Josie tirelessly moved around the Honeycomb, which had been converted to a makeshift infirmary for the Efrafan refugees, tending to them. In addition to the battle injuries, she had found, she had several cases of malnourishment, overgrown teeth and poor immune systems, not including numerous complications caused by old wounds inflicted by the Owslafa on their abused slaves.

Most of the battle injuries were successfully treated with some stitches, bandages and antibiotics (with the exception of Bluebell, who was on life support), but there were still many others who required more extended medical care. Mixing a solution of vitamins, iron and other nutrients suit for a rabbit's diet, she filled several mammal feeding-bottles and administered it to those suffering from malnutrition, to help boost their failing immune systems, not wanting to risk administering any vaccines just yet, unsure whether the systems of these future rabbits could handle 21st century medications.

While Hyzenthlay and the other does dutifully prepared fresh straw bedding for the burrows, which they'd be offering up to the injured, Josie checked on Bluebell again. Unfortunately, there wasn't much she could do for the buck's damaged heart, which was damaged beyond repair. Violet, with her kittens alongside, was watching her anxiously.

"Well?"

"I've done everything I can for him," said Josie, "He's stable, but only for the moment." She didn't want to add that Bluebell was in fact on borrowed time. Violet, apparently realising that, nuzzled close to Bluebell, silently sobbing. First Speedwell and now Bluebell. Josie gently patted her between the ears, trying to reassure her, "Don't despair, dear; when Alan returns, he'll think of some way to help Bluebell. For now, let him rest." Wiping her bloodstained hands clean on a towel, she glanced at her watch and realised Hotdog was late. It had been nearly two hours since he'd left to get Alan and the others from Efrafa and still no sign.

Fearing that something had happened to them, she summoned Campion over, who was acting leader in Hazel's absence, "Something's gone wrong. Even if Hotdog had encountered any trouble on the way, he would have informed us by radio. Someone should go back there and find out what's the delay."

"How are we supposed to do that?" asked Campion, "We could reach Efrafa on foot, but we would never be able to venture inside with the bridge destroyed. The only way onto that island is through the caverns at the foot of the cliff; and attempting to swim across the river would be impossible for either of us. Runaway slaves have tried it before and never made it. Without your flying hrududu, I don't see how we could…" But Josie had it all worked out; although they didn't have another plane, they had something else that would do nicely.

"The Zodiac can be manned by the two of us; I think we can make it." Then she suddenly realised she couldn't go; Bluebell needed constant supervision. But the rabbits weren't capable of piloting a motorboat on their own, making it imperative for a human to be part of the search party. Although it seemed pointless, given that Bluebell's chances of recovery were slim to none anyway, she wasn't about to take away Violet's last hope of seeing her mate live to see another day.

The solution presented itself when Lucy, who had been eavesdropping, interrupted, "I'll do it. I can watch Bluebell while you're gone." Although grateful for her volunteering to help, the veterinarian still had doubts; what were the chances of an inexperienced eight-year-old girl being able to use a defibrillator or administer an intracardiac should Bluebell's heart stall? The only way to help her would have to be over the radio, where a lot of things could easily go wrong. Finally, she made up her mind.

After taking a few minutes to pump Bluebell full of medications to keep it stable and hooking him up to a cardiograph machine so they could monitor his vitals – respiration, pulse, heartbeat and blood pressure –, she called Lucy over to tell her what to do. The girl listened carefully.

"...If this reading drops below 80, at any point, it means imminent heart failure," Josie said, pointing to the small laptop with an ECG display and ten electrodes wired up to Bluebell's torso with duct-tape; just a simple, field apparatus they'd rigged up to one of the batteries. "If it goes below this line, you immediately let me know over the radio and I'll tell you what to do." She handed Lucy a walkie-talkie. Beside the cardiograph was also a portable automatic defibrillator, designed especially for inexperienced users, charged and ready in case they were needed.

Making Lucy promise not to leave Bluebell's side while they were gone, and to be ready in case she needed to relay emergency medical procedures for Bluebell on a moment's notice, Josie, Campion and Blackavar, who had also volunteered to come help in the search, left the Honeycomb, leaving Groundsel and Hyzenthlay in charge of the warren.

