Fangtooth (20 page)

Chapter 39

Duncan peered through the narrow gap in
the pantry door, his heart pounding. He saw Erin slam the side door shut, then
lost sight of her. The alarm drowned out any noise he might make. Coupled with
the distraction of the creatures, it had also helped him enter the pantry
without anyone noticing.

Tins of food filled the shelves. The
tins clinked at his back as he adjusted his position, his hands and legs
shaking. Fear had driven him to hide, and now embarrassment made him stay. His
only choice now was to escape and flee the village.

He tightened his grip on the gaff hook
and pressed his ear to the door to see if he could hear any conversation, but
apart from the alarm, all seemed quiet.

He assumed those monstrous
creatures–what did that bitch call them, Fangtooth–had arisen because of the
failed sacrifice. The ocean’s way of making amends, to teach them a lesson.

The sound of hammering broke his chain
of thought and he peered through the gap to see Zander and Bruce nailing a
small wooden table across the door. A moment later, the fire alarm fell quiet,
although Duncan’s ears continued to ring for a few minutes after.

His legs ached from standing in one
place, but now that the alarm had fallen silent, he didn’t dare move in case he
made a noise and he did his best to control the shakes that still coursed
through him.

The hammering continued for a while.
They were battening down the hatches, for what good it would do them.

Finally satisfied
there was no one left in the kitchen, he eased the door open and peeked out,
the gaff hook held ready to strike at anyone that might be loitering around.
Relieved, he stepped out and studied the table they had nailed to the door. He
had planned to pull it off, but there was no way he could remove it without being
heard.

The two dead Fangtooth lay on the
ground. One toasted, the other stabbed. Duncan looked at them, repulsed but
also slightly impressed by their appearance. Blood pooled around the stabbed
creature, and he knelt down, ran his fingers through the red liquid, and
smeared the gore across his cheeks. He hoped it would be enough to convince the
Gods of his devotion–that in the coming slaughter, they would deem him worthy
and spare his life.

The door to the bar was ajar, and Duncan
crept towards it and peered through the gap. Erin sat at a table drinking what
looked like brandy. Bruce sat next to her, his arm around her shoulder. The
teenagers sat in the corner; Rocky twiddled with his knife, spinning it on the
tabletop. He couldn’t see anyone else, and he daren’t open the door too far as
the dog would be somewhere, and the slightest thing might alert it to his
presence.

The position of the counter meant he
could duck down and no one in the bar would be able to see him, so as long as
there was no one behind the actual counter itself, he could crawl through to
the back of the building.

He knew it was no good holing up in the
kitchen, as someone would be bound to return soon.

Dropping to his knees, he leaned as far
around the door as he dared. Satisfied no one could see him, and that no one
stood behind the counter, he crawled cautiously out of the kitchen. The pungent
smell from the slop trays below the pumps made his nose itch, and he fought not
to sneeze.

A draft emanating from a door a few feet
further on blew around his body, making him shiver. Duncan crawled towards the
door and found himself staring down a set of steps towards the cellar.

As Bruce and Graham had been down in the
cellar to fetch barrels, he surmised they wouldn’t have any need to venture down
again.

The steps weren’t too steep, and he slid
cautiously down the steps. Halfway down, he heard a voice muttering from below
and he froze on the spot.

Still too high up to see into the
cellar, he took a couple of deep breaths, and continued down.

The person in the cellar continued to
mutter away, so he guessed they hadn’t heard or hadn’t registered his presence.
Now closer, he recognised the voice as that of Graham, the proprietor. As no
one else spoke, he guessed–hoped–the barman was alone.

Duncan crept down one step at a time.
Once low enough, he ducked to see below the door frame, saw Graham bending over
a barrel in the corner and tiptoed across the room as fast as he dared.

Beer shot out of the barrel Graham was
messing with, soaking his front. “As if I haven’t got enough problems,” he
mumbled.

“And here’s another to add to the list,”
Duncan said.

Graham turned at the sound of Duncan’s
voice, his one eye going wide as he spied the raised gaff hook.

“What the blazes …” he shouted.

Duncan slammed the hook into Graham’s
throat and yanked hard, as though landing a fish. The point ripped through his
skin and out the other side of Graham’s neck. The flesh pulled taut, stretched.
Blood spurted out. Graham raked Duncan’s face with his hands, opening up a vicious
cut down his cheek.

