Fangtooth (18 page)

Without hesitating, Lillian grabbed Erin
by the shoulder and pulled her back.

“Accept this, our offering,” Lillian
screeched.

Bruce saw what was going to happen, but
he was powerless to intervene. He screamed and then watched in vain as Lillian
pushed the still stunned Erin off the harbour. She fell heavily, and landed
with a splash, surfacing seconds later, spluttering and treading water.

“
You’re crazy
,” Jen screamed.

Before Lillian could react, Jen pushed
her grandmother off the harbour. Lillian flailed in the air, and then
disappeared over the edge. She landed with a loud splash and Bruce looked down
in time to see her sink below the water, only to bob back up moments later with
seaweed stuck comically on her head. She stared up at the people on the quay,
and instead of the anger Bruce expected to see, she was grinning.

Attracted to the commotion, Bruce saw a
swirl of displaced water as the first of the Fangtooth swam to investigate.

With Lillian being the closer of the
two, the creatures made a beeline for her. Bruce watched wide-eyed with shock
as the first Fangtooth sank its teeth into her shoulder, severing flesh with
one bite. Although she must have been in agony, Lillian didn’t scream. A corona
of blood spread out around her body, and the water became a whirl of motion as
other Fangtooth joined in the feeding frenzy. Moments later, the creatures
dragged Lillian under the water, her last breath a few bloody bubbles that
popped on the surface of the sea.

With no time to lose, Bruce looked
around, grabbed a length of rope that had unravelled along the tilted deck and
wound it up into a loose bundle.

“Catch,” he shouted, throwing the rope
as far as he could. It hit the water with a splash and Erin grabbed the end.
Bruce started to pull, dragging her towards the boat, when he heard something
bang behind him.

He turned his head and in the meagre
light, less than eight feet away, he saw twin rows of vicious fangs and a pair
of luminous eyes.

Chapter 35

Upon hearing the commotion, Powell ran
towards the harbour. Along the way, residents started emerging from their
houses.

“Stay inside,” Powell shouted. He ran
out of a backstreet, his eyes growing wide when he saw the boat that had rammed
into the harbour. Smoke billowed into the sky and firelight flickered in the
wheelhouse. “Jesus,” he whispered. The people he had been talking to in the bar
stood by the harbour wall, waving frantically.

“
Help me
!”

Powell looked up at the wreckage to see
Bruce hauling Erin up the side, and just behind him, scampering up the deck,
something monstrous ...

With no time to lose, Powell pulled the
taser gun out of his belt. He aimed, but his hand was shaking.

Powell held his breath, steadied his aim
and squeezed the trigger. The two barbed darts struck the creature in the
chest, delivering an initial 50,000 volts, and it flopped back. For the first
time in his life he wished that British police were armed with guns.

He quickly radioed base and relayed what
he knew of the situation, which wasn’t much, then he started to clamber up the
boat using a chain that hung down the side.

Powell glanced down at the water to his
left, saw things swimming just below the surface. His police training had never
prepared him for anything quite like this.

His wife, Juliet, would go ballistic if
she could see him now. She had never liked him being on the police force,
thought it was too dangerous, and her pregnancy didn’t help. For the last
couple of months she had been overly emotional, bursting into tears at the
slightest thing. Seeing her husband now would likely be the last straw.

The bow of the boat projected into the
air—
it must have hit at some speed to end up like this
, he thought. The
chain he used to clamber up the side rattled and clanked against the hull. He
thought he heard a groan, but the sound of the chain drowned it out.

He wondered what had happened to cause
the boat to crash. Wondered what morbid sights awaited him.

At the top of the boat, he scrambled
over and sat on the bow to catch his breath. Across from him, Bruce hauled Erin
on board and then gave him a wave of thanks.

Powell nodded, then glanced down at the
mayhem on deck. Nets, ropes, buoys and baskets lay scattered all around. Intermittent
sparks illuminated the interior of the smashed wheelhouse. A column of black
smoke rose from somewhere further back on the boat, and the caustic smell of
burning rubber and plastic filled the air.

“Hello, is anyone on board?” he shouted.
He surveyed the wreckage below for any sign of movement, but apart from a
swaying boom and the clank of chains, there was nothing.

Keeping hold of the side of the boat, he
slowly started to descend. The acute angle of the deck made it hard to keep his
footing, and if it hadn’t been for part of a broken boom, which doubled as a
ladder, he would have been left dangling.

The lower he went, the more pungent the
smell of burning became. It seemed to cling to the back of his throat, making
him choke. When he reached the wheelhouse, he swung himself across and entered
through the already open door. The inside of the room was a mess of broken
equipment. Sparks shot out from the front panel and skittered towards the back
of the room. Bracing himself in the doorway, Powell removed his torch from his
belt and shone it around the room. The severity of the damage amazed him. It
looked as though someone had literally torn the place apart.

Something clattered against the wall,
made him flinch. He shone the torch towards the back of the room, but couldn’t
see anything.

