Over at the mercenaries' camp, Crowley and Woundwort were expecting the return of the raiding party with eager anticipation. Woundwort's own raiding party had returned with the good news that Vleflain had been completely destroyed, leaving no survivors. Hirsh had also radioed in a few minutes ago, reporting the raid on Watership Down had been equally successful, with great losses on the enemy's side and that they were bringing in plenty of prisoners for questioning. Woundwort was pleased.
"The Outsiders have finally gotten their comeuppance for daring to defy me!" he smirked, "That fool Johnson sought to destroy my ancestors' noble work; in return, I now destroy his!"
"May that insufferable ithe suffer hrair deaths, just as he deserves!" cheered Vervain, laughing diabolically. He, of all rabbits, had been waiting for this moment for so long, "Oh, how I wish I could see him when he has to explain to his precious little friends why he let so many of them die!"
"That is our general intention, Captain Vervain," said Woundwort with a sickeningly cold, calculated tone, "Indeed, he has a lot of suffering yet to endure before I grant him the mercy of death!" At that moment, the sound of approaching vehicles announced the return of the raiding party bringing in the prisoners. Woundwort stood up.
"Come, Vervain," he said, "Let us see what spoils of war we have acquired."
The returning mercenaries, minus Harvey, Schiller and five others who had been killed in the raid, had brought with them a most impressive haul. Besides the ample supply of food they'd looted from the colonists' compound, which would top up the mercenaries' dwindling provisions, and the report on all the targets they'd destroyed, they'd managed to capture a total of seventeen prisoners alive.
"Well done, gentlemen," Crowley congratulated his men, as they brought the prisoners forward, wrapped securely in nets, and slamming them down on the ground in front of their leader. Sixteen rabbits, mostly does and young rabbits, and one human, a girl in her early teens, whom Crowley recognised as Johnson's allegedly deceased daughter. He frowned at Hirsh.
"Why the hell did you bring her here for?" he demanded, "It's her father we're interested in!"
"A little extra insurance," said Hirsh smugly, explaining how he and Nichols had taken the girl hostage, to ensure Johnson wouldn't pursue them, "Now we have some leverage to ensure Johnson plays by our rules from here on!" But Crowley wasn't all that impressed.
"You incompetent fool!" he hissed, furious that they hadn't killed Johnson when they had the chance, "As long as Johnson remains at large, our mission will always be in jeopardy. If anything, you've now given him every reason to come after us! What about that journal? Did you get it?" Hirsh, indignant at not receiving any praise for his efforts, shoved Drake's journal into Crowley's hands.
"Well, at least you've done something right for once, Hirsh," said Crowley dryly. He passed the journal to one of his assistants, "Have every word of every page in this thing analysed and checked right down the line," he ordered, "I want everything you can find on those Crypts of Civilisation and I want it five minutes ago. Now get to work!"
Woundwort was inspecting the prisoners Crowley's party had brought back with them. The does were all petrified with fear at the sight of their resurrected former oppressor standing living and breathing in front of them. The nightmare of Efrafa, which they'd struggled so hard to put behind them all these seasons, had resurfaced. Even the young bucks were chilled to the bone at the sight of this monstrosity of a rabbit. Woundwort smirked with satisfaction at their fear; these traitors, who had sided with his enemies, mated with those scum, would soon be begging for death! His eyes came to rest on Lucy.
Bound hand and foot and with a guard holding a gun to her head right behind her, Lucy cringed as Woundwort approached her until they were standing face to face, his sinister red eyes locking with hers. Despite her fear, she forced herself to remain calm. Her dad had never shown cowardice in the face of danger and, as his daughter, she wouldn't be any different. Woundwort continued to stare at her.
"You are the child of the ithe Alan Johnson, are you not?" Lucy remained silent, refusing to be intimidated by this monster. Woundwort frowned at her impudence. "I expect to be acknowledged when I'm talking to you!" Lucy still remained silent, glaring in defiance back at Woundwort.
"Answer him, you impudent ithe brat!" snarled Vervain, moving forward to strike her, "You will show proper respect to the General, or so help me...!"