Duncan grimaced and wheezed. Graham was
a big man, and Duncan thought he had underestimated his opponent.

Using all his strength, Duncan snatched
the gaff hook back and the skin ripped open like a wet paper bag. The lower
section lay as a flap of purple and red bunting. As Graham exhaled, the top
flap lifted, spraying blood across the ground. Graham gagged. He staggered
back, hands at his throat. Blood poured between his fingers. His eye rolled in
its socket and he dropped to his knees. Blood bubbled from between his lips as
he tried to speak. Duncan couldn’t understand what Graham was trying to say,
but it wasn’t anything he wanted to hear.

He raised the hook again, swept it down
and across, spearing the landlord’s cheek. The tip of the point slid from
between his lips where it had impaled his tongue. Without hesitating further,
Duncan pulled hard. For a brief moment, Graham’s tongue appeared in the gash in
his cheek, then the skin tore open and the tongue split in two like a snake’s.

Graham fell forward, his head striking
the ground with a loud crack and Duncan slammed his foot down on Graham’s head
until the barman stopped moving.

Duncan felt strangely buoyant,
empowered. His cheeks flushed. His hands tingled. To anyone who didn’t know,
Graham had been attacked by a Fangtooth.

Blood pooled on the ground in a widening
circle. Duncan stepped over the puddle and entered the shadows where the light
didn’t reach. When his eyes adjusted, he spied a pale rectangle of illumination
overhead that outlined the trapdoor leading to the street. He grinned, traced
around the edge to locate the retaining bolts, then slid them across.

Chapter 40

Bruce stared through a slim gap in the
barricade of tables and barrels they had fashioned over the window. He thought
he heard someone scream outside, but couldn’t be sure. He couldn’t see much,
but he perceived things moving, the click of sharp claws scurrying across
concrete.

Erin came up beside him. Her hand
trembled, making the cigarette clenched between her fingers shake.

“I really can’t believe this is
happening,” she said.

“Me neither. All I wanted was a home by
the coast, you know, a quiet place. But this …” He raised his hands, didn’t
know what else to say.

Erin sucked on her cigarette, exhaled a
pale cloud of smoke.

Bruce rubbed his hands across his face.
His muscles ached. “I can’t believe what Duncan and Lillian were prepared to
do. It’s like something from pagan times. I shouldn’t have let him in. Should
have left him outside in the first place.”

“Well he’s gone now. And good riddance.”

“Yes, but I should have—”

Erin placed her finger over Bruce’s
mouth. She removed it moments later only to replace it with her lips. Bruce
didn’t resist. He closed his eyes, the kiss creating a warm feeling in the pit
of his stomach. She tasted of cigarettes, but he didn’t mind. He slipped his
arms around her waist, pulled her towards him, her body warm against his. He
felt the crush of her breasts against his chest–it felt good.

When they parted, Bruce opened his eyes,
saw Jack looking at him. Although he expected Jack to be furious, he was
surprised when his son nodded to offer his approval before turning away to give
them a little privacy.

Bruce returned his
gaze to the gap in the window, but he didn’t let go of Erin’s hand.

Brad knocked back another whisky. Not
wanting to pass up a free bar, he topped off his glass from the bottle on the
counter. The golden liquid felt as warm as it looked as it rolled down his
throat. He licked his lips and noticed Zander look up from his perusal of the
ground long enough to glance at him then turn away.

Graham seemed to be taking his time. He
said he was only going to change a barrel, although Brad couldn’t see the
point. It was not as if they were suddenly going to be snowed under with
customers, but he guessed the man wanted to keep busy as a distraction from
what was happening.

The wrecked boat meant he was out of a
job, at least for a while–his brother always said there was a place for him at
the garage, but Brad had always refused. He didn’t think it was a good idea to
mix family and business. Now it looked as though he had no choice, reason
enough for another drink. He swallowed most of the contents of the glass and
was about to pour himself another, when he thought he heard something from down
in the cellar, a sort of muffled groan.

“Did you hear that?” he said to Zander.

Zander shrugged. “Didn’t hear anything.”

Brad set his glass on the counter and
stood up. “Jim, did you hear it?” Jim mumbled something through his beard. It
sounded like, “Mine’s a double.”

“Graham’s down there,” Zander said, “so
you’re bound to hear something.”