They headed down to the cove. By torchlight, Josie unpacked the bundle of black-and-orange fabric, which was the boat's inflatable hull, and all the wooden components for the floor. Half an hour later, the motorboat sat inflated and ready in the water. After helping the two rabbits into lifejackets, they pushed off. The boat had no engine, just oars, but that was no problem since the current would carry them downstream straight to their destination. Coming back would be a lot trickier, but they'd worry about that later. With Josie at the oars, they made their way towards Efrafa.

Meanwhile, Woundwort sat patiently on his ledge overlooking the river, waiting silently like a predator about to ambush some unsuspecting prey as it came along. Then, suddenly, he heard it; the familiar alien sound of the hrududu approaching from the sky, returning for the outsiders. He heard it land in the water a short distance away from the island, getting closer. The roaring sound of the engines intensified, as Hotdog taxied in towards shore. Keeping low to avoid being spotted, Woundwort soon saw the hrududu's large luminous 'eyes', which were the landing lights on the wings, as it came round the side of the cliff. He sneered maliciously.

"Feel my wrath, outsiders!"

Just as the plane passed beneath him, with an animalistic roar that echoed off the surrounded cliffs, he jumped from his ledge, falling through open air towards the plane's exposed wing...

Inside the caverns, Alan and his group of eight were making their way down to the cove, glad that this was all finally over. Although exhausted from the battle and all the other hardships they had had to endure over the past few hours, their spirits were high. They were going home!

Passing through the generator room, they suddenly heard the Woundwort's battle roar, followed by a loud bang, which sounded awfully like metal hitting water and breaking up. Alan and the others frowned.

"What the Black Rabbit of Inle was that?"

"It sounded like a roar and..." Alan was saying, but swallowed his tongue mid-sentence; he knew the voice behind that roar all too well. Woundwort! The nine companions looked in alarm at each other; then, they broke into a run, hurrying down the tunnel to investigate.

No! This can't be happening...

Hotdog was nearly there. Suddenly, the high cliffs of the Efrafan Island loomed into view in front of him like a wall. Taxiing the aircraft along the side of the cliff towards the cove, he suddenly spotted the outline of a giant rabbit standing on a ledge right overhead. Was it one of Alan's lads waiting to greet him? Little did he realise that 'lookout' actually meant big business!

Suddenly, Hotdog heard a loud, chilling roar right above his head. Before he could even register what kind of creature could roar like that, something heavy came crushing down onto the tip of the starboard wing, throwing the plane off-balance.

"WHAT THE DEVIL?"

Staring out the window in shock, he saw, with horror, Woundwort clinging onto the edge of the wing, his immense weight pulling the wingtip all the way down so it brushed the waterline, about to capsize the plane. Quickly grabbing the controls, Hotdog gunned the engines to full power, trying to shake that mad rabbit off, but it was already too late. Woundwort's 300lbs body tilted the aircraft onto its side, the water swamping the exposed starboard engine.

The blades of the spinning propeller were instantly shattered as they hit the water, as the mangled engine seized up. With the port engine still running on full power on the other wing and with the submerged wing creating drag, the plane went rolling over onto its back like a tortoise. Water poured into the cabin, shorting out all the electrics. Hotdog was thrown from his seat as his dead plane rolled underwater, taking him with it.

Alan and his group came running out of the cave entrance, hoping it wasn't too late. As they stepped out into the cove, a horrific sight met their eyes: their ride was only a few yards off-shore, drifting straight towards them…upside down! Only the pontoons were still visible above water, the rest of the fuselage completely submerged and with Hotdog trapped inside it, probably drowned. And standing atop the overturned pontoons, like a predator atop the body of some large prey, was Woundwort, looking horribly battered from his many injuries, but very much alive and dangerous. The evil rabbit was laughing maniacally in triumph.

"You may have won the battle, outsiders, but not the war. Revenge is now mine!"

Woundwort jumped from the capsized aircraft as it drifted by, landing in the shallows before them, a triumphant gleam in his savage eye, his many ugly wounds and burns making him look like a demon vomited out of hell. The wrecked aircraft drifted on downstream towards the rapids, taking Hotdog with it to a watery grave.