"That will do, thank you, Captain Vervain," said Woundwort, ordering Vervain to calm his nerves. Although he would have preferred to have had Johnson brought before him, to have the pleasure of killing him himself, having his worst enemy's daughter in his grasp opened up a whole new agenda for him to play. If there was anything he'd learned from Robbins, it was that those who were closest to Johnson could be the key to his undoing. He turned back to Lucy.
"I take it you're aware you father and I share a history of adversity," he continued, "He's a brave ithe...and a fool."
"My dad isn't a fool!" retorted Lucy, angered at hearing her father insulted, "He's a loyal and loving member of our community. And you, Woundwort, are an ugly oaf!"
"How dare you speak to the General like that, you little...!" yelled Vervain furiously, moving to strike her again, but Woundwort roughly shoved him back, glaring at him to hold his tongue.
"You're a very brave ithe-kitten to speak like that in my presence without fear. I'm most impressed," he said to Lucy with a sinisterly sweet smile, "But I'm afraid you're terribly misinformed, young Lucy. You see, your father destroyed my warren and killed me, when I had done him no harm. He and his friends turned my own people against me, blackened my good name, after everything I'd done for them..."
"Leave the child alone!" shouted Hyzenthlay, who had seen Woundwort use such brainwashing tactics on youngsters before, often enslaved Outsider kittens from alien warrens his Owsla had seized, in order to gain their trust and loyalty as future soldiers, "Stop poisoning her with your filthy lies!"
Putting Lucy aside for the moment, Woundwort walked up to Hyzenthlay, who, in spite of her courage, couldn't help but cringe under the sinister rabbit's gaze. Woundwort's red eyes were glowing coals of fury, his face twisted with hate and rage, as he recognised one of the key rabbits in his downfall.
"Hyzenthlay, traitor, sympathiser of ithel filth and Outsiders, who mates with them and bears their litters of bastards, you have defied me for the last time! Because of you and that miserable traitor Campion, the Outsiders destroyed entire generations worth of glorious work done by patriotic rabbits who strived to make the world a better place. Now you shall pay!"
"I'm not afraid to die, Woundwort," retorted Hyzenthlay coldly, "You might kill us all now, but we'll still have beaten you, because we'll be dying as free rabbits - and you'll never be able to take that away from us again!" Woundwort frowned. This insolent doe obviously needed some persuasion. But he didn't need the Johnson girl to witness this.
He gestured at one of the guards, who, getting the hint, lunged forward and tasered Lucy in the back of the neck. With a groan, Lucy fell unconscious. Satisfied, Woundwort turned back to Hyzenthlay.
"Who says I should just kill you?" he asked, "Such beauty, not to mention such a strong spirit, would be such a shame to be wasted. In spite of your treachery, I'm still willing to offer you an alternative: Our ancestral law decrees that all captured does should go to the Owsla victors following the defeat of an enemy warren. Therefore, I invoke that law and claim you as my new future Queen!"
Hyzenthlay was stunned with horror and repulse. Being the trophy mate of Woundwort would be no mercy, but a curse. Besides being a slave to this monster forever, being forced to bear his heirs of future warriors that would be taken from her at birth, the runts killed and the rest trained to continue Woundwort's dirty work, not to mention the pain and anguish it would cause Hazel, would be nothing less than a fate worse than death.
"Your loser of a mate Hazel-rah and his Outsiders are finished," continued Woundwort, goading her on, "But your life can still be spared, Hyzenthlay. Join me and you will reap the rewards of a whole new world that we will build together!" But Hyzenthlay merely spat in his face in disgust.
"Never, you heartless beast!" she snarled, "I'm not going to let you use me to hurt Hazel by making me betray the love and dedication he's always shown me and our children!" The time for talking was over. Woundwort raised his gigantic paw.
"Then you and your friends can join Campion in the Shadowlands!"
But before he could deliver the final blow that would crush Hyzenthlay's skull, Woundwort was caught by surprise when he was suddenly tackled from behind by none other than...
