The sound of Twelve leading the birds into battle was something that Erin would never forget. Wings beat, feathers rustled, squawks and caws and chirps of all kinds blasted around in a ferocious war cry.

In the confusion, Erin slid Marshall back into the toll-top bath and launched herself at the wickerwoman. Her fingers dug into the Loren's knotted grassy exterior, clawing and tearing for all she was forth. The wickerwoman stumble back, arms windmilling as she teetered the top of the farmhouse roof.

Erin seized her chance and dived for the pistol. Connecting sharply with the wickerwoman's arm, the gun fell loose, clattering against the broken tiles and skidding to a halt in the gutter. With a swift kick to the midriff, and a heft double-handed push, Erin thrust Loren over the top of the farmhouse, falling into the shadows beyond.

Erin turned, dropping to her knees and slid down the roof. She sailor pistol nestled on a bed of dry leaves that had become lodged in the metal guttering. Taking the gun, she tucked it inside her pink belt, then returned to Marshall.

As she hoisted him into her arms, Erin looking across Coldharbour Farm.

Wickermen and Redkites had taken positions across the courtyard, in crudely built towers, behind farming equipment, amongst the piles of garbage and bodies on the shoreline.

Amidst them stood Number Eight. The blood smeared skeleton was wrapped in her dark patchwork cloak, the creepy dolls heads concealed beneath.

The birds circumnavigated the island.

Erin dragged Marshall down the ladder.

The Black Peril bobbed gently on the water beyond the walls and lookout towers, beyond the Redkites and the wickemen and Number Eight.

"What are we doing?" Marshall whined, as Erin faltered.

"Change of plan," she said, staggering towards the barn. "I'm going to hide you."

Hank and Shun barely bothered to apprehend them, their eyes fixed on the swirling dangers above. Erin helped Marshall through the barn doors and into the haybale fortress. Coiling him up in the furthest reaches of the cardboard stronghold, she brushed the hair from his redden face. "You'll be okay," she whispered. 'Stay here. Stay quiet."

Crawling as fast as she could, Erin returned to the barn doors.

Outside, Number Eight was screaming.

Arrows skimmed through the air.

The massive cloud of birds moved effortlessly, avoiding the arrows as they arced in the air and vanished into the water beyond.

Twelve spun, her wings spread, encouraging the wickermen to open fire.

As each stepped out from their covered positions, handfuls of birds broke off from the main group and sped towards them.

A dozen or more birds descended on each wickerman, grabbing him by the shoulders, head, arms, lifting him into the air. Screaming like terrified children, the wickermen rose above Coldharbour Island, their legs kicking wildly. The birds tore and wrenched at the grass and moss and twigs, finally dropping the wickermen to the ground in dissected, motionless clumps.

Erin smiled. It was almost unfair.

Eight waved her fists at the heavens. "I'll kill you all! Mark my words!"

The birds replied with feverous shrieks and hoots, jeering and mocking the scarecrow.

"I'll break your wings and make a crown from your feathers!"

Jack, Tomas and the Redkites rallied to Eight's side, sharp blades gleaming in one hand, fire torches burning in the other.

Birds swooped in, claws outstretched, searching for their next opponent, but the swishing swords and searing heat kept them at bay.

They made a second pass. Several birds took a tighter line, moving closer to their adversaries. Only half made it back.

Eight screamed with delight as birds fell at her feet.

Organising themselves into position for a third attack run, a sea eagle and horned owl dropped in beside Twelve.

Together, they turned from the circling mass, descending at a sharp angle towards the courtyard. Twelve landed inches from Eight, a long blade slicing the air around her. She ducked expertly, rolled forward and kicked the legs of Number 39 away.

The Redkite collapsed to the cobbles, spilling his weapon and fire torch.

Twelve whipped the blade into her red demon hand and sprung to her feet. "Hello again, sister," she said, raising the sword above her head.

The sea eagle and the horned owl zeroed in on Tomas and Jack, pursuing them in chaotic circles around the courtyard.