Although not one to be overly
sentimental, Powell looked forward to the birth of his son; had decorated the
spare room in blue, stuck Disney transfers to the walls, hung a Winnie the Pooh
mobile, even purchased a remote control Porsche. He remembered Juliet laughing
when he purchased it, saying he didn’t need to use the baby as an excuse to buy
a toy. Of course he played with it–just to check that it worked–it’s not as if
his son would be using it for a while.

The noise came again, bringing him out
of his reverie. He shone the torch around, then started to descend through the
wheelhouse towards the bank of fallen equipment that lay jumbled against the
rear wall. “Is anyone there?” he asked. No one replied.

The angle of the boat made the descent
difficult. Anchored to the floor, the skipper’s chair presented a good starting
point. From there, he reached across and grabbed the edge of a desk, then
scuttled down.

The equipment lying against the rear
wall consisted of monitor screens, a broken tabletop, radio equipment and other
electronic tackle whose purpose Powell couldn’t even guess at.

When close enough, he slid the last few
feet and arrested his fall by placing his hands against the wall.

About to squat down and investigate the
clutter, a bloody hand shot out of the jumbled equipment and grabbed his ankle,
taking him by surprise

“Help me,” a voice said.

Powell took a couple of breaths to
steady his beating heart, then squatted down. He lifted a monitor screen aside,
then shone his torch into the debris. A face stared back at him, the haunted
features scratched and bloodied. Powell recognised the stubbly chin and short
brown hair as that of Zander, the man who had run out of the bar when he tried
to question him earlier.

“Are you okay?” Powell asked.

Zander grimaced. “My leg’s trapped.”

Powell peered over the rubble, saw a
piece of heavy equipment lying across Zander’s legs.

“Are they broken? Can you move your
toes? Are they cut?”

Zander shook his head. “For Christ’s
sake, just get it off me before the creatures come back.”

Powell crouched down, took a hold of the
equipment and used all his strength to lift.

Something squealed; he realised it was
Zander. “Shit, I’m sorry.”

“Just get it off.”

Powell nodded, rubbed his palms against
his trousers to remove any sweat, then grabbed the equipment and lifted. His
arms strained, and he felt the muscles in his back pull taut. After a moment,
the apparatus shifted, then came clear, and Powell gently laid it aside. He
took a breath, needed to get down to the gym.

Zander sat up and rubbed at his legs. He
rolled the bottoms of his pants up to caress the spot where the apparatus had
lain, then he gingerly got to his feet.

“I’ve got to help my men,” Zander said.

“How many were on board?”

Zander started clambering towards the
door.

“Zander. How many?”

Zander turned. His face looked pale.
“Six. McKenzie’s dead. So is Robinson, perhaps Brad too. I don’t know.”

“So there might be two or three more
people on board. Is that right?”

Zander nodded, then he pulled a knife
out of a sheath in his waistband and clambered towards the door.

Powell hesitated a minute, and then
followed.

Chapter 36

Zander surveyed the damage to the boat
and his heart sank. The insurance would cover the cost of the vessel, but what
about those who died? Nothing could repay their loved ones for the loss.

He stared towards the stern where
Robinson’s half-eaten body lay. A pain burned in his stomach, remorse. He felt
sick; fought to restrain the feeling.

Powell joined him at the wheelhouse
door.

Zander gripped the handle of his knife
tight enough to make his knuckles go as white as his face. Years at sea had
hardened him, but nothing prepared him for this. He had lost his gun during the
crash, and the knife felt like a poor substitute.

He slid down the deck, using the fallen
masts and derrick to stop himself from falling too far. Smoke poured out of a
hatch leading to the engine room and he coughed as he breathed in the acrid
vapour.

Waves slapped over the submerged stern.
Zander narrowed his eyes, spied creatures lurking in the surf. A couple
scuttled onto the deck. They looked up at him, opened their mouths and hissed,
their long, curved fangs dripping saliva.

Zander clenched his teeth. “Come on,
we’ve got to be quick.”

He clambered down and swung around the
side of the wheelhouse. The door to the lower decks hung open, and he gripped
the door frame and hauled himself through. Smoke crept across the ceiling,
shrouding the flickering light to create a stroboscopic miasma.

Powell scrambled in behind him. “I don’t
believe it. Those things, whatever they are, they’re coming.”

Zander nodded. “And they’re hungry.”

In the flickering light, the passageway
looked foreboding. Zander swallowed to wet his throat, but he couldn’t produce
saliva. His tongue felt like a bloated slug in his throat. Utilizing the walls,
he dragged himself up the passage. At the end, a ladder led down to the engine
room. A door to the side led to the crew’s quarters, fitted with coffin bunks.
Another door led to the galley and the head. Smoke poured up from where the
ladder descended.

Moving cautiously, Zander made his way
towards the ladder. He heard Powell bringing up the rear. Once at the ladder,
Zander descended into what he could only describe as a cloudy hellhole.

Smoke poured from the engine and sparks
flickered from the tangle of electrics on the back wall. Almost indiscernible
from the smoke, steam gushed from a broken pipe and scalded Zander’s hand,
making him wince.

“Brad, are you down here?” Zander shouted.

A sudden bang made him jump, and he
peered over the top of the engine as Brad emerged from a space beside the
equipment.

