The Second Wave Read Online Free PDF Page A

the light?’
    ‘Quiet!’
    ‘There’s something in my trousers, I tell you.  Oh my God! Shine that damn torch over here.’
    The man was attempting to take off his trousers whilst standing up, with his shoes still on his feet.  The girl was flashing the light in his direction and trying desperately not to laugh.
    In the confusion the pine marten, Blood, saw his chance and slipped away, out of the stable and into the fresh air outside.  As he did so, the cottage door burst open, a human figure ran out and was momentarily silhouetted against the light behind.  Blood saw that the man was holding a stick that was thicker at one end then the other, but knew that he was safe.  He ran past the black hen-house, in which the disturbed chickens clucked fretfully, and into the night.
    In the cool darkness here was the scent of resin and pine-bark.  Blood padded on, heading northwards towards the long ridge of Arne, pausing now and then to sniff and to listen.  He climbed the first tree to loom up ahead of him and lay on a branch, savouring his freedom.
    When it was light enough, he looked about him.  He was hungry and, more than anything else, he wanted warm flesh and blood, not the cold rabbits and dead chicken carcasses that had been his fare since his capture so far away in his northern homeland.  He moved along the pine branch and leapt effortlessly into the next tree, then went on across the wood, pausing frequently to test the air and watch below him for possible food.  An autumn-fat squirrel would be ideal, he thought, but there was not the slightest trace of squirrel-scent in the air or on the branches.  He jumped from a pine into an oak tree.
    A blackbird was rustling the leaf-litter below the oak and he stalked down the trunk, then pounced, catching the unwary bird whilst its beak and eyes were under the leaves.  The pine marten scampered back up the tree, the limp bird in his mouth, enjoying the satisfying salty taste of warm blood.  A trail of soft black feathers floated away on the morning air behind him.
    Freedom and life for him, terror and death for others.
    Blood-dread had arrived!
     
     
     

 
    CHAPTER SIX
     

     
    Across the water of Poole Harbour, on the Island of Brownsea, enough red squirrels to satisfy even Blood’s wildest dreams were planning to celebrate their Harvest. This island, known to the squirrels as Ourland, was an overgrown animal paradise of some five hundred acres of trees, heath and neglected fields, surrounded by a narrow beach.
    Since the abdication of the last of the Royal squirrels, the indigenous island community and the refugees from the Blue Pool Demesne had been integrating well.  The islanders had adopted most of the refugees’ customs and traditions, and many of them had accepted Tags awarded by Clover, who combined her Caring vocation with that of Tagger.
    The ex-zervantz, now as free as any squirrels anywhere, were learning to live with the concept that they could make choices, and were getting used to the heady feeling of carrying their tails high and not always having to hold them in the submissive position.
    Like the ex-Royals, the ex-zervantz still spoke with the ‘z’ dialect, but all were attending the sessions held to teach them the ancient Kernels of Truth which were replacing the discredited Royal Law.
    Most of them had adopted new names, the males from trees and the females from flowers, but a few of the older ex-zervantz clung to their creepy-crawly names, amongst them Beetle, Bug and Caterpillar.  These three old zervantz were the ones who had found it hardest to accept the changes, even though they enjoyed no longer being at the beck and call of each and any of the Royals.  That way had always been their life, however, and whilst they had grumbled and complained about their treatment then, they now had difficulties making their own decisions and sometimes hankered for the ‘Old Days.’
    Much had changed for them, but Bug, Beetle and Caterpillar