Twelve descended, lowering herself one boot at a time into the still, silent dark. A thin column of light pooled on the floor, illuminating several metres of gangway in either direction. Beyond that, everything was shifting shadows.

Nestled in Erin's hand, Raven's tiny claws scratched her pale skin. She whispered words of comfort to the blackbird before slipping him into the pouch on the front of her dungarees.

"We'll go round and check this level," Twelve said, surveying their surrounds. "Then move down."

The gangway led to the forecastle, through bulkhead after bulkhead. Twelve and Erin took it in turns to enter each doorway. Some opened easily, revealing personal sleeping quarters, meeting rooms or common areas. Others remained locked.

Those that did open were mostly in good order, but some had gaping holes through the hull where pale sunlight crept in. These rooms were a mass of splintered, charred furniture with arrows stuck in the walls and floors, piercing furniture and clothing.

Twelve collected handfuls of the discarded arrows, tucking them neatly inside her pirate jacket.

Raven muttered about the demons and The Scrapers from time to time, making Erin wonder why they had attacked this mighty ship. Surely, a warship like HMS Fortitude would have made quick work of an army equipped with bows and arrows. The gun turrets on deck alone could have reduced everything to crumbling stone and cinders in minutes.

After completing a lap of the deck, they descended again. As they got lower, the darkness grew, seeming closer, thicker. The next deck mirrored the one above—a few less holes, a few less arrows, but otherwise the same—and so they proceeded down and down and down.

Raven fidgeted nervously in Erin's dungaree pouch. The sound of the waves rustled against the side of the ship. She put out a hand and touched the cold grey hull.

"We're probably below sea level now."

"It's colder down here."

Raven agreed with a mirthless squawk.

Erin shuffled carefully down the long gangways of HMS Fortitude with her hands touching the walls on either side. At midships, she came to a large room, her footsteps reverberating noisily across the space.

In the dim light she noticed that the floor was covered with plastic linoleum and the furniture was made of metal. Erin smoothed her hands over the cool, almost wet-like surfaces. "Aluminium," she whispered.

"Metal tables and surfaces?" replied Twelve. "What kind of room is this?"

Erin was smiling, but no-one could see.

"The Galley," she said victoriously. "It's the kitchen and mess hall. If there's food anywhere on this ship, then this is the place."

The search began.

Twelve took all the high cupboards and shelves, while Erin plundered those below. They worked their way along one wall, down another, into a small windowless room that might have been meat cellar or walk-in refrigerator, and finally the pantry.

Erin found two dented tins of baked beans, one of peaches and four of tomatoes. Twelve discovered half full packets of flour, rice, and lentils.

Admiring their haul, Erin rested against what she thought was a table. Instead of finding a smooth edge to lean on, her lower back pressed against several round dials. They hissed, making her jump.

She turned instantly, running her fingers up and down, feeling the familiar shape of ring-burners. "A gas stove," she mumbled to herself.

Twelve shrugged through the gloom. "Does it work?"

"My thoughts exactly."

Erin turned one of the rings and lent forward. The sound of escaping gas and the accompanying smell registered immediately.

"Yep, seems to be connected."

She scrambled around looking for the ignition switch and found a dark circular button. Pressing it, flickering shadows exploded across the walls as the blue flames burst into life. Erin quickly turned all the burners on and punched the ignition switch again and again. The stove burned gloriously in the silent Galley, the flames dancing happily in eight perfect circles.

Raven's head came up to see what was happening.

The light and the heat from the stove was a welcome treat. It illuminated packets of biscuits and crackers stored on top of the cabinets that Twelve had missed. Climbing onto the worktop, Erin threw them down to Twelve, smiling happily.

The light also revealed another door at the end of the room.

Jumping down, Erin waltzed off to investigate.

"Are you okay, Raven?" she asked as they approached the door, stroking the very top of his soft, warm head.

"Yes," he said meekly. "Better now we can see what's going on."

"Why does the dark scare you so much?"

"I'm not afraid of the dark."

"Really—?"

"It's what the dark conceals that concerns me."

Some terrible thought appeared to cross his mind. His wings shook inside the pouch, a small squeak erupted from his hard, yellow beak.

"There's nothing to be afraid of."

Her words became an instant lie.

Rising out of her own shadow, grew the figure of a man.

Raven vanished as a blood-curdling scream erupted from Erin's throat.

The man thrust both arms out, his palms slamming against the preparation tables with a metallic Clang! The sound ricocheted through the entire room, bouncing off cupboards and tables, making Erin's head ring. Blood flecked across the floor from deep cuts on the man's hands. Arrow shafts jutted from his back like porcupine needles. He shook terribly, lurching dangerously, grabbing for Erin.

Still screaming, she jumped aside.

The man crashed to the floor.

Twelve was upon them in seconds. She stood over Erin's attacker, pushing the girl to safety.

"Who are you?" she said in her meanest, strangled voice, a boot on his chest.

The man wore dark fatigues, a series of stars and coloured ribbons stitched across his left breast. He tried to lift his head but failed twice before giving up.

His eyes were wide, staring.

"Beware!" the sailor groaned, turning his head away. "Boot...hill." His voice gurgled like a drain. "The Patchwork Woman." His eyes locked onto Erin, disbelievingly, fingers clawing at her. "Human...girl." His pupils rolled back in his sockets, his lips quivered. "Dark powers," he whispered, as what proved to be his last breath, whistled through his teeth. "Magic and—"

Then, as swiftly as he arrived, the man was gone.