"Sandwort?!"
Indeed, it was Sandwort, who had hitched a ride all the way to the mercenaries' camp in the back of one of the jeeps undetected. Sneaking through the camp, he had been watching everything from the shadows and seeing Hyzenthlay-rah about to be killed by that monstrous rabbit, he'd finally broken his cover and tackled Woundwort.
The pair struggled, Woundwort growling and roaring furiously as Sandwort struggled to keep him pinned down, using every Owsla fighting technique Bigwig and his father had taught him. But it was no good. No matter how hard he bit and clawed at his opponent, he couldn't seem to draw a single drop of blood from Woundwort's flesh, while the latter, oblivious to any kind of pain, was quickly winning. He didn't know the virus that had brought Woundwort back to life had mutated its entire host's body into a virtually indestructible being.
Noticing this unwelcome intruder attacking one of their own, the guards took their minds off of Hyzenthlay and raised their weapons to aid Woundwort. But that proved totally necessary because Woundwort had already gained the upper hand and knocked Sandwort down hard. In the blink of an eye, he had him pinned down, the warlord's bear-sized paws pushing Sandwort's head deep into the dirt, as if trying to suffocate him.
Taking advantage of the distraction, Hyzenthlay finally managed to free herself from her binds. She was about to spring to Sandwort's aid, but the young buck, realising he'd already lost this futile battle, stopped her.
"Run, Hyzenthlay-rah!" he shouted from beneath Woundwort's paws, "Save yourself!"
There was no time to deliberate. With all the mercenaries about to fall upon her and with no chance of helping her friends or children, still bound and under heavy guard, Sandwort's cries seemed to give her paws wings. Like lightning, she ran towards the edge of the camp, with the mercenaries in hot pursuit.
"Stop her, you fools!" yelled Vervain hysterically, just like he used to whenever an escape attempt was made back in Efrafa, "She's getting away!"
"Shoot her!" bellowed Woundwort, who couldn't bear the insult of letting one of his most prized prisoners escape him again.
The mercenaries raised their weapons and opened fire. Stray bullets whizzed all around Hyzenthlay, but, by some miracle, none found their target. Before the mercenaries could reload, she had made it to the top of the crater and disappeared into the dark. For the second time in her life, Hyzenthlay had escaped Woundwort's clutches - only this time, she was all alone, having been forced to abandon all of her friends to the mercy of her captors.
Woundwort was furious. He couldn't believe his new ithe accomplices, who had so far accomplished more than even his own former Owsla had ever done, had let that insufferable doe escape. He wanted to lash out at them, kill them, maim them all for their incompetence, but somehow managed to restrain his anger. He still had the rest of those Outsiders and could prolong their suffering in retaliation. If he couldn't kill Hyzenthlay himself, then forcing her to live with the guilt of abandoning her friends for the rest of her life would be an even more fitting punishment. He called out into the night.
"Run back to your precious Hazel!" he called tauntingly, "Tell him how you abandoned your own friends like a coward to save yourself! You've just sealed their doom, Hyzenthlay!"
He turned back to Sandwort, who, battered and bloodied, had also been restrained and the mercenaries threw him alongside the other prisoners. Woundwort looked at him right in the eye.
"That was a very brave thing to do, young bucko...and very stupid," he added, "Nobody dares challenge the Dark One!" Realising his fatal mistake in pocking a sleeping giant in the eye, Sandwort felt his blood curdle under Woundwort's piercing gaze, expecting to be torn apart at any minute. Woundwort seemed to sense his fear as he smiled nastily. "Do you have a name?"
"His name's Sandwort, Sire," said Vervain, remembering from his previous visit to Watership Down, when Woundwort's body had just been discovered, "He's the one I was telling you about, who was disowned by his father for his recklessness." Woundwort's expression softened somewhat. This Outsider was an outcast, a rabbit who had been let down by his own people and who might be persuaded to switch sides.
