"What did you see, Fiver?"
"It was Silverweed, calling to me from the depths of a black abyss where he was falling," explained Fiver with a shudder, "He said a sacrifice had to be made to save someone's life, and that he was content. Then, the darkness consumed him whole. I...I think he's dead."
They were down in the Honeycomb, in Hazel and Hyzenthlay's burrow. Pipkin had stirred up the Chief couple in the dead of night, with the urgent news of Fiver's vision. Holly, who had been out on night patrol, had immediately summoned Alan, who'd want to hear this. The six of them sat together in the small cramped burrow, trying to make some sense of this unexpected development.
"Silverweed's gone?" gasped Holly in alarm, "For a sacrifice? What sacrifice? You don't think this has something to do with Little Threar, do you?"
"I don't know," said Fiver, feeling at a total loss, "I've never had a vision like this before."
"Maybe he's still alive," said Hyzenthlay, hoping that maybe her nephew had in fact survived. Of all the rabbits of Watership Down, she never gave up hope on anyone or anything, a trait that had kept her alive during all those seasons as a slave in Efrafa.
Alan was thinking in silence. All these mysterious occurrences; the disappearance of Woundwort's body, Little Threar's visions of Woundwort being resurrected and of Darkhaven, and now Fiver's vision with that message from Silverweed – somehow didn't fit into all of this. Those hostile mercenaries were real all right and they were definitely targeting them. Most likely, they'd also stolen Woundwort's body, perhaps to give them a scare. So why did all these visions keep pointing out the immediate threat as being their long dead foe? What were they missing here?
He thought of Silverweed and cursed himself for not insisting the seer return with them to Watership Down, where he'd be safe. Had those thugs caught up with him and killed him? And then there was that other vision of Fiver's, about Vleflain being in danger. Alan didn't need to be a seer to know that something big was about to happen and meanwhile here they were, cooling their heels. They had to act now.
"We need to warn Groundsel as soon as possible," he said finally, "It can't wait till morning. Let's just hope he's got enough sense to see reason. At least, that's a start."
"Should I have Bigwig arouse his Owsla then?" asked Holly, "You should have an escort for protection..." But Alan shook his head.
"No, just you and Hazel will do," he said, "Let's not drag half the warren out there in the dead of night, only to discover it's a false alarm. The three of us can do a reconnaissance and deliver our warning to Groundsel without a fuss. Otherwise, he might accuse us of attempted invasion and Blackberry will find another excuse to drag my name through the hraka again."
Ten minutes later, Alan, accompanied by Hazel, Holly and Pipkin, who'd also volunteered to come along, were on their way to Vleflain in the motortrike, to alert their neighbours of Fiver's vision. Unfortunately, none of them realised the enemy was already one step ahead of them...
Under the cover of darkness, the mercenaries' raiding patrol, led by Woundwort, followed Vervain towards Vleflain. The wolves were closing in on the sheep pen, thirsty for blood...and vengeance. Woundwort stared in dismay at the warren's sorry lack of security, compared to Efrafa's, where nothing could ever get in or out. Another disappointment from those traitors who'd obviously learned nothing from serving him, he thought.
Signalling to his human henchmen to circle the warren, making sure nobody would try and escape, and wait for his command to attack, he and Vervain made their entrance.
Coming within sight of the warren, they were intercepted by a night patrol, which had picked up the scent of the approaching intruders. Several burly Owsla rabbits, led by the newly promoted Lieutenant Aspen, Moss's successor, suddenly appeared out of nowhere, barring their way forward. But, even the best Owsla training in the world wasn't enough not to scare the courage out of them, as they laid eyes on their former master, having returned from the Shadowlands. Woundwort smirked at their fear.
"I will rebuild my empire and you will be my first subjects. Bow before the Dark One and pledge your loyalty!"
The shock of seeing Woundwort resurrected didn't last long. Their warrior instincts kicking in, Aspen's rabbits sprang at Woundwort, trying to pin him down with their weight. But the latter, whose physical strength had been enhanced almost ten times that of what it had been before his death by the virus, easily sent them all flying like rag-dolls.
His killer instincts set off by his desire to make these worthless vermin who had deserted him suffer, Woundwort flew into a murderous frenzy. One by one, he pummelled, clawed and bit at his helpless opponents, leaving their mangled, bloodied and broken bodies scattered all over the grass. The sight of all this death and destruction his newfound strength had unleashed filled Woundwort with a most invigorating feeling; now he was truly a god amongst mere mortals, with the power to destroy any enemy fate threw his way.
By that time, the commotion had awoken the rest of the warren. Groundsel, flanked by Campion and his Owsla hurried above ground to investigate, stopping dead in their tracks at the sight of Woundwort. Campion muttered a silent prayer, realising what this meant for them all. Beside him, Blackavar, who'd joined the Owsla shortly after settling down in Vleflain with Leaozen, muttered a curse. Woundwort surveyed them all, like a cat about to devour a cornered mouse.
"Well, aren't you going to kneel before your returned leader?" he demanded in all of his arrogance, "All rabbits are expected to bow in the presence of the great General Woundwort! Or do I smell treason here? Weak, pathetic fools who thought they could get away with turning their backs on their master?"
Groundsel took charge, glaring defiantly at Woundwort. For the love of Frith, he had no idea how Woundwort had come back from the dead, but he wasn't about to let his people be slaves to this mad-rabbit and his insane cause again. He was Chief Rabbit of his own warren now, and he and his Owsla would defend their people to the death if necessary. He narrowed his eyes at Vervain, who was smirking gleefully at their predicament.
"You betrayed us, you miserable worm!" he hissed, realising this was all his doing, "Just wait till I get my paws on you!" He turned back to Woundwort.
"We don't recognise your authority any longer, Woundwort," he said coldly, "You have no place among us."
"'Woundwort?'" said Woundwort, frowning dangerously at Groundsel's sad lack of respect, "Not sir? Not General? You dare talk back to your master with such disrespect, Officer Groundsel? I'm most disappointed."
"It's Groundsel-rah to you, Woundwort, and you have no jurisdiction here!" growled Groundsel, losing patience, "You're not welcome in Vleflain, so leave now, or you'll be killed!" To prove his point, his Owsla got into attack formation. As big a brute as he may be, Woundwort couldn't possibly take on one of the biggest Owslas in the whole Meadows of Fenlo single-handedly! But Woundwort was completely unconcerned.
"You should know that the Dark One doesn't answer to the commands of mortal rabbits!" smirked Woundwort with a chilling smile. Campion, who had participated in many sieges with Woundwort in the past as an Efrafan Captain, knew that expression well. This wasn't good at all.
