at Timas. “You held back some of the explosives?”

“A few, for an emergency,” Timas confirms.

“Good.” Shark cracks his knuckles. “I think we’re going to need them.”

W
E
wait for them to dig through to us. It’s horrible, sitting here helplessly, the sounds of the tunneling 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 that 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’s 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.…