Recovering from the shock of seeing Woundwort alive and the apparent death of Hotdog, Alan furiously grabbed his shotgun to shoot Woundwort dead and avenge his friend, only to discover it was empty, completely useless and at the worst possible moment. They were sitting ducks.

They all stared back at Woundwort with expressions of horror and hate. The tyrant slowly advanced on them, a murderous look written on his grotesque face, "It's over for all of you, outsiders; you all die here tonight, alone and forsaken by your friends! But never fear; your story will be legend – a warning to all who'd continue fighting this war that has long since been lost…"

"GROWAAAR!"

Suddenly Bigwig sprang at Woundwort, "We'll see just who's lost, chum!" In an instant, the two warrior rabbits were engaged in a furious fight, each trying to tear the other to pieces. But Alan could see Bigwig couldn't hold his own against Woundwort for long. Seizing his chance, he hurryingly reloaded his shotgun with his last bullet he'd found in the lining of his pocket.

Die already, you stubborn bastard!

Supporting it best he could against his shoulder with his good arm, he aimed at Woundwort and fired, expecting to finally send that bastard into the next world. But, in the midst of the brawl, the brute rolled out of his line of fire, so that Bigwig was caught in the path of the bullet instead; it only grazed the Captain of Owsla's shoulder but caused him to stagger and allowing Woundwort to gain the upper hand. With one powerful, bear-like blow, Woundwort struck Bigwig down.

Alan stood frozen in shock at what he'd just done. Woundwort fixed him with a taunting gaze, "You see, Time Traveller? You are the foretold instrument of doom just as so many feared. Your own friend's blood is now on your hands!" Before he could throw another taunt however, Woundwort suddenly found himself pinned to the ground by Silver, who had taken on the enemy, intent on avenging Bigwig.

"You are the right-paw rabbit of the Black Rabbit himself, Woundwort!" he growled, "But I will still kill you myself!"

Although the Threarah's nephew didn't have Bigwig's strength, he still had a great deal of fat tucked beneath his furry hide, giving him the advantage of being able to pin an opponent down with his massive weight, even a fiercely strong brute like Woundwort. Having succeeded in temporarily gaining the upper hand, Silver started clawing and biting viciously at Woundwort's neck, trying to bring him down. The savage rabbit howled in pain as Silver ripped off a strip of torn skin from a shoulder wound, exposing the bloody flesh underneath.

For a moment it looked as if Silver would win, but Woundwort, fuelled with determination for revenge, suddenly gave a violent kick, knocking Silver off of him and turning the tables on his opponent. Quickly losing against his stronger adversary, Silver shouted to his friends, "Run! Never mind about me, just go! Run!"

Seeing that Silver was beyond help now, just like Bigwig, they all turned tail and run back up the tunnel. As they run, they heard a loud thump, followed by a cry of pain, telling them Silver had been overpowered as well. They could hear the pattering of heavy paws behind them, as Woundwort abandoned Silver and gave chase. As they reached the generator room, they turned and saw Woundwort gaining in on them; soon he'd be upon them and they would all be doomed. But Alan had one last trick up his sleeve.

On the edge of the tunnel stood the old mining cart, where they'd stored the unloaded fuel from the plane. Although Alan hated to waste it this way, it was their only chance. Heaving with all his might, the rabbits assisting him in his endeavour, he toppled the heavy cart over onto its side. The fuel went splashing across the cavern floor, forming a river down the tunnel that led to the cove. He took McEwen's lighter from his pocket.

"Everyone, get up the tunnel as fast as you can! I've got an idea…" The others looked at him, "What are you going to do?"

"Try and slow that bugger down," Alan replied, lighting the Zippo. Just as he saw Woundwort appear at the end of the tunnel, he tossed the burning lighter into the river of fuel. Knowing he only had a second before a fireball engulfed the whole cavern, he turned and followed his companions up the passage and into Buxton Hall.

They barely managed to seal the trapdoor shut, before an inferno was unleashed in the caverns below; unbeknownst to any of them however, they had completely forgotten about the second nitro canister, still lying in its hole in the cavern wall, where Robbins had planted it. Although diffused, the heat of the flames was slowly causing its unstable contents to boil, which would eventually result in a rather large explosion, right beneath their feet.