Twelve kicked him with a cement-filled boot.

His body jiggled helplessly.

"Is it dead?" came a voice from inside Erin's pouch.

"Yes, Raven," Twelve replied, the words hanging in the air, nobody wanting to truly except them. "I think we just watched him die."

"Dark powers? Magic and—what?" Erin said eventually, her face cast with pale terror. "What was the place he spoke of? Boothill? Where is that? And who is The Patchwork Woman?"

The blackbird became incredibly quiet and still.

"Raven?" Twelve said. "Have you been there?"

"No," he replied hastily.

Erin and Twelve exchanged looks. Their faces shimmered in the light of the gas burners.

"I just...know of it. That's all."

"More secrets!"

"Tell us, Raven," Erin urged. "Tell us everything."

"Not here," he quivered, turning in agitated circles.

Twelve marched across the Mess Hall, stuffed the tins into the pockets of her pirate jacket and collected up the rest of their food in her huge arms.

"We should leave," the scarecrow said. "Before we encounter more half-dead, arrow-riddled sailors."

But Erin had dropped down beside the dead man and ran her hands over his uniform, inspecting the pockets. "Human girl," she whispered, puzzled. "Why did you call me that?"

She moved slowly, nervously, one eye on the search, the other on his face. She kept thinking he was going to take one final gasping breath and sit bolt-upright, but he just lay there, lifeless and still.

She found a packet of gum, a lighter, and some photos of what she presumed were his family.

Dead and gone, she thought. Just like everyone else.

Sneaking her hand around his waist, her fingers rubbed against something cold and hard. She froze for a moment, knowing what she'd found, considering if she should take it or not.

"Erin," Twelve insisted. "We should go."

She slipped her fingers around his service revolver, tugging it from its holster.

As she raised the gun, Raven squawked making Erin panic and drop the weapon.

They all held their breath, expecting the pistol to go off as it hit the floor but the gun clattered to the ground and lay still. Silent. Erin rolled her shoulders and fussed the blackbird.

"We don't need that," Twelve told her. "Nothing good can come of it."

Erin's eyes were stuck to the pistol, like ants in treacle. "I want it."

"No," Twelve insisted. "You're too small."

"Exactly," she said. "I'm a small, human girl."

"It's too powerful."

"They have arrows and fire...and dark powers and magic and—" Erin tore her eyes away from the weapon to look at Twelve. "I need it."

"We don't."

"Well, I do."

She reached forward and lifted the revolver.

Swinging it in front of her, Erin pointed the barrel down the galley towards the mess hall. It was much heavier than she had imagined, but filled her with a sense of immense power. Taking her finger off the trigger, she released the clip. There were three shots remaining, one in the chamber.

"My father showed me how to use his rifle," she explained, snapping the clip back into place.

"I still don't like it."

"Me either," Raven added, his beak protruding from the pouch.

Erin stood, turning the pistol in her hands. She swung it behind her back and slide the barrel through the pink belt, the way she'd seen in action movies. She tightened the pink bandana behind her head, stood and sunk her hands onto her hips.

"I'm the last human girl on earth," she said. "I was a frightened child, an orphan of humanity. But now I'm something to be feared: a survivor, a warrior, a vengeful gunslinger!"

Clyde would be proud, Erin thought. She mentally high-fived her missing brother, before nodding at the scarecrow. "You're right. We should go."

Turning off the gas stove, Twelve hurried Erin into the passageway, up endless ladders and out onto deck. Lifting the girl, Twelve swung her over the side where she clasped the rope and shimmied down.

Lazarus drifted out into the ocean, the sun flickering on the tiny waves.

"Boothill, then," Twelve said, looking towards Raven who had slipped from Erin's pocket and was hiding in his nest. "Tell us everything. Tell us all your secrets."

The blackbird's head appeared over the lip of the metal bucket. His eyes blinked rapidly as though he was trying to find a way out of this.

"Really?" he said. "The less you know, the better."

"I think, under the circumstance, the opposite is true."

"Fine."

"Good."

"Boothill is a graveyard. A really big graveyard. On a really big hill."

"And?" said Erin, sensing there was more to his story.

Raven circled the nest several times making strange, uncomfortable noises.

"It's more than just a graveyard," he admitted. "Boothill is part of The Devil's Fork, three mountains peaks, each topped by gallows that over-look the graveyard."

"Gallows?"

"For hanging people? By the neck?" Erin added. "Good gracious."

"I told you," Raven said. "It's a horrid place. Everything about it is dead. Dead people, dead trees, dead earth. The whole place stinks to high heaven. Why would anybody want to go there? Birds fly over it, then fly away again as quickly as they came. But, this boat, no. We'd never get away. Boothill is a dark, sickly place. It would drag us in, capture us, kill us all!"

"Calm down, Raven," Erin said, standing up, the boat wobbling from side to side. "No-one said anything about going there. The sailor warned us about Boothill."

"He warned us to stay away," Twelve added, pulling on the oars. "To stay away from BootHill and The Patchwork Woman with her dark powers and her magic and whatever else."

Calmly, Erin ran her fingers over the pistol.

She wracked her brain, trying to imagine what the dying sailor was going to say next. Perhaps it was better that she didn't know. Perhaps it was better that she never found out.

"The Island of Trees, then?" Twelve suggested, trying to take everyone's minds off death and dark powers and magic and The Patchwork Woman. "Follow the North Star?"

Raven squawked an affirmation.

Twelve turned Lazarus about, aiming her at the brightest star in the sky.