Jack retreated into the stables, the sea eagle nipping at his ankles. Desperately, he fended the large bird away, arching his sword back and forth as he stumbled into one of the stalls. The sea eagle mounted the wooden divide, her wings spread wide and dominating. Jack tripped on the uneven cobbles. The bird seized the moment and descended, her talons raking three long, claw marks across his chest. Jack fell through a pile of withered hay bales. He spun, legs kicking at the ground, moving through a small opening in the corroded wall.

Meanwhile, the horned owl and Tomas fought viciously. Locked together in a flurry of straw and feathers, they clattered through the farmhouse kitchen, pots and pans clattering to the ground.

Bursting into Eight's makeshift bedsit, they fell, clawing, stabbing, wrenching, jabbing. The horned owl grabbed Tomas' feathered headdress in his beak, shaking it wildly as if it were prey. Spitting it to the ground, the horned owl rose above the wickerman, hooting darkly. Tomas took a breath, his back pinned to the bed. Instinctively, he swung a sodden foot towards the bird. Connecting with a sickening Crunch! the owl slammed against the wall and dropped to the floor, silent and still.

Outside, Twelve and Eight were locked in battle.

Steel sung through the gloom. Sparks falling like rain.

Eight spun two elegant curved blades in her skeletal hands, driving Twelve towards the enormous fire. Parrying for all she was worth, Twelve kept her sister at bay, stepping carefully on the cobbles in her cement-filled boots.

Half a dozen Redkites emerged beside Eight, pulling into a circle.

"You can't win," Eight said.

Twelve held her sword vertically, the tip resting between her wriggling eyes. She turned from Eight to the Redkites, fire-torches burning brightly in their hands.

"You cannot kill me," Twelve said.

Eight approached, bone clicking on stone.

"That's right," Eight replied. "What was it Erin called you? Immortal."

She laughed, turning to the Redkites for encouragement, but they said nothing.

Twelve smiled.

"What's so amusing?" Eight said, forcing Twelve closer to the fire.

"These— scarecrows," she replied. "An army, you said. I count, eleven. Oh, and that one over there, torn to pieces."

Eight growled.

"They're perfect. And they're mine. All mine!"

She glanced at her army of Redkites, then whispered, "Kill her."

Twelve spun, raising her leg and kicking Number 25 square in the chest with all her might.

He stumbled backwards, arms flailing, until he collided with the base of the bonfire. Instantly, his jersey caught fire, the motor oil-soaked newspaper igniting in milliseconds. The other Redkites turned to help.

"Leave him!" Eight screamed. "Attack!"

But there was no time for her orders to be carried out. Number 25 exploded in dozens of pieces as the cap gun explosives rattled through his chest and lit the gasoline balloon in his helmet.

The detonation shook the ground.

The bonfire groaned. Each precariously balanced log began to move. The iron-clad, roll-top bath shifted sideways. Boiling water slopped over the side, sizzling as it hit the inferno below.

"No!" Eight screamed, the doll's heads in her chest wailing sorrowfully.

"It seems that Erin betrayed you," Twelve said, knocking 47 and 85 out of her way with a swift blow. "They're riddled with gasoline. She booby-trapped them!"

Twelve strode across the cobbles, away from the teetering bonfire.

Eight blocked her path, poised between the shore and the courtyard.

"If the island burns, we all burn!"

The remaining Redkites had surrounded the bonfire, prodding it with swords and rakes and pitchforks, desperate to stop it collapsing. A gigantic log erupted near the farmhouse, sending 50 and 23 scampering for cover.

The bonfire swung towards the farmhouse, the bathtub launching into the air, spinning end over end, clattering through the front door.

Water fizzed, steam rose, clouding everything. The base of the bonfire degraded, the entire structure swung towards the shore.

Towards Eight and Twelve.

