Chloe kept her foot down, pushing the car closer and closer to the blockade. Her eyes were wide and staring.

"Slow down, Chloe," Abe begged. "You are going to get us killed!"

"What he said!" Mitch seconded from the back.

The closer they got to the blockade the more they could see – the trailers, vans, trucks and cars were lit up like Fourth of July parade. There was even a fire truck; anything that would block the road into town.

And standing in front of that wall of vehicles was another wall, this time of humanity. Hard-faced men and women carrying shotguns.

At the last moment Chloe stamped on the brake and swung the wheel around, turning the 4x4 into a screaming sideways stop. She left the engine running and jumped out, hands raised as she strode toward the blockade.

"My name is Chloe Tousignant!" she called. "We are expected!"

"You rock up here and just expect us to let you through?" one man called.

In the car, Mitch went to open the door. Turning, Abe put a hand on his shoulder to stop him.

"Wait in the car," he said. "We may need to make a hasty getaway."

"Getaway? Getaway where?"

"Someplace where the wolves are not!"

"We are being chased by wolves!" Chloe was shouting. "Look, my contact is Marcel Laporte, he is with the Service Canadian du renseignement de sécuritié – the Secret Security Intelligence Service!"

"Chloe?" a light, melodic voice called from the back of the blockade. "Chloe Tousignant?"

"Marcel!"

A small, neat man pushed his way through the crowd, bursting out between two much larger men. Despite the rough and ready appearance of those around him, he still wore a charcoal-grey suit.

"Let these people through," Laporte ordered, his French accent as crisp as Chloe's. "You, you –" he pointed at several burly guys, "stand by to repel the wolves. Tranquilisers, s'il vous plait! We are not savages!"

A flurry of movement broke the shadows as people scurried to obey him. Just as the first wolves galloped into sight a throaty tumble of engines signalled a break in the blockade.

Chloe leapt back into the 4x4, slamming the door behind her.

"How do you do that?" Mitch asked as she edged the car forward.

The crack of tranquilisers echoed through the air. The wolves, still some distance away, dropped. The others scattered.

"Do what?" she snapped, steering a skilful path through both the people and the blockade.

"Scream at people and get them to do stuff."

"It is a particular skill French women have!" she shot back. "Now shut up and let me concentrate!"

Chloe stopped the car on the other side of the blockade. The city streets were deserted – every vehicle, it seemed, was being used to maintain the blockade.

"This'll keep the bigger animals out," Mitch said as they got out. "For a while, at least. But what about all the cats and dogs that were already here? What about all the birds, and the rats, and the gerbils and pigeons and chickens?"

"Chickens?" Abe snorted.

"People keep chickens as pets." Mitch was defensive. "I saw it on the Discovery Channel, so it must be true."

"Ahh… I would suggest we stay away from meat dishes until we leave town," Abe laughed. He ducked his head inside the car. "How are you doing, Rafiki?"

Jackson looked terrible. His skin was pale and clammy, his eyes huge and round in his head. His hair was slick against his forehead.

"I think I'm…" He leaned out of the car and vomited. Abe stepped back just in time. "…sick," he finished.

Chloe turned at the retching noise. She made a face, but she still hurried around the car to him.

Another car idled toward them. Laporte leaned out of the passenger window.

"Marcel!" The two embraced, dropping Continental kisses on each other's cheeks. Her smile seemed to drain some of the tension from her face. "What is going on here? This is worse than D.C!"

"The same as is happening everywhere – the animals are out of control!"

"Chloe?" Jackson mumbled, using the car door to pull himself upright. "You going to introduce us?"

"There will be time for niceties later, Monsieur…?"

"Oz. Jackson Oz."

"Mr. Oz. Forgive me saying, but you do not look well. Would you like a doctor?"

"I thought you'd never ask," Jackson said, and passed out.

Laporte recommended a hotel. Chloe met Mitch in the bar. Jackson and Abe were still at the ER.

"Look," Mitch said as soon as Laporte entered the room, "I don't mean to sound ungrateful, but we've got a boat to catch –"

"I am aware of your needs," Laporte replied. "It is I who arranged your boat. It will not depart until you are ready. Besides, we must wait for a favourable tide."

"Just for the record," Mitch said, sinking low in his seat, "I've got a really bad feeling about this."

"Given the nature of your journey so far, I am not surprised."

Jackson and Abe entered the bar. Seeing them, Chloe raised her hand, a ready smile lighting her face. They wandered over and sat.

"How are you doing?" she asked.