Sure enough, the Vleflain Owsla saw a small army of humans, all armed with semi-automatic rifles and grenade launchers appear through the trees, surrounding the warren. Woundwort, they realised, was now an ally of his own species' worst natural enemy, who served him as his new Owsla! Against the darkness of night, with his black fur and glowing red eyes, he looked like the Black Rabbit of Inle himself. And the worst was yet to come.
"You're all guilty of high treason towards General Woundwort and towards Efrafa!" Woundwort went on speaking, "You failed me when you allowed the Outsiders to destroy Efrafa; and then, you cowards committed the ultimate betrayal when you abandoned my legacy and made peace with my enemies! Not one of you sought to avenge me, or continue my noble work. You believed my death marked the end of my great ancestor's quest for power and accepted the Outsiders' false promises for freedom and peace. Well, you fools thought wrong! General Woundwort is and will always be indestructible!" The time for talk was over.
"I have no use for weak traitors, whose hearts were never true to my cause. You've proven yourselves unworthy of serving me and, therefore, you have forfeited your rights to live." He turned to his henchmen and in a booming voice he ordered, "Destroy them!"
The mercenaries raised their weapons and began indiscriminately gunning down every rabbit in sight. At the same moment, Campion ordered his Owsla to counter-attack. But, while the Vleflain Owsla greatly outnumbered the mercenaries, alas, they were no match against their overwhelming firepower.
Groundsel was the first one to fall to enemy fire. The last thought that went through his mind was damning Woundwort to Inle and the hope that someone might avenge them someday. The mercenaries laughed as they continued the massacre, chanting about the pleasure of animal sport. Woundwort stared down at Groundsel's bullet-riddled corpse.
"You see, you fool? No one can escape the wrath of the Dark One!" he said, "My will prevails again!"
Several Vleflain rabbits made futile attempts to take Woundwort down, but found themselves up against a creature of supernatural strength that neither man nor beast could match. No matter how hard they fought, they couldn't inflict so much as a single scratch on Woundwort, who easily ripped them apart. Pretty soon, the ground was awash with blood and corpses pilling up.
"Owsla, take up positions outside the entrance runs!" ordered Campion frantically, as he and his remaining Owsla fought to defend their warren, "Don't let them get inside!"
His few surviving officers, many injured and maimed, regrouped, desperately trying to regain control. But it was no use. For every one or two mercenaries they took down, the enemy would take out ten of their own with their grenade launchers. And those who went up against Woundwort himself were even worse off.
Woundwort waded through the battlefield, killing one rabbit after another. Surging his way through the guards tasked to defend the main entrance run, he made his way below. While his thugs took care of the enemy Owsla above ground, he would personally take care of the heart and soul of the warren – the does and kittens. And why not? After all, he had to eradicate the entire bloodline of all these traitors, or their descendants would someday become his new enemies.
Making his way down the run, he was ambushed by Blackavar, who suddenly appeared out of nowhere, blocking his way. Fearing for Leaozen and all the others who had taken refuge below, he had followed, intent on stopping Woundwort himself. The two enemies stared hatefully at each other.
"I remember you," said Woundwort, "The troublemaker Blackavar. I see your first punishment wasn't enough to teach you respect to your superiors, slave." Blackavar, who had lost his sister Thrayonlosa, as well as his ears, to Woundwort's Owslafa, glared at his enemy with intense hatred.
"You will not be taking away my family again, you beast!" he growled, standing his ground, even though he knew he was probably going to die, "Come any closer and I'll send you back to Inle where you belong!" Woundwort narrowed his eyes dangerously at Blackavar.
"Stand aside, you fool," he said, "You can't fight me!"
Taking advantage of Woundwort's distraction, Blackavar suddenly lunged at him, going for his neck. Using speed and the narrow run to his advantage, he managed to latch himself onto the back of Woundwort's neck, trying to snap his spine. But this was a fight he couldn't win.
Forcefully shaking his attacker off of him, Woundwort slammed Blackavar down onto the burrow floor. Keeping him pinned, he seized him by the throat, ripping it open. Torrents of blood flew everywhere, drenching the burrow walls. Blackavar's cries of agony were drowned by his own blood flooding his mouth, as the last flicker of life left his body.
Discarding his fallen opponent in a pool of his own blood, Woundwort headed off down the run, looking for more victims.
Meanwhile, the does of Vleflain and their kittens were huddled together in their burrows, hoping they would be safe from the conflict raging above ground. When the alarm had been sounded, the Owsla had ordered them below ground immediately, placing the entire warren under lockdown. But the sounds of rapid gunfire and death cries told them things were getting out of control.
Leaozen was sitting with Nyreem and Riltha, as the three friends tried to find comfort in each other's company. Leaozen, who was going to be a mother very soon, was trying to keep the peace, despite being worried sick for Blackavar. Nyreem was fretting like mad.
"What's happening?" she whimpered, "Oh, Frith, what are we going to do?"
"Hush, dear, everything is going to be all right," said Leaozen, "Captain Campion knows what he's doing. We'll be safe."
Suddenly, they heard a thunderous roar up the run, followed by the strangled cry of a dying rabbit. All of the older does remembered such cries from Efrafa, where the Owslafa would often drag a suspect away without warning, to torture or kill him. Leaozen was on her feet in an instant, as she recognised the death cry of her beloved mate. All of her confidence had deserted her and panic had taken over.
"Blackavar? Oh no, Blackavar!" she cried. Ignoring her friends' pleas not to go up there, she sprinted up the run, in a crazy attempt to help him. Not a moment too soon, a second death cry was heard, followed by a sickening bashing noise. The does heard something tumbling back down the run and then Leaozen's lifeless body appeared before them, with her skull caved in. Nyreem screamed.
Snapping out of her trance of shock, Riltha pulled Nyreem to the far end of the burrow. She knew she wouldn't be able to save herself, but at least she might be able to save her friend. They could already hear the loud thudding of heavy paws approaching. Whatever had killed Leaozen was coming for them! They had to hurry.
"Quick, start digging!" she whispered at Nyreem and together they started digging a scrape in the burrow floor. Does are by nature good diggers and, within seconds, the scrape was ready. Riltha pushed Nyreem inside.
"Keep very quiet and whatever you hear, don't come out!" she said, "You'll be all right."
"Wait, what about you..?" asked Nyreem, realising Riltha was saying goodbye. But her friend didn't give her a chance to argue. Shifting the loose earth with her forepaws, she covered up Nyreem, making sure she was completely hidden from sight.