They all held their breaths, wondering if Woundwort was finally toast; sadly, that was not to be the case, when they heard their nemesis' voice down the tunnel where he'd fled at the last second, escaping the flames, "That was good thinking, ithe; pity that all fires must someday burn out. Your lives are mine and there is no one to save you now!" They all stared miserably at each other.

There was no other way to put it; they were trapped on this rock, with no help coming and with a maniac killer on the loose, hunting them down. They all turned to look at Alan, who was pale as a ghost, looking terribly distraught. There was no reason to ask why; it had been his bullet that had allowed Woundwort to overpower and kill Bigwig. Silver too, who had sacrificed himself to give them this chance to escape, had fallen to Woundwort because Alan could do nothing to help him. Hazel put a comforting paw on his shoulder.

"Alan, it wasn't your fault…"

At this, Alan lost it, "NOT MY BLOODY FAULT? IT WAS MY DAMNED GUN THAT STRUCK HIM DOWN, ALLOWING WOUNDWORT TO FINISH HIM OFF!" he bellowed, sinking to his knees overcome with guilt and self-hatred, just like when Robbins had killed his wife. This was all his fault, his mistake, and there was no way to sugarcoat it. Forcibly pulling himself together somewhat, reminding himself that he still had six companions to get off this island alive, he stood up.

"The bastard is right; that fire won't keep him at bay for long. Pretty soon, he'll find another way up to us. I just hope it stalls him long enough for me to get one more distress signal out on McEwen's radio."

"What's the point? There's no way they can get here in time before Woundwort has finished us all off!" retorted Hawkbit, shuddering with fear at their predicament. With them trapped here, Woundwort would only continue hunting them down, killing them off one by one. He dreaded the thought of ending up being the last one to die; watching Dandelion and so many of his friends die in the other history had been enough to last him a lifetime. Alan, probably thinking along the same lines, ran his hands through his hair, thinking.

"We have to get off this island at all costs," he said, "We can't just wait holed up in here, hoping that help will get to us before Woundwort does. Once I send out that SOS, we're getting the hell out of here – even if it means swimming for it."

"Great, if Woundwort doesn't kill us, we go drown ourselves instead!" Hawkbit groaned sarcastically. Although it sounded like plain suicide to brave the river – the weir would almost certainly kill them –, Alan had one last-ditch plan worked out. The parachute! They had used the parachute from Max Pete's ejection-seat to cross the canyon and into Efrafa; so now, they could use it once again to get off this island. But first they needed to let people know of their situation.

Switching on the makeshift transmitter McEwen had contrived out of the junk they'd stripped off the Cessna, Alan started broadcasting a message, "Mayday, mayday, mayday! This is Alan, transmitting from Efrafa. Woundwort is still alive and after us; Hotdog's gone, along with the plane. If you chaps can hear this, we could use a rescue right away." He repeated the message on every frequency, hoping someone back on the Down might hear it, an unlikely a prospect as it was.

"Can they hear us?" asked Hazel as the man continued to fiddle with the improvised transmitter. Without a receiver, they had no way of getting a reply, to know if their signal had gotten through. Alan shook his head in frustration, "How should I know? I'm not on the other end of this thing. And it doesn't matter anymore; the power's gone." Sure enough, the little green light on the circuit board dimmed and went out as the battery died. They were completely on their own now to save themselves. Alan tossed away the now useless headset.

"We're finished here, chaps; it's time we took our chances and got off this death island. We have the four lifejackets from the Cessna and we also have the one from Max Pete. Let's go!"

They left the manor, taking with them the parachute and lifejackets, and made their way to the edge of the cliff. Like everywhere else on this island, the cliffs were completely vertical, like walls, with a thirty-foot drop into the river far below. Looking over the edge, Alan saw the bottom of the canyon was ablaze; the burning fuel they'd spilled had leaked from the cave into the river, creating pools of flaming kerosene in the water.

The parachute was spread out neatly on the ground and its cords untangled. Luckily, it hadn't been torn during their first, near-disastrous jump across the canyon. And, unfortunately, this time it would be far, far more dangerous with that fiery hell down there. The fact that they were eight of them, rather than six, on the already overloaded parachute didn't make things any better.