"My sources tell me your family and friends turned their backs on you when you only sought to prove your worth, young one," he told Sandwort, appearing sympathetic, "Not only did they shun you like some worthless commoner, but they also denied you the doe of your dreams in favour of some misfit, ithel-raised outcast. Your own family turned you, a rabbit with courage and ambition, away like hraka. Well, maybe your efforts are about to be rewarded."
"What...what do you mean?" splattered Sandwort, trembling, wondering why he wasn't dead already. Satisfied that he'd spiked the young buck's interest, Woundwort went on speaking.
"I see great potential in you, Sandwort," he said, "And I, for one, would hate to see the talents of a born future warrior wasted. Join me, Sandwort. Join my cause and, under my leadership and mentoring, you will someday be a general in my new Owsla! On my oath as a soldier and heir to the great Lord Hemlock, you will have your revenge against those wretches who betrayed you and more!"
For a moment, Sandwort couldn't speak, a swirl of emotions playing over in his mind. Woundwort's words had brought up the memories of all the things his former friends had said to him; how they'd all turned their backs on him without giving him a second chance, not even Primrose. They'd scorned him, humiliated him, all in favour of that pathetic Stonecrop. What was there stopping him from seizing the opportunity to show them all what betrayal felt like?
His fellow Watershippers seemed to notice how intrigued he was by Woundwort's offer and were glaring at him in anger and disgust, almost as if reading his thoughts.
"Yes, that's right, side with the enemy why don't you, you miserable scum!" snarled Forest incredulously, "Isn't that what you wanted? You're not only a coward, Sandwort, you're a traitor!"
"For the love of Frith, don't listen to him, Sandwort! Please!" Vilthuril begged him, "He will only use you to hurt us all! Think of your family, your people...!" At Woundwort's command, she was silenced by one of the mercenaries striking her over the head with the barrel of his gun, threatening instant death at any further interruptions. He turned back to Sandwort.
"Well then, do you accept my proposal, Sandwort?"
Sandwort was on the verge of swearing his new allegiance, when something inside him stopped him. It was as if someone had flipped a switch deep within his soul as the memory of his earlier conversation with Lucy finally resurfaced: "I don't want to lose you, Sandwort. You're my best friend." She was the only one who'd stuck by his side from the start, encouraging him to make amends. As the reality finally dawned on him, Sandwort realised what an arrogant fool he'd been. He'd thrown away his honour and he alone was to blame. But it still wasn't too late to salvage his dignity. He'd already let his family down once; this wouldn't happen again now or ever. He would rather die than sell them out.
Suddenly, he cuffed Woundwort hard across the face.
"Never, you hrakamarli!" he spat in his face, "How dare you ask me to join you, you black-hearted, cowardly murderer! The heir of the 'great' Lord Hemlock, is it? Ha! I pass hraka on your pathetic ancestor's grave!" That was the wrong thing to say. Losing his temper, Woundwort struck, cuffing Sandwort hard and knocking him down.
"Nobody ever talks with such disrespect to a member of the noble Hemlock bloodline!' he roared, looking madder than ever, "Have it your way then, you young fool! I offered you a chance for a glorious future and you choose to throw it away. But you'll be the last to die; only so that you can be forced to watch your friends be killed one by one!"
"No! Please, have mercy!" whimpered Nelthilta, realising their time had come. Nobody was going to help them anymore, that much she knew. They were all going to die horribly, just like so many of their friends back on Watership Down, and it utterly terrified her. "We'll do anything you want of us! Just don't kill us! Please, I beg you...!"
Unfortunately, her pleas had attracted the vindictive Woundwort's attention. He strode over to Nelthilta, who was trembling violently, tears of fear and anguish rolling down her face, as she continued to beg for her life. Woundwort's eyes narrowed furiously in recognition.
"I remember you," he said, hissing like an angry snake, "I seem to recall on our last meeting, you called me, what was it again? Oh yes, an old rogue with a hot temper, I believe. Well, allow me to show you exactly what kind of a temper I have!" He raised his paw.
"No, please! I don't want to die...!"
