by Amy Cross
"We going to die, aren't we?" I ask.
He swallows hard. There's a worried look on his face. "Aye," he says. "There's a good chance that we are".
"A good chance?" I say, surprised by his optimism. "Do you really think there's any way out of this?"
He pauses, clearly not sure what to say, and then eventually he shakes his head.
Nearby, the wolf cub that Darla saved is limping past. Just a child, it seems lost and confused, and no-one seems to be taking care of it. Then again, why bother? Why show it kindness now, just for that kindness to be wiped away when the humans attack?
"His parents are dead," says Hamish. "Killed back there".
"It's not right," I say.
"Course it's not," he replies. "He watched 'em die. The same way Darla watched her parents die, the same way Duncan watched his parents die -"
"Duncan watched his parents die?" I ask.
Hamish nods. "When the humans were clearing out some of the smaller werewolf colonies. Duncan was lucky to escape with his life. But he saw his parents being slaughtered. Long time ago, though. I'm sure he's completely over it by now, eh?"
"Sure," I say. "Darla too".
"Darla's at peace now," Hamish says. "As long as I knew her, she was at war with herself. Like Duncan, she saw her parents die. But with Darla, something died inside her, something that never recovered. There was a kind of bitterness that she tried to cover with jokes and bad humour, but it came out sometimes. Anger, too. Whereas Duncan seems to have found a way to cope with his memories. God knows how. I could never... Where is he, anyway?"
I shrug. "He went to check the perimeter or something".
Hamish laughs. "Like that'll do anything. He should know that there's no point doing things like that".
I pause, not sure whether it's appropriate to ask the next question. "I saw something," I say. "The other day, when Duncan was mourning a friend of his who had died".
"Who was the friend?" Hamish asks.
"His name was Garvey".
Hamish nods. "I knew he was dead, but... how did it happen?"
"He was poisoned," I say.
Hamish seems genuinely troubled by this. "Aye," he says. "I haven't seen Garvey seen I gave him the slip just after we left Dedston -"
"The point is," I say, interrupting, "when Duncan was mourning Garvey, I saw his silhouette and... for a moment, he turned into something else".
"Aye," says Hamish. "We're werewolves. We tend to do that".
"No. Something else," I say. "Not a wolf. Not a man. Something else. I couldn't see what, but... Do you have any idea?"
Hamish shakes his head. "Where is the old bastard anyway? How long does it take to check a fucking perimeter?"
"I guess he's still hoping there's time to come up with a plan," I say.
Hamish nods. "Duncan's always been good at coming up with plans. Got us out of plenty of tight spots in the past. But..."
"But what?" I ask.
Hamish smiles sadly. "Everyone runs out of plans at some point," he says.
Robin calls Hamish away, so I wander over to the injured wolf cub. I guess because he's so young, he's healing slowly. His side is bruised and one of his paws is cut and bleeding. He looks pathetic, and weak, and he stares at me as if he's begging me to help him. I guess he doesn't understand the situation that we're in, he doesn't know that everything is looking so hopeless.
"Hey," I say, sitting next to him. "Don't worry. Everything's going to be okay". I instantly hate myself for saying that. There's no point giving the little guy false hope. Everything's not going to be okay. Everything's going to be very, very not okay.
He stares at me for a moment, and then he shifts into his human form. A little boy with blonde hair and pain in his eyes, he keeps staring at me. "They're coming, aren't they?" he asks.
"It'll be okay," I say.
He tries to move, but the pain is too strong. He clutches his side. "It won't be okay," he says. "I saw what they did". He stares at me. "They killed my parents".
I shake my head, but I don't know what to say. The kid's right. Is there any point trying to deny the truth? The humans were ready to kill him before Darla intervened, and there's no reason why they won't go all the way just as soon as they get their hands on him again. I look around the hall. There are about thirty werewolves gathered here now. It's hard to believe that the once proud werewolf species has been reduced to a gathering of just thirty or so survivors, waiting around in a hall until the humans come and finish exterminating them.
