Almost as soon as Gabriel stopped speaking, the werewolves started their eerie howling. The louder it became, the more the grin on Gabriel’s face shriveled into the tiny, unappealing shape of a cat’s bottom. The werewolves were close, their howls almost joyful. The sound rang around the Halt, shaking the rafters. Iona, in her locked quarters, could hear it, and she felt a wild hope in her heart. Professor Paxton awoke from his drugged sleep and thought of freedom for the first time in three long years.

Courtesy of the security cameras, everyone in the lab was treated to the visuals as a pack of crazed werewolves streaked through the corridors like deadly smoke, drawn by one thought: to destroy their tormentors. Scale and Gruber looked at each other in bewilderment as the desperate beasts flung themselves against the laboratory doors, knocking over equipment and computers, screens imploding as they hit the floor. Personnel ran screaming out the door or shrank back in horror as the werewolves stood in the middle of the room, forming a semicircle of bared teeth, drool dripping from their open mouths.

Gabriel Gruber’s unhinged mind tried to assess the situation. WHAT HAD HAPPENED TO THE AG RAIN?

As the werewolves raised themselves on two legs and began to advance toward him in a solid wall of teeth and fur, Gabriel pushed one immaculately manicured hand through his tastefully highlighted hair. “Hey, guys, wait a minute … LUCAS, WILL YOU HIT THE RAIN ALREADY!”

Scale fumbled for the fail-safe handset, finally registering that the Ag rain had failed to start automatically when the werewolves had been released.

“HIT IT!” screamed Gruber.

The doctor closed his eyes in relief when the Ag rain spluttered, then fired out of the overhead devices, down onto the werewolves, making them clutch their heads in pain and terror, their fur singeing where the liquid silver touched them.

Then, abruptly, it stopped. There was complete silence in the lab as slowly the werewolves realized what had happened. They shook the droplets of silver rain from their fur like giant shaggy dogs and continued their menacing advance.

“Wha …?” uttered Gruber, looking at Angelo Spaghetti in uncomprehending dismay.

“Vincent disconnected the supply,” said Angelo. It was his turn to grin now.

“B … but w … what about the backup tank?” stammered Gruber.

“I believe he may have drained it,” said Angelo, starting to enjoy himself.

“SHOOT THEM!” screamed Gruber, his handsome face a mask of terror and disbelief.

The few remaining lab technicians stared as if they were baby rabbits caught in headlights. They looked in unison from Scale and Gruber to the wall of werewolves and back again, like spectators at a tennis match. Then, as one, they legged it out of the room.