It was too late. With a strong blow filled with the sickening sound of cracking bone, Woundwort knocked Nelthilta down. In an instant, the camp was filled with the screams of the dying Nelthilta. Woundwort fell upon her, cuffing, biting, mauling her, slowly ripping her apart like the elil do their prey. The rest of the Watershippers looked away in horror, sobbing in fear, as their impending fate was played before their very eyes.
It seemed to take forever for the last of Nelthilta's cries to cease. Woundwort stood up from his latest victim's mangled body, his forepaws and face stained with Nelthilta's blood. He turned to address the rest of the prisoners.
"You're all a bunch of worthless traitors and low-life Outsiders!" he spat, "Filthy scum like you are not worthy of serving me or being a part of my noble cause. Instead, you're only fit to deliver a message to the rest of your friends. Like I warned you long ago, you'll all regret me!" He turned to Crowley, "Dispose of them as you see fit." Then he strode away.
On Crowley's command, Dr Guts and several of his assistants appeared, bringing several long, pointed stakes with sharpened tips, which they'd prepared just for them. The Watershippers froze in horror.
The night air was soon filled with the agonising screams of the tortured and the dying, unlike anything ever heard before. It was only until the crack of dawn that their horrible cries finally died down...
It was just after sunrise. The colonists' motortrike, carrying Alan and the remainder of the Watership Owsla arrived at the mercenaries' camp, in search of their captured friends. After putting out the fires and getting all the wounded to safety, Hazel had ordered a rescue mission be mounted without delay. Bigwig had regrouped his remaining Owsla and they'd set off in pursuit of the fleeing marauders.
Although he'd remained calm and focused during the whole ride here, Alan hadn't said a word, worried out of his mind about Lucy. He couldn't believe he'd let someone snatch her away right from under his nose a second time! What kind of a pathetic excuse for a father was he? If those bastards had harmed her in any way, he swore, he'd have them begging for death long before he was done with them!
The motortrike pulled over a short distance away from the crater. Armed to the teeth, Alan led the rabbits through the trees towards the mercenaries' camp. What would they find there? Would the hostages still be alive? Would they be able to get them back without losing more of their own in the process? Only one way to find out.
They reached the edge of the crater overlooking the camp. Crawling on their stomachs to avoid being spotted, they surveyed the scene. The camp was silent as a graveyard. There wasn't the slightest sign of movement anywhere. Beyond the tents that served as living quarters for the mercenaries, the jet was gone, leaving behind only a set of tyre tracks on the crater floor.
The Watershippers cautiously made their way down the slope and into the camp. On Alan and Bigwig's signal, they split up into pairs, searching every inch of the place. But the camp appeared quite deserted. The mercenaries were all gone, their abandoned camp testifying to a hasty departure.
Entering the mess hall tent, Bigwig and Hazel covering his back, Alan saw only the fold-up furniture and the camp stove they'd been using for a galley remained. The tables were strewn with empty tin kitchenware, nothing of particular interest. The supplies tent next door was empty, save for some empty packing crates that had once contained rations.
The living quarters were likewise deserted, leaving only empty, bare camp beds. The tent was dark, as the generator had been switched off. For a split second, Alan thought he saw a figure lying on one of the bunks, but it turned out to be only a forgotten khaki overcoat someone had left behind. A nearby desk housed a radio assembly, which had been smashed to pieces, no doubt by the mercenaries to prevent them from using it to track them.
The armoury he'd tried to blow up only a few days prior was found open and empty. The mercenaries apparently had been exceptionally careful to remove every last cartridge before departing, leaving nothing but an empty steel box. Nearby, where their vehicles were usually parked, only a single broken-down jeep remained, which Alan recognised as the one the mercenaries had totalled by driving it into the river while pursuing him and Fiver. The fuel drums used as a refuelling depot alongside it were bone-dry. All of the supplies, weapons, equipment and anything else that could transported by hand had been cleared out. No sign of any of the hostages either, dead or alive.
Examining the remains of an old campfire, Alan realised they were stone cold, indicating the mercenaries had been gone for at least a couple of hours. It seemed they were too late. But why would they pull out without making any demands in exchange for the hostages? Where the hell were they going? Could they have another stronghold somewhere? It didn't figure.