At that moment, the largest, most ferocious-looking rabbit she had ever seen entered the burrow. The sight of his dark fur and mouth crimson, dripping with blood from his slain victims chilled Riltha to the bones. Slowly, she backed away until she was cornered against the burrow wall. She shut her eyes in terror as Woundwort closed in on her.
Lazily raising his gigantic paw, he struck her hard over the head. With a cry of pain, Riltha fell to the ground, bloody but unfortunately still alive. With no sense of pity or emotion, Woundwort fell upon her, crushing her bones, going as slowly and as painfully as possible, before finally finishing her off by snapping her neck. For an instant, he thought he heard a whimper coming from over his shoulder. Could there be more scum hiding down here like cowards? Luckily, he didn't notice the disturbed earth nearby, where the scrape concealing Nyreem was.
Satisfied that he had killed those two does, he moved on, to comb the rest of the warren clean of this pestilence that had once been his subjects. From her hiding place, Nyreem was spared the sight, but could do nothing to block out the terrible cries of agony and death that echoed throughout the warren, as all the does and kittens of Vleflain fell to Woundwort's wrath. The worst crime a warrior rabbit could commit against his own kind.
Above ground, the mercenaries had finished off the last of Vleflain's Owsla. The field was now strewn with the broken and mangled bodies of dozens and dozens of slain rabbits. One mercenary was striding amongst the dead with a pistol, shouting anyone that still showed any signs of life. The rabbits of Vleflain had been completely wiped out, exterminated. All but one.
Woundwort rejoined his henchmen, who stood towering above the still breathing Captain Campion. The entire left side of his face was horribly mutilated from a grenade blast and he had taken a bullet to the shoulder. There wasn't any more fighting left in him. The thug with the pistol moved in to shoot him dead too, but Woundwort stopped him. He and he alone was to decide on Campion's fate. He stared down at the rabbit he had once trusted with his life.
"You see, Campion? General Woundwort cannot be defeated; not by death and not by all the Owslas in the world! Such a pity; you threw away a glorious future when you betrayed Efrafa in favour of your Outsider friends. Now you're getting your just reward, traitor!" Despite his pain, Campion glared up at his former mentor, now-turned-enemy.
"Consider it my highest honour, General," he spat defiantly at Woundwort, "Are you going to kill me then, or are you going to make me fight you to the death?" If he was going to die like the rest of his comrades, he would do so standing proud and defiant to the end. He wouldn't let Woundwort have the satisfaction. But his enemy had a very different agenda.
"Oh, no, Campion," said Woundwort with a chilling smile, "Death is far too good for you; I want you alive, to suffer the consequences of your actions." Campion smirked.
"If you think you can have me beg for my life under torture, I spit on you!" To prove his point, he spat Woundwort right in the eye. The murderous rabbit narrowed his eyes.
"Look around you, Campion," he said, gesturing at the ruined warren and all the slaughtered rabbits lying about, "They're all dead because of you – it was your treachery that brought my wrath upon them. You killed them, Campion, and you will have the rest of your life to bear the burden of your mistake!"
Those words hurt Campion badly. Woundwort's accusations had the desired effect, because, in fact, they were true; if he hadn't rallied his fellow Efrafans into revolting against the General during the Battle of Efrafa, Woundwort wouldn't have targeted them now. And the worst was yet to come.
"Your Outsider friends are next, Campion, and their fate will be even worse than yours!" Woundwort taunted him, "Your fellow traitor Hyzenthlay, that miserable ithe Johnson and that pathetic excuse for a Chief Rabbit Hazel-rah, all of them will lose everything, thanks to you. And I will make sure they are forced to watch as I kill all their beloved ones...!" Something inside Campion snapped.
"You miserable hrakamarli, I'll kill you!"
Despite the pain of his injuries, the threat to his friends' lives sent an adrenaline rush through Campion and he sprang at Woundwort in one last desperate effort to take him down. He would tear that bastard limb from limb! Caught by surprise, Woundwort couldn't dodge Campion's paw, which slashed him across the face, drawing blood.
Woundwort staggered backwards. For a split-second, Campion thought he might have an advantage, but as he looked, he saw something which froze him in horror. The fresh wound on Woundwort's face was disappearing; the deep gash he'd inflicted was healing at an impossible rate. Almost as quickly as it had appeared, the wound had knitted, not leaving even the faintest trace of a scar. Campion was petrified, as the truth sank in: Woundwort was no longer mortal!
Woundwort had had enough. Snarling furiously, he struck Campion, knocking him to the ground. Then, he hit him again, this time over his already injured head. Campion's world faded to darkness, which he hoped was death, to end his suffering.
Woundwort stared down at Campion's broken body. He could tell the rabbit who had betrayed him was incredibly still alive. Not that it mattered much. One more blow and he'd be dead like the rest of these traitors, but Woundwort needn't finish the job himself. Without help, the elil, no doubt attracted by the scent of all this blood, would soon put him out of his misery. Just what the traitor deserved, he thought.
"You feel this, Vervain?" he asked his servant, raising his blood-stained paws to catch the moonlight, "My destiny prevails!" Nearby, Vervain was being violently sick at the sight of all this carnage. Being more accustomed to dealing with prisoners within the safety of Efrafa, this massacre his master had unleashed upon the rabbits of Vleflain had shaken him to the core. Woundwort ignored him. Right now he had bigger carrots to swallow.
"Let's move out!" he called to the mercenaries, who regrouped and the raiding party departed, leaving behind no survivors other than the wounded Campion, leaving him to die alone amidst the bodies of his slain comrades. All, except one other survivor.
It felt like an eternity before Nyreem finally mustered enough courage to come out. A deathly silence now filled the warren. The sounds of the battle raging above ground had stopped. What had happened? Where was the Owsla? Why hadn't someone come to tell them it was safe?
At the entrance to the burrow, she found the mangled body of Riltha. Frantically, she checked the other burrows, finding all of their occupants dead. Not one of her friends had been spared, not even the kittens. In another burrow, she found Heather, the late Lieutenant Moss's mate, lying in a pool of her own blood, where she'd died fighting in vain to protect her kittens, which also lay dead alongside her, crushed to death by Woundwort's massive paws. What kind of elil could kill so many rabbits, yet not eat them?
Trembling, Nyreem made her way above ground. She gasped. The field was strewn with a sea of mangled, bloodied corpses of Owsla rabbits. Not a single officer or soldier was left alive. Vleflain was a ghost warren. Nyreem felt panic start to kick in. Was she the only one left? But Frith always looks out for a lone rabbit in distress. Nyreem felt her heart soar as she heard a moan amongst the dead. Someone else was still alive!