Hitting the ground with a meteoric thunderclap, burning trunks splintered, bouncing through the air, smashing into every building. Golden sparks showered both scarecrows. Jets of flame swept across the courtyard, discharging heat and panic in every direction.

Eight dodged several tree trunks as the rolled down the cobbled path. Twelve hurdled one and side-stepped another. Her sister stumbled, a trunk smashing into her skeletal leg, sending her to the ground.

Seizing her chance, Twelve leapt forward, sword raised high, the blade dancing with amber fire. But, as Eight rolled over, to face the oncoming blow, Number 18— the Quarterback— fully ablaze, his torso popping with Erin's cap gun explosives— came tumbling through the air.

He wrapped his arms around Twelve, tackling her to the ground.

Erin screamed, leaving the safety of the barn and running in chaotic zigzags towards the fight.

Twelve struggled, desperate to escape. The Quarterback's grip slipped down to her waist as she fought her way along on the cobbles.

Erin was sprinting now, the smell of fire and motor oil and gasoline and panic filled her nostrils.

Twelve was almost free.

She was going to make it.

Erin was almost upon them.

Twelve was going to be okay.

Then— Boom!

White light filled Erin's vision.

A tearing, renting sensation washed over her.

Bits of Number 18's jersey and helmet bounced past, flames licking at her dungarees.

The world turned over and over and over.

Something thick and hot muffled Erin's hearing. Voices that sounded a hundred miles away were yelling and screaming.

She tried to stand, to run, to escape, but collapsed to the ground once more.

Staring across the courtyard, Erin could see Twelve. Amongst the burning detritus, fire licked her red pirate jacket and rubber gloved hands. She looked down at the scarecrow's angular wooden legs and cement-filled boots but— they were no longer there.

They'd been totally blown away.

Eight materialised through the heat haze, her twin scimitar blades crossing her chest.

A terrible fury boiled inside Erin.

The sight of Twelve lying helplessly on the cobbles propelled her into a terrible rage. Gritting her teeth, she faced Number Eight. The skeleton was marching towards her, smoke and flames rose from the bonfire behind.

Eight laughed demonically.

Erin had never felt such darkness in her heart. All she wanted to do was kill, destroy, eradicate any memory of this monstrosity. She pulled the pistol from her belt and levelled it on the advancing scarecrow.

Eight laughed again. "You're not brave enough to fire that—"

Blam! The first short rang out of the gun, throwing Erin's arm back.

The bullet buried itself in Eight's ribcage, the force of the blast knocking her backwards. Her dolls head inside screamed in terror.

Blam! The second shot erupted.

Eight flew back. One step, two, three.

Erin closed the gap. Fire reflecting in her eyes.

Blam! The third bullet tore through Eight's chest, burst her ribcage open, dropping one of the dolls heads onto the cobbles. The skeleton stumbled, her feet moving towards the roaring bonfire.

Blam! The last shot went through Eight's left eye socket and smashed out the back of her skull. The scarecrow wobbled, unbalanced, doll's head wailing. The bonfire inches from engulfing her.

Erin raised the gun to eye level, looking directly down the barrel.

Click! Click, click click.

Erin jack-hammered the trigger for all she was worth.

But nothing.

She spun the barrel open— empty.

"No!" Erin screamed.

Eight found her balance.

Rooted her feet.

Moving away from the flames, she waved an admonishing index finger, shaking her damaged skull.

Fear now erupted in Erin's stomach. Cold and eager.

She tossed the pistol aside and raised her fists, ready for Eight's attack.

Whooosh!

Something shot across the sky.

Ka-Boom!

Everything turned to fire.

A mighty wave of heat swamped Erin.

She spun, squinting at the shore of Coldharbour Farm. An almighty blaze had engulfed The Black Peril. The masts yawned, splintering in the heat. Sails billowed and turned to ash as though in the path of a solar wind. Balls of flame dropped into the water, the hull snapped and began to sink.

Erin turned her eyes to the horizon and there, bathed in the light of the moon, was HMS Fortitude, gun turrets smoking.