There were so many of them and they were so big that they could do real, serious damage. I trembled as I thought of those letters on the back of Charlie’s drawings, and the bird attacks they’d described. The next second, I cried out as one of the gannets flew at me in a frenzy of talons and feathers. I raised my arm to protect my eyes and felt a white-hot slash of pain slice across my skin and warm blood running down my arm. I reached down to grab some rocks from the ground, and Will’s dad did the same. The birds started to thin out a little to avoid the stones we hurled at them, but it wasn’t enough, and I got the sense that they were regrouping and would be back with greater force at any moment.

I looked around for Will, but just then there was a 225loud, echoing bang, like a gunshot cracking the air in two. An explosion of red sparks appeared above us, and the birds quickly scattered. Within seconds, they’d retreated to the cliffs, and it was like the whole thing had never happened. I saw Will standing beside his father’s bag, holding a flare gun. He quickly dropped it and came hurrying over. We all had cuts – they were deep and mine throbbed – but I didn’t think they’d need stitches. It could have been a whole lot worse.

“What happened?” Will asked. “Dad, are you OK?”

His father was panting slightly, but he nodded. “Thanks to you two.”

“Why did the birds behave that way?” Will asked.

“Christ knows. Never heard of such a thing in all my years of coming to Bird Rock.”

I thought again of the weird letters I’d found. The claim that the birds, like the humans, had been affected after they’d been inside the lighthouse. And hadn’t I found the Strangers’ Room packed full of gannets just this morning?

“There’s first-aid supplies back at the camp,” Will said. “Come on.” 226

The other hunters met us halfway there, drawn by the flare signal. We were soon back at the camp, and I felt out of place in all the noise and confusion that followed. The adult hunters found it hard to believe what had happened, yet they could see the evidence of the bird strike with their own eyes.

“But the gannets have never attacked us before,” Cailean kept saying. “It’s not their natural behaviour at all. Something must be wrong.”

While several of the hunters discussed various bird diseases and their symptoms, the others were fetching bandages and seeing to injuries. Another hunter came up to me with a first-aid bag and introduced himself as Lenny. He had a kind face and set about washing and bandaging my cut arm.

“Sounds really scary,” he said, once he’d finished. “I’m sorry you had to experience that, lassie.”