Wading frantically through the bodies towards the sound of the voice, she found the second survivor of the massacre: Captain Campion. Nyreem cringed at Campion's horrible state. Half his face was shredded, most of his left ear was gone, as was his eye, in addition to several other ghastly injuries, but he was still breathing. His remaining eye fluttered open.
"Help me..."
In an effort born out of desperation, Nyreem sprang into action. Reaching under Campion's shoulder, she helped him up. It wasn't easy. Injured or not, Campion was still a well-built Owsla rabbit, whilst Nyreem was only a young, runty doe. Campion staggered to his feet, forcing himself to stand. Even in his weakened state, his Owsla training told him they had to get out of here. All these dead bodies would soon attract elil.
"Hold on, sir," said Nyreem, trying to sound more confident than she felt, "I'll get you somewhere safe."
With Campion kneeling against her for support, Nyreem half-carried, half-dragged him away from the warren, towards a rocky alcove on the edge of the woods. This would offer them some shelter. She pushed him inside, where Campion collapsed, having exhausted the last of his strength.
"Sir!" cried Nyreem, thinking he was slipping away, "Please talk to me!" Campion grunted in reply, struggling to stay conscious. Nyreem tried cleaning his wounds, but it didn't do much good. His injuries were too deep and bleeding grotesquely. Very soon, he would go into shock and that would be the end of it.
"Did anyone else make it?" he asked. His voice was weak and raspy. Nyreem shook her head.
"No, they're all dead," muttered the frightened doe, tears rolling down her face, "Frith protect us, sir! What was that...that rabbit?" she cried, still shaken by the memory of Woundwort and his army of killer ithel murdering all those rabbits in cold blood.
"It's all my fault," rasped Campion, "Go...Watership Down...find help..." Realising what he was saying, Nyreem began to panic again. She had never been out on a scouting patrol before, much less at fu-Inle, and her previous escapade with Riltha that had nearly cost her her life made her all the less keen.
"No, sir, please, I can't do this alone!" she pleaded desperately with Campion, "Come on, try and get up! Please don't leave me! Sir!" But Campion had lost consciousness again. He wasn't going to be any help to her.
Thinking he was dead too, Nyreem found herself in the most horrific situation imaginable. Alone and helpless, her warren in ruins and with all of her friends and family dead, she'd never felt so abandoned in her life. What was she going to do now? She couldn't just stay holed up in this alcove forever. She had to get to the Watershipers' warren. It was her only hope.
Making sure the coast was clear, she set off in the general direction of Watership Down, hoping she would make it there in one piece. Had it been daylight, she might have had a fighting chance; in the dead of night however, for an inexperienced rabbit like her, it was almost guaranteed suicide.
No sooner had she lost sight of Vleflain than fear kicked in. She had never been so far into the woods before. With the dim Inle light casting shadows everywhere, the place looked dangerous and utterly frightening. Every little sound, from the rustling of a leaf to the snapping of a twig, had her at wits' end. The elil, she'd heard, preferred the night for hunting, when their prey couldn't see them coming until it was too late. Was this going to be her fate?
Muttering constant pleas to Frith for His help and guidance, she continued walking. Was she going in the right direction? She had no way of knowing. Was she being stalked silently by elil? She couldn't tell. Suddenly, she heard a new sound in the dark. An unnatural sound that no living creature makes – a hrududu. Ithel!
It's them, thought Nyreem in terror. Those ithel that had attacked her warren had never left; they were simply bidding their time under the cover of darkness, like the elil, to lure her out into the open! Sure enough, she saw the hrududu appear through the trees. Its big, glowing white eyes cast their light upon her, making her go tharn. The hrududu was coming right at her, about to crush her!
Losing it completely, Nyreem turned tail and ran for her life. But she didn't get very far. Tripping over a tree root, she landed headfirst in a ditch. By the time she had pulled herself out, the hrududu had caught up. But it didn't run her down as she expected it to. Instead, it stopped right beside her and the ithe riding it dismounted. And it wasn't the marauders at all.
Nyreem's terror turned to utter relief as she recognised the all-too-familiar face of the ithe who had already saved her life once before: the Watershipers' friend, Alan was bending over her. With him were the Chief Rabbit, Hazel-rah and another rabbit she remembered was a member of their Owsla. Help had arrived! Nyreem burst into tears of relief.
Alan, Hazel, Pipkin and Holly had almost reached Vleflain. Alan, who had been expecting a confrontation with Groundsel's Owsla, was puzzled by the curious absence of night patrols. Vleflain was supposed to have top-notch security, yet there were no lookouts. Where was everybody? Holly seemed to notice that too and grew uneasy.
"Something's very wrong here, Hazel-rah," he muttered, keeping his eyes peeled and his ears open, "Where are the patrols?"
"Curious indeed," muttered Hazel, also beginning to suspect trouble. Fiver's vision resurfaced and he cursed himself for not heading the warning sooner, all because of Blackberry. Then, just as they neared the edge of the warren, they saw the outline of a lone rabbit against the motortrike's headlights. It looked too small to be of Vleflain's Owsla, thought Holly with a frown. So what was it doing out here? Alan sped towards it.
At the sight of their hrududu gaining in on it, the rabbit turned to flee only to trip and fall. Alan pulled up alongside it. They all gasped as they realised who it was.
"By Frith, it's that doe, Nyreem!" gasped Hazel, as they hurried over to help her. Nyreem had recognised them too and got her panic under control. But seeing her wandering out here alone in the dead of night told the Watershipers something ugly had happened, a suspicion that was immediately confirmed when they noticed the look of sheer terror written on her face. The poor creature was in a bad state of shock. Whatever had happened to her, she definitely hadn't been sneaking out for a night adventure and gotten lost. Alan knelt down to meet her gaze.
"What happened?"
Nyreem began half-muttering, half-screaming something incoherent in Lapine. Alan didn't understand enough of the language to make any sense, but he did pick up the tell-tale word zorn several times. All those bloodstains splattered on her fur weren't a good sign either.
"She says there was an attack on Vleflain," Holly translated for Alan, "Some hostile intruders – ithel apparently – came from the forest and killed everyone. She says they were under the command of some monstrous rabbit." Alan and Hazel looked at each other.