"Hey," says a familiar voice behind me. I turn to find Duncan has returned. "How's it going in here?" he asks as he sits next to me. He has a kind of dazed, resigned look on his face. The funny thing is, I was hoping he'd return with lots of energy, with some crazy plan all worked out.
"How do you expect?" I ask. "How's that plan of yours going?"
"Working on it," he says weakly.
"Time's running out," I say.
"I know," he replies. There's tension in his voice, perhaps a little fear. "I'm working on it".
I laugh. "You can't give up, can you?" I stop laughing, and it hits me: was that the last time I'll ever laugh?
"You never know," he replies. "I might come up with something. It's worth a try, just in case".
"Maybe you're wrong," I say.
He turns to me and frowns.
"You said there's always a way out of any situation," I say. "But maybe you were wrong. Maybe there's no way out of this situation. Maybe you're looking and looking, but the problem isn't that you can't see it. It's that there just isn't any way out". I suddenly remember the child sitting next to me, but when I turn, I see that he's wandering away. I look back at Duncan. "Maybe there's no way that the humans can be defeated".
"Maybe," says Duncan. "So what do you think I should do? Bend over and kiss my own ass goodbye? Kiss your ass goodbye?"
I shake my head. "No. But maybe... Look, these might be the last few minutes of any of our lives. Do you want to spend that time desperately trying to come up with a plan, or do you want to spend it... thinking about the things that are important to you?"
He stares at me. "Like what?"
"Like... I don't know like what, but maybe it's time to think about who you really are, and who in your life has been really important to you".
He seems genuinely surprised by what I'm saying. "What about you?" he asks. "When I first met you, you were running from your parents. Why?"
"It doesn't matter," I say.
"Tell me," he says. "What did they do to you?"
"Nothing," I reply. "Can we -"
"What did you do to them?"
I close my eyes for a moment. This isn't how I imagined the conversation going. Eventually I open my eyes. "I'm a bad person," I say. "A really, really bad person. I've done... terrible things to people who really loved me, people who really didn't deserve it. I don't want to talk about it, but my family are a lot better off without me. That's why I'm so desperate to get rid of the human side of my mind, to become fully like you".
Duncan puts an arm around me. "I don't know what you did to your family," he says. "But I know one thing. You're not a bad person, and you never could be".
"That's nice of you to say," I reply. "But I am. Or I was".
He shakes his head. "I don't believe that".
"You're an idiot," I say.
"I know," he replies.
There's a moment, just a moment, when neither of us says anything. We just sit there in the moment. And then, slowly, Duncan leans in and kisses me. We've kissed before. We've made love. But this is the first time he's ever kissed me properly, tenderly. It's a kiss with true feeling, true passion, maybe even true love. I guess I'm getting a little overly romantic here, but I've never kissed anyone like this before. And it seems to last forever, until suddenly he pulls away.
"YES!!!" he shouts.
"What?" I murmur.
He turns to look across the Great Hall. "YES YES YES!!!" he shouts again
. He grins at me, his eyes bright and alive. "I've got it!"
"Got what?" I ask.
Around us, other werewolves are starting to pay attention to Duncan's excitement.
"A plan!" he shouts. "I've got a plan! The perfect plan! The perfect, perfect plan!"
I stare at him, not sure what to say. "You want to share?" I ask.
He smiles. "Okay, I'll admit... I had part of the plan already worked out, but there was a little part that I couldn't get right. I was... Oh, I'm so stupid sometimes. Stupid stupid stupid! I need... I need..."
"You need to tell us what this plan is," says Robin, who has come over to us. "Right now".
"We can do this!" Duncan says. "We just need a few things -"
"What?" I ask.
"A laptop," he says. "With an internet connection. And chickens. Lots of chickens. And... and... and some kind of sewing machine, and some fabric. Green, preferably, but we could make do with any dark colour".
"Seriously?" I ask.
"Seriously," he says.
"This is going to work?" I ask.