They met up with Holly, Dandelion, Strawberry and Hawkbit, who had returned from scouting the perimeter, but finding nothing, except a fresh trail from several hrududil, presumably the departing mercenaries in their jeeps, heading west into the forest, to an unknown destination.
"Nothing," said Bigwig in disappointment, "Those ithel ruffians have fled, the stinking cowards! Frith knows what they've done with our does..."
But Holly, who always had a keen eye for detail, had suddenly noticed something on the ground nearby. Looking, they saw it was several sets of large rabbit pawprints...massive ones. No rabbit they knew could leave pawprints that size. Sniffing for any familiar traces of scent, Bigwig felt his blood run cold.
"No, it can't be..." he muttered to himself, his eyes round as marbles, "I must be going moon mad!"
"Woundwort!" gasped Holly, also recognising the scent of their supposedly long-dead foe. And nearby, the ground was stained with smears of blood, which hadn't quite dried out yet. Blackberry's claims that this was all one big hoax to scare them seemed to quickly fade from their minds and replaced with fear. Could Woundwort really have been somehow resurrected?
At that moment, they were caught off-guard by a terrified cry from Fiver, who'd gone to inspect the far side of the camp. Thinking he'd run into trouble, the Watershippers raced to his aid. There, behind a pile of boulders the mercenaries had bulldozed from around the crater to build a runway for their jet, they found Fiver standing petrified with terror at something.
Nobody present would ever forget the terrible and utterly sickening sight out of hell that met their eyes. All of them wanted to look away, blot out this horror from their minds forever, but they couldn't. They were all frozen in their tracks, as the horrible fate of their missing friends was finally revealed.
Before them, in a row, were a dozen or so rabbits impaled on wooden stakes planted deep into the ground. Their bodies were horribly twisted and contorted in their death agonies, their eyes still open in death, all wearing expressions of terrible pain and suffering, indicating many of them had survived for hours on the stake before finally succumbing. The ground beneath them was a bright crimson, streams of blood still flowing away from the bodies.
All those familiar faces; Vilthuril, Nelthilta, Forest, Snowdrop, Gillia, Tindra, Frogbit, Sparrow, Yale, Walnut, Peanut, Almond, Sandwort, all stood dead before them in a gruesome display, covered in their own blood. Perhaps Woundwort and his thugs had stuck around long enough to watch them all slowly die in agony? The thought utterly revolted them.
Snapping out of their trance, the Watershippers turned away from that carnage. In another second, they were all sobbing and vomiting, shaken down to their very souls, just like the enemy had intended them to. The whole thing was so savage, so sordid, it defied any kind of reasoning. Woundwort had left them this cruel message for no reason other than to impress upon them his resolve for revenge.
It took several minutes for the Watershippers to recover enough to speak. Alan, still barfing up the contents of his stomach, felt his insides turn to ice. Was one of those victims Lucy? Forcing himself to look again at the impaled rabbits, who had been his friends and family, he felt some slight relief wash over him realising she wasn't among them. But that did no good in relieving his friends' pain by finding their beloved ones in this state.
"No! No, Tindra! Gillia! Snowdrop! My daughters!" cried Hazel, rushing forward, as if about to try and get them down, but Alan held him back.
"Hazel, no, they're dead! It won't do any good!"
"But they're my children!" yelled the Chief Rabbit in total anguish, feeling completely helpless. Alan had never seen him lose control like that before. Of all his friends, Hazel had always been the calm voice of reason and courage. The sight of his murdered family had crushed his spirit completely. It was only then he realised, one particular face was missing. "Wait... Where's Hyzenthlay?"
As if on cue, Bigwig, who had also noticed some of their friends were missing and had gone to search the nearby rocks, hoping to find a survivor, suddenly called out.
"Over here! I found another!"