"Monstrous rabbit?" Hazel asked Nyreem sharply, "Who?" Nyreem shook her head tearfully. Being born post-Efrafa, she didn't know the monster who had killed her friends had once been General Woundwort, to whom her parents had been slaves. The Watershipers had no idea what they had gotten themselves into, not yet anyway. First, they had to get Nyreem to safety.
"Come on, we'll take you back to Watership Down with us," said Alan, patting the young doe reassuringly, "You're going to be all right." Holly and Hazel were trying to persuade her to climb into the back of the motortrike, when Nyreem suddenly remembered Campion.
"She says there's another survivor back there, injured," said Holly. Seeing a tiny ray of hope, Alan immediately grabbed his gun.
"Pipkin, you stay here with Nyreem," he said to his friend, "Hazel, you and Holly with me!"
Leaving Nyreem in Pipkin's care, the three Watership veterans made their way over to the warren. The sight of carnage and destruction which met their eyes was one they wouldn't forget anytime soon.
Alan felt bile rise in his throat as he stared at the mangled, bullet-riddled bodies of the rabbits of Vleflain. Hazel and Holly's eyes were wide as saucers. All these bloodied faces with their lifeless eyes, still open in death, staring back at them filled the Watershipers with anger. Whoever was behind this, had committed full-scale genocide...but why?
I'm going to make the bastard who did this tell us why he did it, before I rip his intestines out, Alan swore angrily to himself. They split up, combing the warren from survivors; Hazel and Alan above ground, whilst Holly searched the burrows.
The light of Alan's flashlight revealed only dead bodies and not a single survivor. It seemed they were too late. Amongst the victims, they recognised the lifeless form of Groundsel. Holly soon returned, reporting he'd also found Blackavar dead down in the burrows, along with all the warren's does and kittens. Hazel was outraged.
"They even killed the does and kittens?" he gasped, feeling sickened at the brutality of all this. What kind of rabbit was above such savagery? Holly nodded grimly.
"This is no ordinary siege, Hazel-rah," he said grimly, "Whoever did this meant to completely wipe out the rabbits of Vleflain. Not even the elil would sink so low, killing kittens in cold blood!"
Their search for survivors seemed hopeless until Holly spotted the alcove where Nyreem had said the other wounded survivor was. Hurrying over, the Watershipers paled as they recognised Campion. Alan drew in his breath. Campion was in such a bad state, at first glance, it didn't seem possible that he might still be alive. But, as the rabbits pulled him out of the alcove, they realised this wasn't the case at all.
Despite the severity of his injuries, there was still a weak pulse and he was breathing. Somehow, fate had allowed Campion, who was meant to die that night at the paws of the vengeful Woundwort, another chance at life. But it was only of minor consolation, because he and Nyreem were all that were left of the rabbits of Vleflain. Alan estimated more than two hundred lives had been lost. The highest death toll in the lagomorphs' history, even worse than the destruction of Sandleford Warren years earlier. There was no telling how badly Campion would take the news if he ever recovered.
Realising they'd lose him soon too if they just sat there, Alan quickly heaved Campion over his shoulders. The three of them made their way back to the motortrike as fast as they could. Placing Campion on some blankets in the back, Alan got out the first-aid kit and slapped several compressors and bandages on his wounds to stop the bleeding. They had to get him to Josie as soon as possible, but it looked like he would live. Sure enough, feeling Alan sticking him with a shot of antibiotic, Campion regained consciousness.
"Campion? Campion, it's us," called Alan, shaking his friend, "Can you hear me? Campion!" At last, Campion's remaining eye fluttered open, locking his gaze with Alan's.
"Water...water, please..."
Grabbing his canteen, Alan titled up the rabbit's head and poured some water down his throat. Campion coughed and splattered. Alan could tell he was in a lot of pain and quickly prepared a shot of morphine. Before he could use it however, Campion's words froze them in their tracks.
"He's back...Woundwort's back! He and those human invaders have joined forces... Killed everyone..." The Watershipers couldn't believe their ears.
"What did you say, Campion?" gasped Holly, "Woundwort is alive? That's impossible!" But what Campion said next really turned their confusion to fear.
"Your warren...about to be attacked...They're coming to Watership Down, to wipe you out...!"
For an instant, Alan and the rabbits looked at each other, before Campion's warning sunk in. Their home was the next target! Like Fiver's vision had foretold, Vleflain had been destroyed; and now Watership Down was next! Muttering a curse for not realising this sooner, Alan got to his feet.
"We have to get back to Watership Down right now!"
Five minutes later, the motortrike and its passengers were making a mad run for home, hoping they were not too late. Alan kept trying his radio, only to find it dead. Nobody was answering on the other end. This night was sure turning out to be something far more than what he'd bargained for. If something happened to Lucy because he'd waited too long, he'd never forgive himself...
Meanwhile, at the foot of Watership Down, a heavily armed platoon was making their way towards the top of the hill, where their informant had said the enemy lair was. Let by Lt Major Schiller and fifty of Crowley's best men, they were here to carry out their planned pre-emptive strike against Johnson's colony. Accompanying the group was a reluctant Hirsh, who had also been sent along, on intelligence collecting. His prize: Drake's journal, currently in Johnson's possession.
The men, all trained professionals, noiselessly circled the perimeter of the Down under the cover of darkness, keeping the Honeycomb and the colonists' compound within their sights. From up here, they could clearly see the enemy didn't have a particularly secure stronghold, which was built more for concealment rather than for withstanding an attack. So far, the only obstacle in their path had been a couple of unsuspecting rabbit patrollers, whom they'd sniped dead with silencers.
Camouflaged and retaining absolute radio silence to avoid detection, the mercenaries surveyed their target with night goggles, noting all of its weaknesses, defences and anything significant within it. All this information was reported back to Major Schiller in hushed whispers.
"Lookouts report half a dozen other patrollers in sight; we'll take them out first and then strike," Schiller informed Hirsh, "Once we've secured the area, you'll be joining the raiding squad over to the house. That's where your ruddy journal must be." He turned to the rest of his men.
"Lt Harvey, you and your lads are on provisions. Your target's that compound; you get as much food as you can carry, plus any intelligence documentation. Whatever you can't take, destroy it. Captain Nicholls, you're in charge of sabotage. I want that windmill, all radios, weapons, food and water sources round here destroyed. Mr Crowley wants absolutely nothing left for these fluffy buggers and their animal-loving caregivers to use against us. The rest of you, with me. We're on the hunt for prisoners...down the rabbit hole!"