“No, this was like a groan, you know.”
He turned towards the cellar door, leaned across the counter and peered down
the steps. “Graham,” he called, “you okay down there?”

No one replied.

“Graham,” he shouted again.

“This happened before,” Bruce said,
“when the lights went out. He said he couldn’t hear through the thick walls.
It’s nothing to worry about.” The dog growled, her hackles raised as she stared
towards the cellar door.

Brad narrowed his eyes and turned to
look back down the steps when he saw a quick blur of movement. Then a sound,
the sharp click of claws on stone as a Fangtooth scurried up the steps on all
fours, head held high as though sniffing the air.

“They’re here,” Brad shouted. He vaulted
the bar, grabbed the axe from the counter, and plunged it into the Fangtooth’s
head as it reached the top of the steps. The blade crunched through thick
skull, killing it instantly. “Take that, you piece of shit.”

“Graham’s down there,” Zander said.

Another Fangtooth started up the steps,
more followed behind. Too many to count. Brad pushed the carcass down the steps
and slammed the door shut. “If he is, he’s dead now.” He leaned against the
wood. The door had not been designed to keep people out, and it didn’t have a
lock. Something clattered on the other side, and the door banged. The bottom of
the door moved inward, the flimsy wood bending.

“This ain’t gonna hold ‘em,” he roared.

The dog started barking, tail between
its legs.

Panic seemed to flow around the room.
Sara sobbed.

Jim stood up and shook his head. “You’re
throwing away good meat,” he said. “Let them in, I’ll show you how it’s done.”
He brandished the knife in his hand.

Brad shook his head. This was no time
for Jim to lose it.

Jim grinned. “Come on, let the fuckers
in. It’s gutting time.”

Zander grabbed Jim by the shoulder and
spun him around. “Be serious, man. Those things, they’ll kill ya.”

Jim shook Zander off and rolled his
sleeve up to reveal a six-inch scar. “If that shark we had tangled in the net
couldn’t do it, then no fucking bottom feeding piece of mutated scum sucking
fish bladder is going to either.”

Brad braced his legs against the
counter, and ground his teeth together. How many of the bastards were there on
the other side of that blasted door?

“I won’t be able to hold them for long,”
he wheezed.

“Then let the bastards in,” Jim said.

Brad didn’t like the maniacal glint in
Jim’s eyes. Didn’t like the way he held the knife with a caressing touch. He
knew some men formed a sort of bond with their knives on board a trawler, and
woe betide the man that touched another man’s knife.

“Don’t talk daft, man,” Zander said.

Jim waved his knife around. “Me and this
’ere knife, we’ll slice and dice the fuckers, mark my words.”

The creatures scratched at the door at
Brad’s back. He could literally feel each claw scraping across the wood; half
expected one of the brutes to break through at any minute.

Bruce ran around the bar, placed his
hands on the door, and pushed to help keep it shut. Splinters of wood skittered
through the gap at the bottom.

“We won’t be able to hold them much
longer,” Brad said. “The door’s not strong enough.”

“Here, wedge this between it and the
bar,” Zander said as he passed over a chair. “It’ll give us long enough to get
upstairs.”

“Then what?” Erin asked. “Upstairs or
down, they’re going to come for us. We can’t hole up there forever.”

“So what do you suggest?” Zander asked.

“We need to get away. Out of the
village.”

“How? Those creatures are out there.”

“Fire keeps them at bay. We can use it
to help make an escape.”

“And where are we going to get something
to burn?” Zander asked.

“Will these do?” Jack held a chair leg
aloft.

“Perfect,” Erin said. “Now we need to wrap
them in something that will keep burning.”

“Graham won’t need them anymore, look
for some clothes upstairs,” Brad said.

Jack started towards the door leading
through to the stairs. “I’ll go.”

“Me too,” Jen said as she hurried after
him.

The bottom of the cellar door clattered
and banged. “And be quick,” Brad shouted.

The bare bulb at the top of the stairs
illuminated the stairway. Jack felt nervous as he climbed; couldn’t help
wondering what had happened to Graham, and although he had reservations, he was
glad that Jen had accompanied him.

“This is turning into one crazy night,”
Jen said.

“Yeah, I’ve had better,” Jack replied.

“I’m trying not to think about it. I
still can’t believe what my grandmother’s done though. I keep thinking this is
just a nightmare; that I’ll wake up soon.”

“You and me both.”