"Doc cleaned out the dog bite," Jackson replied, touching his arm. He pulled his sleeve up to reveal a clean, fresh bandage. "Gave me a shot and a course of antibiotics."

"You are feeling better?"

"I'm not throwing up." Jackson's smile was faint, but it was there. "That's a good start, right?"

"I have booked you rooms here for the remainder of the night," Laporte explained. "You should eat – if you can," he added, looking at Jackson, "and grab a few hours of sleep."

"Just, uh, just when is the boat going?" Mitch asked.

"When the tide turns. At dawn, Mr. Morgan."

"How about a beer?" Mitch slumped in his seat.

Aippaq tramped back into the house, his face was uncharacteristically grim. Jamie switched the TV off and jumped to her feet.

"What is it? What's wrong?"

Aippaq went to the window, beckoning her to follow. She peered through the glass. It was utterly dark outside; there wasn't another inhabited house on the island.

Aippaq pulled a small square of plastic from his pocket and pressed a button. Floodlights filled the compound with sterile white light. He stomped out of the room.

"Oh my god, is that a bear?" Jamie asked, shielding her eyes from the momentary blinding glare. "And is that bear trying to… dig… under the fence…?"

When Aippaq returned he was carrying a shotgun. He stumped out into the yard. Jamie watched, lungs tight, as the old man set the gun to his shoulder and sighted.

A massive bird, wings outstretched, flew at him. Aippaq yelled as he tried to cover his face.

"Is that… is that an eagle?" Jamie exclaimed, clutching at the neckline of her borrowed, five-sizes-too-large jumper.

A second bird joined the first, both going for Aippaq's face. The man was no fool – he scurried back into the house, slamming the door behind him just as an eagle launched into a dive-bomb attack. The bird pulled out at the last second, screeching with anger.

"You're hurt!" Jamie rushed over to the man, who was already dabbing a rag at deep scratches on his face. He waved her away.

She ducked into the kitchen and rummaged around in the cupboards, finally finding what she was looking for – a medical kit. She went back into the living room to find Aippaq shrugging out of his coat.

"I don't know what we're going to do about the bear," she said, face stern, "but we can do something about those scratches." She pointed to the sofa. "Sit your keister, meister."

Aippaq gave a hefty sigh that needed no translation – women! – and sat.

"Right," Jamie muttered, opening the kit. "I don't know where you are right now, Mitch, but you'd better get here – fast."

"I thought dawn was supposed to be – well, lighter than this?"

"This is false dawn," Jackson told Mitch as they walked up the boarding ramp. "The sun will rise any minute now."

"And aren't you just fresh and perky today?"

"You can thank the antibiotics and a couple hours sleep."

"Plus, he was not drinking until long after the rest of us had gone to bed," Abe laughed, clapping Mitch on the back.

"Yeah, could you maybe, I don't know, whisper?"

"The sea is no place to have a hangover," Chloe remarked.

Mitch stopped and held his hands out. "And yet, here we are."

"I'll try not to laugh too much while you are throwing up over the side of the boat." She slipped an arm around his shoulders, gave him a brief, faux-friendly hug, and boarded.

"Everyone's a comedian," Mitch grumbled. "Let's see you laugh after I puke on your shoes."

Marcel Laporte was already waiting for them when they were all aboard. He was dressed as they were, in heavy coats and thick scarves. Several men in bright yellow slickers pulled up the boarding ramp.

"Good morning," he greeted them. "I am glad to see you are, what is the expression? 'Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed?'"

"Can I kill him?" Mitch groused, leaning with his elbows against the railing. "Just a little bit?"

"Ah, Monsieur Morgan, I am informed you imbibed rather freely of the bar tab I set up for you."

"Looks like I'm paying the price now." He covered his mouth.

Jamie watched the bear with pathological intensity. Aippaq tried to get her to come away from the window. There was no way she could do that. So she sat through the long, silent stretch of night, occasionally dozing and then jerking into wakefulness.

Aippaq went to bed. At first she couldn't understand how he could be so casual about the bear's presence, especially not after those two birds or… eagles or… whatever the hell they were had attacked him. Then she watched the bear some more.

The earth was frozen. The bear would spend a few minutes scrabbling at the soil, making the hole a little wider, and then rest. The morbid part of her mind knew that the digging would go quicker if the wolves helped out, but although she'd heard their howls she hadn't seen them since her escape attempt weeks before.

But could the wolves' claws even make a difference on the packed earth? It was taking the bear time and effort. His claws were bigger, stronger.