Their hopes momentarily restored, the Watershippers hurried over to a ditch where they saw he'd found two more rabbits, battered and mud-caked, their bodies dumped like garbage. Alan drew in his breath as he recognised the dead body of Silverweed lying in the dirt. His eyes, still open in death, were horribly bloodshot, indicating some sort of severe cerebral haemorrhage, almost as if his brain had somehow exploded. Next to him lay Little Threar, who had apparently also fallen into the enemy's hands. But, unlike the others, they hadn't been impaled. So what had those villains done to them?
Feeling hopeful, Alan bent down and checked Little Threar for any signs of life. Sure enough, his body wasn't cold and stiff like the others. Pressing his fingers to the young buck's throat, he found what he was looking for.
"I've got a pulse," he cried in utter relief, "He's still alive!"
"He's alive?!" cried a tearful Fiver, who, like his brother, had gone tharn finding Vilthuril and his three eldest sons skewered like meat for cooking. It seemed the ever merciful Frith had spared at least one member of his family. And he wasn't the only one.
The soft sounds of sobbing suddenly diverted their attention away from Little Threar. There, huddled inside an alcove on the edge of the ditch was a second survivor.
"Hyzenthlay!" cried Hazel, feeling his heart soar at the discovery that his beloved mate had miraculously been spared. Was it just these two? Only Little Threar and Hyzenthlay had survived? The Watershippers all felt their hearts sink, realising the bad state their mentor, the very soul of their warren, was in.
Hyzenthlay's mouth and face was all battered and bloodied, as if she'd been gnawing away at something in what appeared to have been utter desperation. But all that excess blood on her face didn't account for the injuries to her mouth.
"I tried to help them," she wept hysterically, as Hazel let her cry on his shoulder, "They tortured them and left them like this because I escaped... I tried to get them down before it was too late but I couldn't!" Looking back at the impaled rabbits, Alan noticed the stakes had gnawing marks at their base where Hyzenthlay had desperately been trying to cut them down, after doubling back once the mercenaries were gone, but, alas, without success, "He said it was my punishment for defying him...!"
"He?" demanded Bigwig, "Who's he? Tell me who it was that did this and I'll rip him apart, if it's the last thing I ever do...!"
"Woundwort!" cried Hyzenthlay at the top of her lungs, "Woundwort's back! He was going to kill me and then Sandwort showed up and tackled him, telling me to run! And I did! I left all my friends, my children, behind to die! Frith forgive me!" She continued to sob in Hazel's embrace.
The Watershippers all looked at each other in horror. There was no further doubt that General Woundwort had indeed somehow been resurrected. How this insanity had happened they knew not, but it didn't make their situation any less dire. A great many of their friends and family were dead and now they knew there was a deadly enemy with an army of thugs out there somewhere, who might strike again at any time.
Hazel forced himself to remain calm. Despite the terrible pain of his loss, he knew he had to be strong now, for everyone. His people would soon be looking at him for guidance and comfort, which he he had none to give. Meanwhile, one of them still remained unaccounted for.
"What about Lucy?" Alan asked Hyzenthlay, dreading the answer. Although they hadn't found her body, he couldn't expect those bastards to show her any more mercy than they had done his rabbit friends. "What have they done with my daughter? Well?" Hyzenthlay shook her head tearfully.
"I watched them take her inside that large, flying hrududu before they left," she explained, feeling more tears appear in her eyes. "Woundwort had taken a particular interest in her and ordered her not to be harmed." Although enraged to hear his daughter was now in Woundwort's clutches, Alan couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief that at least she was still alive. Whatever sick game Woundwort had in mind, he would pay dearly for this, he swore. He would skewer that son of a bitch on a stake when they next met and watch him die slowly by roasting him alive over a fire!
"I wanted so much to help her, but I couldn't do anything!" Hyzenthlay continued to sob, "I'm so sorry, Alan! I've betrayed my own oath of never abandoning a fellow rabbit! I should be ashamed of even asking you for forgiveness!" He broke down, crying her heart out.
