The Sea Wolves by Christopher Golden

several times. It seemed almost as though she had shut him out completely, traveled elsewhere within the infinite realms of her own mind.
    Something scratched at the door. Jack stiffened and held his breath. He stared at the door, then moved closer and listened to the sounds of things moving out in the corridor, the snuffling and snarling of beasts. The animal stink he had encountered outside the door when he’d first approached this room grew suddenly stronger, and he knew that whatever beast had left that stench behind had now returned.
    â€œWhat the hell is this?” Jack whispered.
    From farther along the corridor came the sound of a heavy door swinging open, hinges squealing. For a quiet moment, the sounds of the ship—the creaking of boards and the rush of the sea against the hull—seemed impossibly loud, and then Jack heard a growl.
    â€œNot yet,” a voice said, deep and inhuman.
    He heard terrified voices, and a man crying out in shock. In his mind he could see the faces of the prisoners from the Umatilla , and he forced himself not to match those faces to the shouts of dismay and cries for mercy.
    Another growl, vibrating through the wall. “Not … yet…,” the voice said again, separate from the growl, yet so similar. “Go. Run.”
    A sudden clamor of footsteps rushed past the door, and others faded in the opposite direction. The prisoners, escaping! But Jack already knew how wrong that idea was. He heard heavy thumps on the floor, smelled the stink of beasts growing even stronger, and then a low rumble that might have been an animal snarl or quiet, monstrous laughter.
    This was not an escape.
    The whole ship seemed to hold its breath. Distant, muffled screams shattered the moment, and then different footsteps thumped along the gangway outside the locked door, and these had claws. A howl rose up, so powerful and wild and familiar that Jack’s spine seemed to vibrate.
    â€œNo!” Jack shouted, the word bursting from him. He hammered the door. “Let them alone, damn you! They’ve done nothing!” He slammed his fists against the wood several times and then froze, chest rising and falling with ragged breath … staring at the locks.
    He grabbed the latch of the heavy dead bolt and began to draw it back.
    â€œJack, stop!” Sabine said, clutching his shoulders and trying to pull him away.
    The dead bolt unlocked, he spun on her, searching her eyes for a thousand truths that seemed to have escaped him thus far. Who was this tragic creature and what hold did Ghost have over her? Could it truly be love?
    â€œGive me the keys to the padlocks,” he demanded.
    Some strange exhilaration lit her eyes, and he thought he caught the glimmer of a smile before terror crashed in to fill her features again. “You can’t unlock the door. We’re safe in here, with all the locks on, but if you go out there—even if you just open the door—we’ll both be fair game.” She gave a quiet, brittle laugh. “Fair game.”
    â€œThey’re killing the other prisoners!”
    Sabine faltered and lowered her gaze as if in shame. “You can’t stop it, Jack. You can only die with them, if that’s your choice. But if you open that door, you’ll be killing me as well.”
    Paralyzed by her words, Jack racked his brain for some alternative, some tactic that would let him rescue the surviving prisoners—whose distant screams reached them even now—but he was at a loss. He could picture every one of their faces—the trapper, the woman in her torn dress, the man in the broken spectacles—but the one that haunted him most powerfully was the girl with the bow in her hair.
    The horror was unfolding above and around them with each passing second, the howl of beasts overriding cries of human terror, and he had no time to plan something clever enough to save lives. He could set the ship afire and attempt to get