"You still think it's a good idea?" Hazel asked Alan, looking wearily at the inferno below. Alan, who was also staring uneasily at the flaming water below, shook his head, "It definitely isn't; but it's our only hope. At least the life jackets will keep us from drowning should we not make it to the other side." Then he suddenly realised that they had a problem; they were two lifejackets short. It seemed they would soon have to draw straws once again, to decide which two unlucky blokes would have to take their chances in the water without one.

Before he could point it out however, Fiver's terrified scream caught them all off-guard. Turning, they saw Woundwort, who had finally found his way up, emerge from the foliage, blocking their way to the jump point. Alan felt his insides turn to ice. Now they were standing face to face with a deadly opponent and with nothing to fight back with. Quickly picking up his heavy backpack, Alan swung it in the air and threw it at Woundwort, hitting him square in the face. Caught by surprise, the savage rabbit staggered backwards, but was still far from beaten.

There was no time to use the parachute now, so they turned and fled back to the hideout for cover, with Woundwort in hot pursuit. Running as fast as they could up the weather-beaten steps of the porch, they entered the ruinous hallway, slamming the metal doors behind them. Alan picked up the copper pipe McEwen had been using as a draw-bolt and wedged it through the handles, barring the doors shut. Not a second later, they heard a terrible bang on the other side, as Woundwort attacked the doors, trying to force his way in. The thin pipe was quickly starting to buckle under Woundwort's powerful attacks; any moment now, it would give way and they would once again be at his mercy.

"Down to the sewer tunnel! We can get out through there!" Alan shouted and they all bolted, heading for the Turkish bath in the basement, where they hoped to escape back outside, grab their parachute and lifejackets and jump. But as they reached the stairs that led down to the basement, they saw the whole downstairs was engulfed in thick smoke, coming from the bath; the fire had spread topside, making it impossible to get out through the sewer tunnel without danger of suffocation.

"No, the smoke is too thick. Go back!"

They hurried back the way they'd come, hoping to find another escape route upstairs. But, by that time, the pipe keeping the front door barred could take no more punishment and finally gave way; the doors burst open, revealing Woundwort on the war path, his insane red eye gleaming in the dark like that of a demon's, as he confidently strode into the ruinous hallway growling, "Prepare to die, outsiders!"

Picking up a loose brick that lay on the floor, Alan flung it in the direction of Woundwort, hitting the savage rabbit square in the eye – his weakest spot. Woundwort howled in pain, holding his paw against his hurt eye, temporarily stalled. In that instant of distraction, Alan signalled to the others to retreat in the only direction left to run: upstairs, to the roof.

Running up the crumbling marble staircase, they made their way up to the ruinous upper storeys. Finding no escape route on the first floor, they continued climbing, until they reached the underside of the shattered dome above the hallway and made their way out onto a dodgy walkway that run the full length of the roof. The curved brick rooftop had disintegrated long ago, leaving only the collapsed rusted framework that once held up the tiles.

Looking frantically around, Alan saw they were trapped; the walkway dead-ended a few yards up ahead on the edge of the roof. Below them stretched three storeys and a long drop down the side of the cliff into the river. A jump from so high up was nothing less that suicide. Behind them, they could hear the pattering of heavy paws as Woundwort relentlessly followed them up the stairs, hungry for their blood. This time, he had them cornered.

The seven friends backed away towards the far end of the roof; before them was a long drop to a nasty death into the depths of the canyon far below, and behind them was a vengeful and murderous Woundwort. Alan cursed himself for not grabbing that parachute still lying outside on the edge of the cliff. At least then, they'd have a chance… But, like Woundwort had said, this time, there was nowhere else left for them to run.

Suddenly, just when Alan was about to suggest that they take their chances and jump, and maybe they'd get lucky, they were startled by a large shadow suddenly move across the moon, followed by a cheerful voice calling from right above their heads,

"Need the lift down there, you chaps?"

They all looked up in surprise and saw their balloon, repaired and re-inflated, floating right above their heads, piloted by none other than…

"Derek? Is that you, you bloody old dodger?" cried Alan with great joy and relief, realising his childhood friend, whom they'd presumed dead, had made it after all. Derek Shaw, looking dirty, unshaven and his clothes in rags, yet very much alive, smiled down at them. The rabbits were all cheering with joy, realising they were going to be saved thanks to Derek's timely return. The engineer dropped a grapnel anchor on a line to anchor the floating balloon down onto the ruined rooftop, so they could climb onboard.