"Don't question why the animals aren't banding together to eat you," she mumbled.

When the first red stains of dawn crept across the horizon she heard Aippaq rising, then heard his sure tread as he moved about the house. A few minutes later he draped a blanket around her shoulders and brought her a hot, steaming cup of coffee. She accepted it with thanks.

He turned the floodlights off. The bear was still there. The hole was getting bigger.

So she watched. And she waited.

"There we go," Jackson said, holding Mitch's shoulders as he hung over the side of the boat. His tone wasn't as sympathetic as it could be. "Just let it all come out."

"Is Chloe laughing?" Mitch gasped. "I'm sure I can hear her laughing. Annoying and French, such a winning combination."

"How do you have any friends?" Jackson asked.

"Are we friends?"

"Come on… if you were a lady I'd be holding your hair out of your face."

The boat had been at sea for about ten hours now. It was a lovely day, wall to wall blue sky, playful white crests to the waves.

"I am not laughing now," Chloe said, wandering over to the two men. Her face was serious, her gaze turned to the sky. "I am watching those birds."

Mitch straightened, his face pale, his hair mussed. Jackson shielded his eyes and looked up.

"That's a pretty big flock of gulls," he said. "This is a fishing vessel, right? So under normal circumstances I'd say they'd learned to follow the boat."

"But these are not normal circumstances, Rafiki." Abe joined them. He looked as solemn as Chloe.

"I don't really care for birds," Mitch said, "not after they tried to turn my ex-wife and daughter into human shish-kebabs."

"Relax," Laporte reassured them. He'd been talking to the captain, a sturdy man with wild grey hair. "You have nothing to fear from these birds. They cannot harm the boat."

"Not really the boat I was worried about."

As if to counterpoint his words a seagull shrieked and spiralled down from the flock. Another broke away. Then another.

"They're attacking!" Laporte yelled as more of the flock began to dive toward them. "Find some shelter!"

"Shelter on a fishing boat. What, do I just jump in the hold?" Mitch asked. "Do we even have a hold?"

"Shut up and hide!"

Jackson hustled the hungover scientist toward the wheel-house and shoved him inside, already looking for Chloe. Abe had found a large tarpaulin and was busy encouraging the French woman to climb under. Then he wriggled beside her just as the first seagull completed a dive-bomb attack. Seeing his friends were safe – or as safe as they could be – Jackson slammed the wheel-house door shut behind him.

Seagulls dived and shrieked. The glass of the wheel-house cracked from the impact of multiple bird attacks.

"Well, this is awkward," Mitch said, trying to ease himself a little space. Several members of the crew had made it inside. "Hi, how you doing?"

"Your breath stinks of vomit," one fisherman said.

"You say the sweetest things."

"Quiet!" Jackson commanded, peering through the cracked windows. "Can you hear that?"

The birds had fallen silent. They were pulling up, pulling away.

"I don't hear anything…"

"Listen, will you?"

A low, moaning sound echoed through the boat.

"Oh please tell me that's not what I think it is," Jackson begged.

Under the tarpaulin, Chloe and Abe were shaken but unharmed. The noise rolled over the boat, making the deck vibrate.

"Qu'est-ce que c'est?" Chloe demanded, her voice high and tight with fear.

The sound came again, low and mournful. Almost otherworldly. The waves parted and a massive, wedge-shaped tail broke the surface, rising majestically into the air. A second later it slammed down.

"That is totally what I think it is," Jackson said. "OK, I'm out. We're doomed."

"It's a whale," Mitch groaned. "Of course it is. Because we couldn't just have a normal, ordinary sea voyage."

Some large body struck the boat. It juddered. The blow came again, harder. The vessel made an ominous, metallic creaking noise.

"I never thought I would die like this," Abe said, poking his head out from the tarpaulin.

"I would say everything will be fine, but…" Tears glimmered in Chloe's eyes, unshed but close. "How did you envision your end?"

"Surrounded by many beautiful women," he replied.

There was another large blow. Below deck, the creak of metal became a groan and then a shriek as something gave way.

Chloe took his hand. "Well, there is only one woman on this boat, so I suppose that makes me the most attractive."

"You are a very beautiful lady." Abe met her eyes and didn't look away. "And very strong. I had hoped you and Jackson…"

The fishermen – finally realising that their boat was doomed – rushed from their hiding places, giving Jackson and Mitch some space.

"Man the lifeboat!" the captain howled.

"The lifeboat!" Jackson cried. "Of course!"