“Do you think the police are going to
come?”

“I think we’ll need more than the police
to put a stop to this.” Jack turned and hurried up the stairs to a short
corridor. At the top, four doors led off, two of which he would have to double
back to check. The first door opened onto a sparsely furnished sitting room.
Light from the landing illuminated a settee, a small bookcase, a coffee table
on which lay a men’s magazine opened at the centre spread and a footstool. The
next door led to a small kitchen, where he found the cat drinking milk from its
bowl. It looked up and regarded Jack, then resumed lapping its milk as though
he wasn’t worth bothering about. Dirty bowls, plates and cutlery were stacked
up in the sink and over the draining board. The tap dripped. Jack wondered who
would come and clean up when this was all over. Wondered who would look after
the cat.

Exiting the room, he walked back along
the corridor to investigate the other two doors, both of which were shut. He
pushed open the first one he came to, but couldn’t see anything inside as the
curtains were drawn and the light on the landing didn’t reach this far. He
swept his hand across the wall until he found the light switch and flicked it
on.

The first thing he saw was a face
staring at him, and his heart did a somersault. He opened his mouth and let out
a gasp, only to realise he was looking at his own reflection in a mirror on the
wall.

“You okay?” Jen asked.

Jack nodded. “I may not be the best looking
lad in the world, but it comes to something when my own reflection makes me
jump.”

“You look pretty good to me.”

Jack entered the room to hide his
embarrassment. A single bed occupied one wall, across from which a wardrobe
held the promise of clothes. Jack strode across and opened it. He thought it
felt macabre rifling through the jackets and shirts of someone probably now
food for the monsters but he put his feelings aside as he selected things which
would burn well, and which would continue to burn, such as a stack of polyester
shirts.

“Here, take these,” he said, passing an
armful to Jen.

He grabbed a couple of pairs of
polyester pants. “That should be enough. Come on, they’re waiting for us.”

Jack ran down the stairs and back into
the bar. Brad and his dad were holding the door shut.

“Hurry up, kid,” Brad said.

Rocky, Sara and Erin were stamping on
chairs to snap the legs off. Jack and Jen dropped the pile of clothes next to
them, then helped wrap each item tightly around the jagged end of each leg.

“We’ll need some alcohol from behind the
bar to soak them in,” Erin said. “Rocky, help Jack pick bottles with the most
alcohol as that will burn better. Look for liqueurs and rum with high alcohol
content.”

Jack looked at Rocky, wondering whether
there was still going to be any animosity between them. Rocky stared back,
nodded, then proceeded to the bar where he started removing bottles of alcohol
from the racks on the wall.

Jack joined him, and said, “I know you
don’t like me, but thanks. You know, for helping us when we were stuck on the
rocks.”

Rocky looked at him. “Least I could do
in the circumstances.”

“Me and Jen, we’re … well …”

“I know.” He leaned closer. “Tell you
the truth, I never liked her that much. Don’t tell her, though. Don’t want her
to get all upset and the like. Now you see Sara though, she’s a fox.”

Jack looked at Sara and smiled.

When they had enough bottles, Jack and
Rocky carried them back to Erin and she started dousing the makeshift torches
in alcohol. The pungent aroma of the spirits soon filled the air, and Jack
wondered if you could get drunk from the fumes.

“Okay, we’re all set,” Erin said. She
passed the torches around. “I don’t know how long they’ll last, so use one at a
time. Now who’s got a light?”

“I’ve got one,” Jack said.

Zander nodded. “And me.”

“Those who haven’t got one, grab some of
the boxes of matches from behind the bar,” she said.

She placed Brad’s and Bruce’s torches on
the bar. Bruce turned to Brad. “You ready?”

The engineer nodded. “As I ever will
be.”

Erin lit a match and ignited one of her
torches. Acrid black smoke spiralled towards the ceiling as people stepped
forwards to light their own torch from Erin’s. Finally, Jack lit his dad’s and
Brad’s. Then he held them out, and they jumped away from the door, grabbed the
torches and moved clear.

A series of bangs rattled the cellar
door in its frame. It wasn’t going to hold much longer. The heat from the torch
warmed Jack’s cheeks. He looked at his dad; felt more for him at that moment
than he ever had.

“Let’s get out of here,” Bruce said. He
hurried towards the front door, slid back the bolts, opened the door,
brandished his torch before him, and then stepped outside.