Alan felt deeply for Hyzenthlay. Lucy had always been like a niece to her and having to explain to her father how she'd watched those thugs take her but could do nothing to stop them must make her feel utterly terrible. Alan, of all people, knew how terrible survivor's guilt felt and that no one could truly grasp it until they've actually lived it. Sighing, he bend down and gently took Hyzenthlay into his embrace. Taking out his handkerchief, he gingerly wiped away the tears and blood from her face.
"You did nothing wrong, Hyzenthlay," he said, gently patting her, "There's no need to be asking me or anyone for forgiveness. You did the only sensible thing you could. If you hadn't escaped when you could, Woundwort would have just killed you as well. You're still alive and that's all that matters. And there's no ounce of shame in that, none."
Although still terribly distraught, Alan's words seemed to rekindle the fighting spirit within Hyzenthlay, which Woundwort had tried so hard to crush. Alan was right; she was not to blame for the deaths of the others and she wouldn't let Woundwort have the satisfaction by letting his cruel words break her. She was stronger than that. Slowly, she looked up at her friend, nodding in silent gratitude. At that moment, they were interrupted by the sound of Holly's voice.
"Help! Over here!"
Running back to where their dead friends still stood impaled, they realised they weren't all quite dead. Holly had found a third survivor: Sandwort, impaled clean through the inner thigh and out through his breastbone by a six-foot long stake, slowly raised his head, eyes open and staring. He didn't have enough strength left to speak, but the gargling sound of blood and mucus in his mouth was enough to get his father's attention. It was clear he was in a lot of pain and couldn't hold out much longer. Hyzenthlay gasped.
Not wasting a second, Alan sprang into action. He knew they only had minutes, perhaps seconds before the last flicker of life died within Sandwort and they'd lose him as well. Pulling a length of saw-wire from his kit, he got down on his knees.
"Everyone grab hold of the stake and don't let it fall!" he shouted, ignoring the puddles of blood soaking into his trouser legs and getting to work. Feverously, he sawed through the stake until it finally gave way. Moving slowly and gently, they managed to get Sandwort down on level ground. Then came the tricky part.
With his friends bracing the young buck, praying that this wouldn't kill him, Alan, in one swift move, pulled the stake out. Sandwort bled grotesquely from the two deep wounds that marked the entry and exit of the stake through his body, looking like he might slip away any second. Stripping off his shirt and t-shirt, Alan pressed them down hard onto the wounds, struggling to stop the bleeding.
"Keep the pressure on him! For God's sake, don't let go!" he yelled at Dandelion and Hazel, who were trying to keep the wound on Sandwort's chest closed, while Alan worked on the other one on his thigh.
"Sandwort, please talk to me!" cried Holly desperately, who was in tears, something nobody had ever seen him do before. And why not? He had already watched his younger son and daughters die; he couldn't bear the thought of losing his only remaining son as well. Whatever differences they might have had, Sandwort was still his own flesh and blood. At the sound of his voice, Sandwort's eyes opened a fraction, staring back at his father.
"Forgive me, parli," he mouthed in a barely audible voice, like that of a ghost he might soon become, "I had to try and help them... Woundwort offered me a chance to join him...but I couldn't betray you...not again... Am I going to die?"
"No, you're not going to die!" cried Holly, "We're going to get you some help. Please hold on, Sandwort!"
Alan could feel the rabbit's already weakened pulse start growing eccentric. They didn't have much time. Blood was soaking through the fabric he was using as a dressing and he would soon go into shock. They couldn't keep the bleeding under control for much longer.
"We need to get him to Josie right away. Come on!"
Within minutes, they were making their way back to Watership Down at full speed, bringing back a total of three survivors: Hyzenthlay, the comatose Little Threar and the wounded Sandwort, who was clinging to life by a thread.
The era of peace and happiness they'd known for the last four years was officially over. But Alan knew deep down, today's losses, both theirs and the rabbits of Vleflain, was only the beginning of what was still to come. Woundwort was back and he would stop at nothing until he'd destroyed them all. The battle had just begun.
Author's note: My apologies for the delay, but I have been busy these past two months. I hope to post an update for each of my stories over Easter. As always, enjoy and please review!