Schiller's snipers went first, moving as silent as snow, taking up positions around the warren. Pop! Pop! Pop! The popping sounds of deadly shots were heard in the night, as several members of the Junior Owsla were gunned down without warning. Within seconds, the warren was left unguarded and open for attack. The lead sniper gave his commander the all-clear sign. Schiller then gave the order to attack.
"Move in!"
Switching over from their customary assault rifles and pistols to net-guns and Tasers, with which they could acquire some live prey, as ordered, the mercenaries moved in. The saboteurs went up ahead, planting blocks of C4 on the base of the windmill and antenna array. Others, carrying jerry-cans of petrol for arson, made their way towards the lodge. It was time to throw their unwanted neighbours a surprise party!
The silence of night was suddenly broken by the sounds of explosives going off, as the mercenaries laid siege on Watership Down, looting or destroying everything in their path.
Lucy awoke in the dead of night as if she'd been hit in the face. She thought she'd heard a booming sound outside. What had happened? An explosion? At that moment, she heard the noise again. Something was up. Sliding out of her hammock, accidentally landing on Sandwort, whom she'd invited to spend the night with her to cheer him up, she reached for the light switch on the wall. The lights were dead.
"Frith of Inle, what's all that about?" groaned Sandwort, nursing his sore paw where Lucy had accidentally trodden on him. "What's going on?" But Lucy didn't have time to answer him.
Grabbing a flashlight, she ran to the window and pulled off the blind. The front yard was on fire. She watched as the blown-up remains of the windmill toppled over and went crashing to the ground, which explained this blackout. She could see a group of armed thugs approaching the house, about to break in. They were being besieged!
"Come on, we need to warn the others!" she yelled at Sandwort, who, also realising there was trouble, sprang into action. Together, they hurried down the hallway, banging on everyone's door to wake them up.
"Wake up! Wake up!" screamed Lucy at the top of her lungs, "We're being attacked! Everyone wake up! I SAID WAKE UP, YOU LAZY WANKERS!"
"Cor blimey, what are you playing at, girl?!" snapped Hotdog indignantly, emerging from his bedroom in his nightshirt, cross at being woken up at this hour, "If this is another prank, I'll string you upside down from the tallest gum-tree!"
"My goodness, what's all the commotion here?" groaned Josie sleepily, also emerging, "I've told you not to use such language, Lucy! What are you two up to this time?"
"It's the convicts!" cried Lucy again, going blue in the face from screaming too loudly, "They're here!"
Josie and Hotdog froze, realising what Lucy had just said. The pounding on the door downstairs, which was the intruders trying to force their way in, snapped them back to reality. Hurrying downstairs, they saw cracks appearing on the front door, as the mercenaries worked to break it down. Luckily, the colonists had installed thick deadbolts on all of their doors for just such an emergency. That should keep the mercenaries at bay, but only for a few minutes.
Hotdog ran to the arms' locker and, using an axe, knocked off the lock and hurriedly distributed weapons and ammunition. This was a fight for their lives and where the hell was Alan when they needed him? Derek and Sam were likewise absent, currently lodging over at the field workshop in Efrafa, leaving just the three of them to fend for themselves. They needed backup and fast!
"Josie, get on the radio now!" yelled Hotdog, taking charge of the situation, "We need Al and the others back here on the double! Move! Move!"
With Hotdog piling up all the furniture he could carry to barricade the front door, while Lucy and Sandwort did the same to the back door, Josie ran to the radio room. The lodge's radio was battery-powered in case of a power failure, so it should still work even with the windmill destroyed. But to her utmost dismay, she couldn't get a signal. She didn't know the mercenaries had destroyed the antenna array, to prevent anyone from doing just that.
"Hallo? Alan, this is Josie. We have an emergency!" she kept calling over the radio, but hearing nothing but useless crackle. Desperately, she switched over to Derek's frequency instead, "Deke, it's Josie. We're being attacked and Alan's not answering on his radio. Deke!" Nothing. The radio was dead. They were completely on their own.
"Hotdog, I can't get through!" she shouted at Hotdog, who had taken cover behind the overturned kitchen table, his gun trained on the pile of furniture barring the door. Any minute now, those marauders would come bursting in for the kill or worse, and there wasn't a damn thing they could do about it. Sure enough, they heard a man outside shouting.
"We know you're inside! Come on out now and make it easier on yourself and your rabbit friends!" Josie and Hotdog looked at each other, cold with fear. The rabbits over at the warren! Those thugs were about to attack them and they had no way to warn them! Not unless they could get someone out, past the marauders, to make a run for the warren and sound the alarm.
Grabbing Lucy's arm, Josie led her over to a corner of the kitchen, where there were a couple of loose floorboards concealing a hole which led down to a disused crawlspace underneath the house. Although too narrow for the adults to fit through, Lucy and Sandwort just might make it. Frantically removing the floorboards, she pushed Lucy inside. Sandwort followed right behind her, anxious to get out of here.
"You kids get to the Honeycomb, get everyone down to the HAB and cut the elevator ropes," said Josie. In case of emergencies, the colonists had one safe place of retreat: the derelict HAB deep in the bowels of the Down. Most likely these marauders didn't know about that, so they would be safe there until help arrived. "Don't stop for anything and, whatever you do, don't look back. You hear?"
"Wait, what about you?" asked Lucy, realising where Josie was getting at, "I can't just leave you here...!"
"No arguments now, Lucy, just go!" shouted Josie, knowing how stubborn she could be, just like her father, "Oh, wait a minute..." She passed Lucy something she'd picked up from her father's desk – Drake's journal. If the convicts knew of its existence, they wouldn't find it here.
"All right, now go!" said Josie, "Get out of here! Both of you!"
"Come on, Lucy, we have to go!" Sandwort urged his friend, knowing full well they wouldn't stand a chance in Inle staying behind to fight. Josie was utterly relieved that, in all of his cowardice, the young buck was being the voice of reason for a change. At least, he persuaded Lucy to go while there was still time. Like lightning, Josie closed up the floorboards again and wedged the edge of a water-tank on top of it, covering up their escape.
Not a moment too soon, a barrage of wild gunfire was heard on the porch, as the mercenaries, tired of trying to break down the door by hand, opened fire with their semi-automatics. Within seconds, the bullets had chewed up the door and all the furniture wedged behind it to matchsticks. A heavy, booted foot kicked open what was left of the door and the mercenaries stormed the house.
Popping up from his hiding place like a Jack-in-the-box, Hotdog managed to take one of the thugs by surprise and shot at the bastard. The man took the bullet in his Adam's apple and went down, chocking on his own blood. Before he could take another shot however, another of the thugs was faster and got Hotdog right in the thigh. Hotdog went down, cradling his blooded leg in agony.