"Sorry I'm so late, you chaps. I had to wait for the wind to shift so I could make it back. Well, come on then, we haven't got all night!"

Hazel went first, followed by Fiver, Dandelion, Hawkbit, Blackberry, and finally Holly pilled in after them. Alan was just about to climb in too, when he suddenly felt himself being tackled violently to the ground; Woundwort had finally caught up and lunged himself at him. By the time Derek or any of the others could get out of the basket to help him, he'd be dead meat. But at that moment, something totally unexpected happened: a loud explosion.

BOOM!

Like the first explosion that had destroyed Efrafa only hours ago, this one, coming from right beneath the manor, was just as catastrophic. The forgotten nitro canister down in the caverns had finally overheated in the inferno and detonated. The collapsing mine tunnels underground caused a violent earthquake throughout the island as the earth shifted. The ancient mansion, crumbling after all these centuries, couldn't take it and came collapsing down in a pile of rubble, just like the World Trade Centre in New York had done centuries ago.

Both Alan and Woundwort felt the roof crumble and disintegrate beneath them, as the last remnant of Red Hand's old safehouse came crashing down. In another instant, they found themselves hanging in the air from the loose grapnel line still attached the basket. The balloon floated free above the ruined island.

Derek and the rabbits instantly grabbed hold of the rope, trying to pull him onboard. Gripping the grapnel line for dear life with his good arm, Alan looked down and saw Woundwort was clinging to his legs, using both teeth and claws. The weight of the monstrous big rabbit clinging to him made him feel like he was been slowly dismembered, the shoulder of his good arm screaming in agony, about to become dislocated under the strain.

"We're too heavy! We're going back down!" Derek shouted. Looking beneath him, Alan saw that they were sinking straight into the depths of the canyon – right into the blazing inferno from the flaming kerosene that had leaked into the river! They were falling to a nasty, fiery death.

Using every ounce of strength he had left, Alan kicked furiously at Woundwort, trying to shake him off, bruising and bloodying him up even more in the process; but the Efrafan dictator stubbornly held on, almost as if oblivious to pain. Sure enough, his grotesque face curled into an ugly, knowing sneer and Alan realised what he was doing. He's going to take us all down with him into the fiery pit!

Unable to pull himself up with only one arm and far too much weight on the rope for his friends to pull him up, Alan finally understood what had to be done. Resigning himself to his fate, he looked down at Woundwort, "You want another life so you can go and rot in hell for good? Then take me!" He saw Woundwort's eyes widen in fear, as the evil brute realised what Alan meant to do. For the first time in his life of war and death, General Woundwort knew true fear, realising he was about to die.

"No, wait! Don't...!"

Alan turned his gaze back up to Fiver, who was still heaving desperately onto the rope with the others, trying in vain to pull him up, "Farewell, ma rusati. Please look after Lucy for me." Then, giving his friends one last look, he let go of the rope. The two adversaries fell together through the smoke and flames, down into the black water. The balloon, relieved of the excess weight, soared skywards again, carrying the rest of its passengers to safety.

"NOOOOOOOOOOO!"

They all staring in horror over the side of the basket at the flaming water, which had just become Alan and Woundwort's watery grave. Derek stood frozen in shock, pale as a ghost, while Hawkbit, Dandelion, Blackberry and Holly looked on in silent grief. Hazel had to restrain a hysteric Fiver, who seemed about to jump over the side too.

"Fiver, no! You can't help him now! Alan's dead; his sacrifice saved us all. But he's gone."

Fiver sunk tearfully into his brother's embrace, feeling as if his heart was being cut out with a sharp claw; Alan, whom he had come to love like a brother, had died just when he had won the war for them, before even having a chance of truly becoming a part of their lives. Fiver felt even more sorrow as he wondered, how would he ever explain this to Lucy? Although the final battle had been won, Fiver felt anything but victorious.

Author's notes: Disappointed? Well, don't be. The story isn't over yet! Coming up next, Josie's group arrives and rounds up the rest of the survivors and you'll learn what happened to Alan and Woundwort… Enjoy and please review!