"Yes!" Duncan shouts. "Okay, all we need is a little time to -"
There's suddenly a huge explosion nearby and an entire side of the Great Hall crashes to the ground. Huge chunks of stone collapse, making an earth-shattering sound as they smash onto the marble floor. As smoke pours through the hole in the wall and human soldiers pour into the Great Hall, I look over at Duncan. There's total shock in his eyes. I don't doubt that he finally managed to come up with a plan, and I'd love to have heard the details, I really would. But I think it might all have been a little too late.
6.
"Progress?" Withers barked into the radio.
He waited. All he heard back was static.
"Give them time," said Chaucer. He didn't like impatience. Having been trying to kill the werewolves for so many years, Chaucer understood that it would take time, and he didn't mind waiting a little longer. In fact, the anticipation of victory was almost as strong a sensation as victory itself. "A few more minutes won't make much difference".
It had been ten minutes since a crack group of two dozen commandos had stormed the Great Hall. Smoke was now rising from the building as small fires broke out, and there was the occasional sound of gunfire. Chaucer remained outside, watching from a small mobile command unit. He had to keep track of the overall situation, to understand whether the operation was running as smoothly as possible. He had air support ready to call in if necessary. Hell, he could just bury the werewolves in that building if necessary. But he had every confidence in the commandos. They had been trained for a situation such as this. They were the best of the best, the top soldiers in the British army. Some of them had been in Iraq and Afghanistan. They were ready.
"Something's wrong. They should be out by now," said Withers. He was more concerned than Chaucer, believing that the job would not be so easy.
"Patience," Chaucer reminded him. "If a job is to be done properly -"
"If they're not out in ninety seconds," Withers said, "something's wrong". He turned to Chaucer. "We have to consider sending in reinforcements".
Chaucer sniffed. "Ninety seconds is a long time," he said. "Don't worry. I know these boys. They'll get the -"
"There!" shouted Withers.
A couple of commandos came running out, dragging a badly injured figure. They headed for the vaporiser and threw the body inside. The distinctive grinding noise rang out, followed by the flash of the body being destroyed for good.
"Operation complete," said a crackling voice over the radio.
"Casualties?" Withers asked urgently.
"All the enemy accounted for," said the voice. "Hold". There was a pause. "At least one confirmed fatality on our side, possibly a couple more. Coming out now".
Chaucer grabbed the radio. "Do you have Duncan?" he barked.
"Hold," said the voice on the radio.
"Do you have Duncan?" Chaucer said again.
There was static for a moment, before the voice returned. "Yes, Sir. All targets identified, including Duncan".
Chaucer smiled as he watched the commandos carrying bodies out of the smoke. All the bodies were now in their humans forms, and all were seriously injured. They could heal, of course, but for that they would need time, and Chaucer wasn't planning to give them time. One by one, they were fed into the vaporiser. Chaucer would have found it immensely more satisfying to see them die in their wolf forms, but the most important thing of all was to know that the werewolf menace was finally destroyed. He counted each one, until finally three commandos carried a kicking, struggling and bloodied figure towards the command platform.
Withers stared open-mouthed.
"Duncan?" asked Chaucer, unable to stifle a grin. "How nice to finally meet you".
The commandos threw the figure to the ground. Covered in blood, with wounds all over his body, he looked up at Chaucer with a strange look in his eyes. Was it hatred? Anger? Fear? Chaucer wasn't sure. But it was the face of someone who had lost. Someone who had been beaten, and who knew it.
"What's wrong?" Chaucer asked. "Cat got your tongue?" Without warning, he kicked the figure in the face, knocking him backwards. "I don't know if you've heard much about me," Chaucer said, "but I've heard a bit about you. After the Wolf King, you're apparently the next most dangerous werewolf".
Although he tried to speak, the figure had suffered such a large injury to his lower jaw, the bones was almost hanging from his face. Sure, it would heal if given time, and Chaucer considered for a moment the possibility of giving Duncan that opportunity. After all, was it not appropriate for two great enemies to have a final conversation before one of them was inevitably killed? Then again, Chaucer knew that Duncan was not his greatest enemy. That had been the Wolf King, with whom Chaucer had endured many defeats before finally killing him earlier that day. No, maybe Duncan was just another werewolf after all.