He went to follow the fishermen, but Mitch caught his arm. Another massive impact rocked the boat, and now it began to list.

"Wait! The whale is making mincemeat of this boat – what d'you think it's going to do to the lifeboat?"

"I'd rather die trying to live than die after I'd given up on life," Jackson spat, sudden disgust on his face. "Jamie deserves better."

Mitch recoiled as if he'd been slapped. Moisture reddened his eyes. He swallowed, swallowed again. Jackson turned and followed the fishermen.

A second later Mitch followed him.

"That was a low blow," he muttered.

"Worked though, didn't it?"

"We're still gonna die."

"Hey, I got us out of the city."

"Out of the frying pan and into the fire…"

"Don't quote Tolkien at me –"

The boat gave a violent shudder. Chloe scrambled out from under the tarpaulin; Jackson saw her and helped her up. Abe followed close behind. The footing had become so unsteady they could barely stand.

One more hard shove from below was all it took. The boat, already listing dangerously, went over completely. The humans on board slid into the ocean, screaming, clutching desperately at anything they thought would save them.

A massive grey-black tail broke the surface, rising like the tower on a submarine. Then it smashed back down. The air was filled with the triumphant shriek of seagulls and the haunting, unearthly song of a whale.

The daylight was fading when Jamie finally succumbed to exhaustion.

She'd watched the bear all day, barely moving, her agitation growing with every passing second. The hole was getting bigger. The bear was moving even more slowly than the frozen earth would suggest; it was almost as if it was toying with them.

She didn't want to credit the bear with that much intelligence. But given everything she'd seen over the last five months, everything she'd experienced, she had to.

Aippaq had tried to go out again and again, but each time he tried he was attacked by birds. Sometimes it was the eagles. Sometimes it was starlings, sparrows, seagulls. Each time he came scurrying back into the house, scratched and bloody.

She realised she had to give in and go to bed when she woke from a short, deep sleep, still at her post in front of the window. Her muscles ached. Her head ached. She stumbled away from the window toward the room Aippaq had given her. She just had the presence of mind to grab the sat phone.

Seconds later she collapsed on the bed. She stabbed Mitch's number into the phone, held it to her ear. Just one quick call before she went to sleep.

It rang… and rang… and rang…

Grit. Grit against his cheek. Jackson tried to open his eyes and found them gummed shut.

He moved his arm. It hurt. He moved his other arm and that hurt. Slowly he rubbed his fingers against his eyelids, wincing. Then they were open.

The world swam into focus, bleary, distant. He saw dirty grey-yellow sand and a dark smudge, a moving, blue-black smudge that had sound attached to it…

Memory rushed back. The boat. The seagulls, the whale. He must have washed up on an island somewhere. It was a miracle he was even alive. The others…?

He staggered to his feet, his vision still blurry. He squinted. He was soaked, freezing, his jacket long since gone. His limbs felt leaden.

He saw a body twenty feet away. Ten feet beyond that was another. And another. And another. Jackson lurched toward them, dropped to his knees at the first.

It was Mitch. Jackson pressed his fingers to the man's throat, desperately trying to find a pulse – there! A weak flutter, but it was there.

"Come on, buddy," Jackson muttered, shaking him, "time to wake up. Come on now."

"Chloe. Chloe, wake up. Wake up!"

Chloe's eyes snapped open. She sat up and wished she hadn't – she was frozen, her jacket lost, her hair unbound and tangled.

Abe hovered over her, ready to shake her again.

"Thank God you are alive!" he said. "The others… they didn't make it."

"Jackson?" Panic tinged her voice.

"I can find neither Jackson nor Mitch. It is possible they washed up on another island…"

"Laporte?"

"I cannot find him, either."

"Then… then we are alone," Chloe said, wrapping her arms around herself.

A deep roar made the dying light suddenly alive.

"Not anymore," she said.

Mitch was battered and bruised but very much alive. He'd lost his glasses but had got into the habit of always carrying a spare pair in his pocket – which he pulled out now. They were wet, of course, but they'd been protected inside their case. He cleaned them off and put them on.

"They're all dead?" he asked.

"All the fishermen I could find, yeah," Jackson replied. He was shivering violently. "I just checked Laporte." He shook his head.

"Chloe? Abe?"

"Can't find 'em." His voice cracked. He looked away.

"Jackson, I'm sorry…"

"They might not be dead! We washed up, didn't we? So could they!"

"You're right, you're right. Of course they could. We'll look for them."

An enraged snarl ripped through the air.

"If we live that long, of course…"