The mercenaries, infuriated at the sight of their fallen comrade, towered over Hotdog, who stared down the barrels of a dozen assault rifles trained on him. The intruders all looked mean and ugly, clearly the deadliest sort of scumbags he'd sometimes had the misfortune to meet back in his days as a collection agent for the Mafia.
"One more move, scum, and I'll blow your brains out!" snarled Harvey, barring his remaining teeth, four of which were missing, courtesy of Woundwort, at Hotdog, who raised his hands in surrender, trembling. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw two more thugs disarm Josie and drag her in front of Harvey with no decency whatsoever. They slammed her down on the floor beside Hotdog.
"Where's Dr Johnson?" demanded Harvey, "Where's that secret journal of his? Well?"
"Why do you want to know?" asked Josie coldly. The longer she could keep these scoundrels talking, she thought, the longer they had for help to arrive. But Harvey didn't take kind to her backchat. He and his men were trained to use terror to get prompt answers from prisoners who didn't cooperate, and terror they would use. Angrily, he grabbed her by the hair, shaking her.
"Johnson is wanted for conspiracy to committing crimes against Governor Crowley," he said, completely disregarding the fact that he and his fellow thugs regularly committed crimes and atrocities without conscience, just to please those who were paying them, "Now, for the last time, bitch, where is he?"
"Leave her alone, you haggis-brained ponce!" snapped Hotdog, disgusted at their appalling treatment of a lady. This was a big mistake.
One of the mercenaries responded to the insult by stomping down hard on his injured leg. Hotdog's agonised yells echoed all the way outside, as his captors tortured him soundly, laughing and throwing racial epiphytes at his expense. Josie tried to protest, but the mercenaries held their weapons at her, threatening instant death if she intervened. Finally, tired of their sport, those ruthless villains released Hotdog.
"Search the house, lads!" ordered Harvey, "And leave no stone unturned."
His men swept the house, turning every room inside out. Josie watched helplessly as several men burst into the larder and began looting it, piling all their carefully prepared winter supplies into duffel bags. Several men with sledge-hammers began smashing up the place, breaking open all lockers, cupboards and drawers and throwing out their contents, pocketing anything of interest. She heard an electrical buzzing sound from the radio room as another thug smashed up the radio.
Behind Harvey, Josie also noticed another man, non-military-looking, unlike his associates, who was policing up every scrap of paper from Alan's office. Maps, photographs, diaries, everything was seized. She had to suppress a smile as the man slammed his fist on the desk in frustration, yelling a curse.
"It's gone!" he yelled at his associates, "The journal's missing! Someone's beaten us to the prize!"
So that's what they're after, thought Josie, wisely keeping quiet. It seemed Alan had been right after all.
"Well, what an unfortunate surprise, Mr Hirsh," said Harvey dryly. The man called Hirsh rounded on Josie and Hotdog.
"Where is it?" he demanded angrily, "Where have you hidden it?" Josie and Hotdog wisely kept their silence. Harvey was about to order his men to start torturing them again until it loosened their tongues, but it proved unnecessary because Hirsh, studying some family photographs he'd found in Alan's office, connected the dots.
"It's the girl," he said with a frown, "She's got the journal. Find her, you fools!"
The mercenaries searched the house top to bottom, but, of course, found no sign of Lucy. But wherever she was hiding, they'd soon flush her out, Harvey thought. Now all they needed to do was take care of these two. It seemed Johnson wasn't here to be captured, but at least could leave him a message. He snapped his fingers.
The mercenaries grabbed Josie and Hotdog and forcefully sat them down into chairs and bound them tightly. Josie felt her blood run cold noticing the jerry-can of petrol one of the mercenaries was carrying. The thuggish man grinned wickedly at her, as he uncapped it, spelling out their doom.
They're going to burn us alive, she thought, fighting the urge to panic. Wherever you are, Alan, please hurry...
Meanwhile, Lucy and Sandwort had crawled their way outside, luckily without finding any more mercenaries waiting for them. Ducking behind the outhouse for cover, they surveyed the scene. Mercenaries were everywhere. No sign of the Owsla or the Junior Owsla night patrol, so no alarm had been sounded, although Lucy could recognise the unmoving forms of Crowfoot and Sparrow on the ground. Looking, they saw with horror several of the mercenaries making their way towards the Honeycomb. And meanwhile, no one even knew they were in trouble. This wasn't good.
"We must warn them," whispered Lucy to Sandwort, "You're the fastest, Sandwort. You make a run for the warren and alert the Owsla. I'm going to send up a flare for Dad and Uncle Deke and then I'll follow you."
"Wait, I'm not leaving you alone...!" Sandwort tried protesting, weary of leaving her unprotected. He wasn't about to make the same mistake he'd made with Primrose with Lucy, or Alan would kill him. On the other hand, seeing all their lookouts down, he realised if the Owsla wasn't alerted immediately, they'd soon be overrun. There was no other choice.
"Be careful, Lucy," he said, nuzzling her, "Don't you do anything stupid, you hear?" Lucy raised an eyebrow; since when did Sandwort encourage others not to put their necks on the line, when he always used to say that a rabbit without courage is nothing? It seemed his getting a taste of the harsh reality of the real world had changed him. She patted her friend between the ears.
"Good luck, brother!"
With Sandwort making his way to the Honeycomb as fast as he could, using stealth and silence to avoid being spotted, Lucy hurried over to the shed behind her father's laboratory, where the colony's homemade emergency barrel-flares were stored. Luckily, Derek had made sure to replenish them after Lucy had used the last one up back on Frith's Eve to provide a beacon for the returning rescue party from Lord Brock's Wood. This time, she would be using another one, rather unorthodoxly, to signal for help.
Rolling out the barrel, she heaved it upright and uncapped the opening. Grabbing the bottles of chemicals from their shelf, she poured them inside the barrel, preparing the flare. How much time did she have before those ruffians realised what she was up to? One minute? Two? She had to hurry. Inserting the fuse, she struck a match and lit it. Her task complete and with Drake's journal under her arm, all she had to do now was get to the Honeycomb and she'd be safe.
Unfortunately, she didn't notice Hirsh, not very far behind, following her...
The mercenaries were taken completely by surprise by the sound of the erupting flare. A towering pillar of red flames shot high up into the sky, visible for miles around. If the colonists had any reinforcements out there, they had all been alerted and were no doubt on their way to provide backup. Any element of surprise they had was now ruined.
