“Come with me,” Sorrel said to Genus and Landis, who were closest to her, both with the handles of old-time tools strapped to their backs. Just as they pushed their way through the remaining group a pack of ferals charged towards them. At least eight porcs. The two in front were huge, the one to the right had a broken tusk.

“Don’t let them get past!” she screamed to Genus and Landis. “Caroni, go faster! Get everyone up!”

The Zorah’s voice came from above. “Climb, people! Hurry. Look for somewhere on the path to shelter. Get off the rope if you can, to let others climb.” Sorrel knew there was nowhere on the path to shelter. She faced the feral pack, which came to a halt about two metres away.

The narrow path stopped the porcs from surrounding the three girls, but also limited their ability to swing their weapons without hitting each other. Sorrel was the only one with a good blade and she stepped in front of the other two, machete in hand. “They’ll try to knock you off your feet with their tusks,” she cried to the others, without looking around. “Use their momentum to hit them off the path!”

The two big porcs in front held their heads low, the others crowding behind. Their smell filled her with revulsion. Wait, she told herself. Let them come to you. She heard the sounds of the group climbing behind her, but she feared they were not going fast enough. She stared at a spot behind the biggest porc’s ear until she could see nothing else.

The big porc rushed her, swinging its massive tusks at her legs. She screamed and swung the machete at its neck and felt the blade bite. Blood spattered her face. The shock of connecting with the huge animal travelled up her arm and she almost dropped her weapon. The animal squealed and fell, its body sprawled across the path. She whirled to meet the second porc’s attack and felt its single tusk rip through her pants, just slicing her leg. She jumped back, colliding with Genus and leaving Landis slightly in front. The porc charged at Landis and the girl slipped and lost her footing. The feral skewered her in the groin, wrenching its head from side to side, snarling, ripping her open. It began tearing at her face. Sorrel leapt at the animal, slid her machete under its neck and slit its throat. She felt the porc’s rough, stinking skin against her own and she could not bear being so close to it. She rolled off into the pumping blood on the path. She heard Genus’s long wail of terror from behind her.