"What are you waiting for?" Chaucer asked, smiling, turning to the commandos. "You know what to do with him".
The commandos dragged the figure away. Though he struggled valiantly and was almost able to get free, he was eventually carried to the door of the machine Without any hesitation, they threw him in and there was a loud grinding sound, followed by the flash of the vaporiser.
"One more!" shouted a soldier as the last of the injured was dragged out and taken towards the vaporiser. A girl, not much older than her early 20s, she somehow looked as if she didn't belong here. There was something about her, something almost human in her face. Probably one of Duncan's little girlfriends, Chaucer thought as he watched her being thrown unconscious into the back of the machine. The familiar grinding noise rang out, and Chaucer waited for the flash, but nothing happened. Instead, the commandos seemed to be waiting for something.
"Is something wrong?" Chaucer asked.
"No, Sir," said Withers. "It's just... that girl was the last one, Sir. The last werewolf".
"So vaporise her," Chaucer said.
"The men were wondering, Sir," Withers continued, "whether you would like to be the one to press the button. To kill the last ever werewolf?"
Chaucer smiled. He stepped away from the mobile command platform. When he reached the van, he found commandos waiting for him. "I'm honoured," he said, reaching over and pushing the button on the side of the van. There was a flash, and the last werewolf was vaporised.
"It's done," said Chaucer, turning to look at the smoking ruins of the Great Hall.
"Scans confirm it," said Withers as he came over. "There's nothing left inside. Nothing left anywhere. No more life-forms detected".
"Victory," Chaucer said.
"Yes, Sir," said Withers. He checked his watch. "5:01pm, Sir. Operation Lupine Howl is officially complete".
Chaucer nodded. He'd waited for this moment, waited decades to finally be able to kill the last werewolves. Now that the moment was here, he wasn't quite sure how to react. "When we're gone," he said, "launch an air assault on their Great Hall. De
stroy it completely. I don't even want that monument to their existence to remain".
"Yes, Sir," said Withers.
Chaucer spoke into his radio. "Get me Number One," he said.
There was a pause, and then the upper-class voice of an elderly lady came over the airwaves.
"Yes?" she asked.
"Operation Lupine Howl is complete, Your Majesty," Chaucer said.
"Excellent," said the voice, and the radio went dead.
Chaucer closed his eyes and sniffed the air. "Do you smell that, Withers?" he asked.
"Smell what, Sir?"
Chaucer smiled. "A world without vermin. A world without werewolves. Can't you tell? They're gone. This land is free again. Free from their poison". He grinned with satisfaction. "Not many men can say that they've done what we did today, Withers. We wiped out an entire species. We killed them all. We put an end to the werewolf line forever. And we did it because we had to. Because they were vermin and they had been causing us trouble for long enough. I only wish the rest of the country could be told about what we did, so that they could celebrate our victory".
Withers didn't say anything. He didn't particularly like seeing an entire species destroyed. Whatever Chaucer said, it was an act of genocide. As he headed over to the command post to update the data, he couldn't help but feel a sense of sadness that a proud, ancient race had been exterminated.
For Chaucer, though, this was nothing more than total, deserved victory. It was a sign of his brilliance, that he had done the job that so many of his predecessors had said was impossible. He felt no more sadness than an exterminator feels after destroying a nest of bugs. And he knew that the best was yet to come. For although the general population knew nothing of this war against the werewolves, things were going to change. Chaucer smiled as he thought of what was to come. Everything believed the end-game had been played. But Chaucer knew that the final act in this glorious war was just about to begin. The extermination of the werewolves was just the first step.
7.
"Extraordinary," said Captain Lucas a couple of hours later. He'd arrived too late to witness the destruction of the werewolves, but he'd been fully briefed and he'd been given a quick tour of the remains of the Great Hall. He'd demanded to see all the data, to check everything, but he was finally satisfied. "Chaucer," he said, "I don't often congratulate soldiers. I don't think it's very good form. But what you've done here today is nothing short of a miracle. And for that you must be commended".
