Free The League of Sharks by David Logan Page B

with sitting a while longer. It’s …’
    He noticed that Garvan wasn’t paying any attention to him but was staring over his shoulder with a disconcerting little nervous tic playing havoc with his left eye. Junk turned to see what had the giant’s attention.
    â€˜Oh,’ was all he could think to say. Other than that his mind was a total blank. Or possibly so active that all the different synapses that were firing off simultaneously had just merged every thought into one huge jumbled featureless whole. More birdmen had taken to the skies from the black rock. Thirty or more. Probably drawn bytheir recently deceased brother’s dying shrieks. They were flying this way and at speed. In the few scant seconds that Junk was looking at them, the sky darkened as they became all he could see.
    Garvan stabbed his toe under his bow and propelled it into his waiting hand, nocked an arrow in one smooth and fluid movement, aimed as he turned and fired. The arrow snatched one of the advancing birdmen out of the sky. Garvan nocked and fired again and again and again. Every arrow hit its target true, but too quickly the quiver was empty and there were too many birdmen still coming.
    Junk cried out in surprise as he was lifted off his feet once more but this time by Garvan, who tucked him under his arm as if Junk was a ball in a rugby match. Garvan shielded Junk’s head with one hand and set off into the foliage. Junk screamed, vocalizing the cocktail of adrenalin and panic that was coursing around his whole body. He could feel branches whipping at his legs.
    The trees were dense around them but there were pockets of light that broke in, and as they were running, Junk could see shadows cutting across the sunbeams and he knew the birdmen were overhead now, looking for a way through.
    Garvan skidded to a stop and Junk found himself twisting in the air as Garvan set him down roughly on his feet, positioning him behind his own fortress-like girth. Junk heard throaty calls ahead. He peered slowly out from behind Garvan and shuddered as he saw a dozen of thebirdmen were blocking their path. He heard movement from behind. Garvan and Junk turned together and saw more closing in on them. They were surrounded, the birdmen walking on their spindly human legs. Their feet looked vaguely human too, apart from the fact that they were split down the middle, making two wide toes, each tipped with a talon.
    The birdmen were emitting strange, repetitive calls from the back of their throats. En masse, it sounded to Junk’s ears almost as if they were talking to one another. It was rhythmic. Like Australian aborigines playing a didgeridoo. Junk thought he could hear words in their voices:
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…
    â€˜What do we do?’ asked Junk, so quietly he wasn’t sure if the words had been audible, but Garvan looked at him so he must have made some sort of sound. Garvan moved his eyes, leading Junk’s attention through the birdmen, through the trees, to his cabin fifty metres away. Junk understood. They needed to get there. The cabin was their only chance of survival. Junk nodded. ‘OK,’ he said. ‘On three?’ Garvan didn’t respond, but Junk chose to believe he understood. ‘One …’
    The birdmen were edging closer.
    â€˜Two …’
    Their beaks were opening, ready to feast.
    â€˜Thr—’ Before Junk could finish the word, Garvan leaped forward and let out an almighty bellow. It was the roar of a lion, the trumpet of an elephant and the fury of a silverback all rolled into one deafening outburst. It made the birdmen hesitate for a moment. A moment was enough. Pushing Junk into a run, Garvan charged at the predators. He was brutal. He grabbed at wings, twisted and snapped bone and cartilage. Always moving, flowing, dipping