Lt Harvey was furious. Mr Crowley would be very displeased if they bungled up the whole operation now. It was time to cut and run. But first, they had some unfinished business to attend to. He turned to his men.
"Wilkins, go find out who sent that flare up and kill him!" He turned to look at the prisoners, "Lucas, Knowles, Archer, torch the compound! That'll keep them busy. Then, get over to that warren and flush out as many of those rabbits as you can. Rendezvous back at the jeeps in ten minutes!"
Josie and Hotdog could do absolutely nothing as the thugs doused the room with petrol. Through the window, she saw several others smashing up the greenhouse and workshops and dousing them too. From the stable, they heard wild neighing, followed by the sound of gunshots, as the mercenaries shot the colonists' horses and livestock.
Finished with their looting and having trashed the compound best they could, the mercenaries turned to leave. The last of them struck a signal flare on his way out and held it up for the terrified Josie and Hotdog to see.
"Sweet dreams, lovebirds," he smirked with an evil cackle, "Hope it isn't too hot for you!"
He tossed the flare onto the floor. The petrol ignited with a loud whoosh, as the flames spread everywhere. Within seconds, Josie and Hotdog were surrounded by a wall of fire, slowly closing in on them. Both of them struggled, but their binds were too tight. The air was quickly turning smoky and asphyxiating, making it hard to breathe. Any minute now, they would be engulfed by the flames and that would be the end...
The motortrike carrying Alan, Hazel, Holly, Pipkin, Campion and Nyreem had finally returned to Watership Down. From afar, Alan had seen the signal flare go up and realised there was trouble. Stopping the motortrike behind some trees at Caesar's Belt, he, Hazel and Holly got off.
"Hlao, you stay here with Campion and Nyreem and keep them safe," ordered Hazel, "We'll come back for you when it's safe." Pipkin nodded.
"Yes, Hazel-rah."
Cautiously, the trio made their way up the Down, making sure to stay well alert with every step. Partway up, they discovered the bodies of two Junior Owsla patrol scouts, which the intruders had sniped dead it seemed, to get past them. Hazel gasped as he recognised two of Blackberry's sons, each of them sporting a bullet wound to the head, a look of mild surprise frozen forever on their lifeless faces.
"Frith of Inle, it's Foxglove and Frogbit! They're dead!"
At the sight of the bodies, Alan quickly grabbed his gun. Like Campion had warned them, their friends were in trouble. At that moment, the yellow light of an inferno lit up the sky. The compound was on fire! Breaking into a run, they hurried to the rescue; Holly and Hazel over to the Honeycomb, and Alan to the lodge.
Alan stopped dead in his tracks, staring at his lovely home which was engulfed in flames. The screams coming from inside told him his friends and family were trapped in the fire. The murderous arsonists who had done this were still there, their backs turned to him, admiring their work amidst jeers and laughter. With a roar of rage, Alan fell upon them like an angry lion.
He grabbed the first man and, in one swift move, slashed his throat with his knife. The rest of the mercenaries, caught by surprise at this unexpected attacker, turned their weapons in his direction and opened fire. But Alan was faster.
Grabbing another mercenary, he held him in the path of the guns, using him as a human shield. The man's body, including his body-armour, saved Alan from being turned into a bullet-riddled sieve. In swift motion, he raised his handgun open his hostage's shoulder and returned fire. Three more mercenaries fell, taking Alan's bullets direct in the face.
Discarding his dead hostage, who'd taken several of his comrades' bullets to the head, Alan turned his attention to the last of the mercenaries – Harvey –, who unsheathed a pair of razor-sharp knives from his utility vest. The two men of war circled each other, crossing their blades in wild blows. It took a good long minute, but eventually, Alan was able to get past his opponent's defences and plunged his knife deep into Harvey's skull.
Before Harvey's dead body had even hit the ground, Alan had retrieved his knife and turned his attention to his new adversary: the fire, where Hotdog and Josie were trapped. He could clearly see them in the kitchen, tied to chairs right in the middle of the fire. No sign of Lucy anywhere. Only seconds from death, their screams for help were quickly fading as they succumbed to suffocation and the heat. And there was a big screen of flames blocking the door, preventing him from being able to reach them.
Alan looked around desperately for something he could use to suppress the flames. The colony's precious few fire extinguishers were all stored in the shed behind the house. By the time he could get to them, Hotdog and Josie would be toast. His eyes lit up as he spotted the water-tower in the yard. Towering just above the rooftop of the lodge, it was close enough to send it toppling right onto the burning roof, along with its life-saving contents of water.
Grabbing an axe, Alan attacked the water-tower at the base. He struck blow after blow at one of the wooden supports, but it was too strong. What he needed was an explosive to bring it down. Looking frantically around, his eyes lit up as he spotted several grenades still hanging from the dead mercenaries' utility vests.
Grabbing them, he strapped them to the pole with some string, pulled their pins out and ducked for cover. The ensuing explosion blasted the base of the support apart. This, in turn, triggered a chain reaction, putting strain on the remaining three supports, which also gave way and the tower went crashing down onto the flaming roof. The tank split on impact, dumping over 500 gallons of water into the inferno.
The air was soon thick with steam, as the fire died down. Wrapping a wet rag around his mouth and nose, Alan burst into the house and, as quickly as he could, cut Hotdog and Josie free. He and Hotdog carried Josie, who'd passed out from smoke inhalation, and they evacuated the lodge. Not a moment too soon, the damaged ceiling gave way and collapsed as the upper floor caved in. That had been one hell of a close shave!
Hotdog and Josie fell on their knees, coughing and spluttering, gasping for air. Their clothes were badly scorched and singed, but otherwise they were unharmed. Both nodded their thanks to Alan and Josie even reached over to kiss him. But right now, they had bigger problems on their hands.
"Where's Lucy?" asked Alan, realising his daughter was still unaccounted for, "If those bastards even touched her..." He was utterly relieved when Josie shook her head reassuringly.
"No, I managed to get her out before they stormed the house," she told him, "I told her and Sandwort to get to the Honeycomb and..." At that moment, they were caught off-guard by the sound of gunfire coming from the direction of the Honeycomb. Then followed the rapid sounds of gunfire and the screams of dying rabbits. The warren was under attack!
Leaving Hotdog and Josie to continue fighting the fire, Alan tore off in the direction of the Honeycomb, praying their delay in returning hadn't already sealed his friends' doom.
Author's note: My apologies for stopping on a cliffhanger but the chapter was getting too long. Coming up next, the aftermath of the siege and the quest to find the Crypts of Civilisation begins! Enjoy and please review!