“Skipper, am I glad to see you. I
thought everyone was dead.”

“Is Jim here with you?”

Brad shook his head and stood up. He
looked at the engine and sighed. “She were a lovely old girl.”

“We haven’t got time to stand around and
mourn the fucking engine. Those things are still aboard. Let’s go.”

Brad rolled his shoulders, clucked his
tongue, nodded, and then picked up the axe and followed Zander up the ladder.

At the top, Zander nodded at Powell.
“We’ve got a live one. Come on, those engines could catch fire at any time and
I don’t want to be caught standing on top of them when they do.”

Zander brushed past Powell and took the
lead. He reached forward to grab the edge of the doorway to his right; the boat
shifted, Zander slipped, missed the doorway, his hand entered the room–and
touched something scaly. His heart missed a beat.

Recoiling, he snatched his hand back and
withdrew the knife. A loud hissing noise emanated from the doorway, and one of
the creatures stepped through. Its body glistened, quicksilver eyes reflecting
Zander’s terrified features. It opened its mouth, revealing the long fangs.

Powell gasped. Brad swore.

Zander knew he had to act quickly.
Without hesitating, he released his hold on the opposite wall, grabbed the
knife handle with both hands, and flew at the creature.

Although he tried to aim for its eyes,
he missed. The blade skidded across the creature’s head, throwing him off
balance. The creature snapped its jaw as it tried to take a chunk out of
Zander’s arm. Still moving forwards, Zander rolled around the creature until he
ended up at its rear. Wicked spines rose from its back, and Zander narrowly
missed impaling himself.

He heard a roar, watched Brad charge at
the creature, axe raised. The grease and muck on his face looked like
camouflage paint, made him appear fearsome.

The axe head split the creature’s head,
and a viscous fluid spurted out and coated Brad’s arm.

“Not quite the trip you had in mind,
hey, Skipper.”

Zander shook his head.

He noticed the hatches to the gutting
room were open, and he scrambled towards the entrance. He peered down the chute
used to drop the fish below, but couldn’t see anything.

“Brad, Powell, keep a watch,” he said,
then he slid down.

Jim stood by the conveyor. As Zander
crashed down, he raised his gutting knife, prepared to strike.

“Whoa, Jim, it’s me.”

“Skipper. Have you seen those things?
What a size. Should be worth a fortune.” Jim raised a creature’s gutted
carcass. The beast’s innards lay in a sloppy pink congealed mess in a basket.

Zander grimaced. “For God’s sake, man.
Get a grip. We’ve got to get out of here. Those things, they’re …” His words
trailed off when he saw Muldoon’s eviscerated body lying on the ground.

Jim shook his head. “First decent catch
we’ve had in ages, and you want to leave it. Me and the boys, we’ve got bills
to pay too, you know.”

“Jim. Listen to me. Look what’s
happened. Look at Muldoon.” He pointed at the body. “Do you know where we are?
We’ve run aground in the harbour.”

Jim laughed. “Then we’d better get the
haul ashore.”

“Skipper,” Brad hollered. “You’d better
shake yourself. We’ve got company.”

Zander gulped. “Come on Jim. We’ll gut
the catch later.”

Jim’s eyes twinkled maniacally. “You bet
we will.”

Zander grimaced.

He followed the conveyor towards the
exit, peered out at the ladder leading up, then slowly ascended. He kept
glancing back and to the side, wary of something jumping out on him. When he
reached the deck, he saw the creatures scrambling towards them. He counted
four, the sight turning his blood cold. He turned back, grabbed Jim by the arm
and hauled him out.

“Come on, man, hurry.”

Jim came topside and stared at the
creatures. “More money for the pot,” he said, rubbing his hands. “Come on ya
fuckin’ monsters, let’s be havin’ ya.”

Zander gritted his teeth. “Jim, get
ashore.”

Powell withdrew an extendable baton and
started hitting the nearest creature, but it had no effect, so he scuttled away.

“Duck,” Brad shouted.

Zander looked back up the deck to see
Brad levelling the high-pressure hose his way. Operated by the auxiliary donkey
engine, it didn’t need the main engine to operate, and as he opened it up, a
jet of water shot out and lifted the lead creature off its feet and slammed it
back into the sea.

“
Don’t lose the bastards
,” Jim
shouted.

Zander grabbed Jim by the arm and
manhandled him back up the deck towards the bow. Powell followed. Brad kept
them covered.

Once they reached the bow, Zander sat
astride the edge and forced Jim to clamber over the side.

“Brad, you go next. Make sure Jim gets
down,” he said.

Brad nodded and squeezed past. Then
Zander reached back for Powell, but a creature scuttled out of the wreckage and
grabbed Powell’s foot.

“No,” Zander shouted. He stretched to
grab Powell’s hand, the officer’s fingers only millimetres away, but the
creature pulled him down.

Powell screamed as the creature sank its
teeth into his stomach, twisting its head. It pulled its head out, trailing a
length of intestine from its jaw, formed the semblance of a grin, then chugged
down the morsel of flesh.

Zander tore his
gaze away, hopped over the side of the boat and scrambled down to shore.