by Guy N Smith
‘I reckon there’s more than one,’ Cliff shook his head, ‘but we’ll only know when your diver returns. Hopefully he will also locate Adrian. I’m somewhat concerned that he hasn’t shown up, he’s been in there three hours already.’
Adrian cowered at the rear of the small, narrow recess. He removed his face mask; he did not need it to breathe although the air was somewhat stifling. Otherwise he would surely have suffocated by now.
The crab was still in the channel below. It had given up scraping with its pincers, there was no way it would climb up on to the narrow ledge with its mighty, cumbersome body.
It sank back into the channel with a mighty splash, its huge shell scraping against both sides. One claw rested against the ledge, held in readiness in case the trapped human should make a break for freedom. It was in no hurry. Adrian crouched at the extremity of that small opening in the rock face. He felt sick and physically weak. He considered making a rush for freedom on the off chance that he could avoid that pincer, scramble his way out to the exit which could only be a matter of thirty yards or so beyond the next bend. He might or might not be successful in his bid for freedom; if only his legs were not so weak he might have stood a slim chance. Moving around down here strained every muscle in the body.
All the time water was rushing down the channel below, he could hear the waves crashing against the cliff face beyond. He switched off his lamp, there was no point in wasting the battery. Now he cowered in total darkness. It was terrifying and he knew that he had to make a decision soon. He could either stay where he was and suffer a lingering death or make a rush for freedom and probably be ripped apart by a giant claw.
Calvin Wilson waded through the swirling pool, the water up to his chest. The beam from his light showed him where that ledge jutted above the surface. With no small amount of difficulty he pulled himself up on to it and found that there was room enough for him to stand upright with the top of his helmet scraping against the rocky roof.
The surface was uneven and in places small fallen rocks were a problem in keeping his balance. Up ahead the tunnel veered off to his right. His powerful beam showed him a wall and roof which dipped into water.
Not a nice place, he told himself. He much preferred diving into the open sea where he could see all around him with ample warning of any danger. Here it was claustrophobic with nowhere to flee if the need arose.
The channel widened and as his beam swept the surface he saw the huge crab crouched there, a monster which had no right to exist. A claw was wedged on the brink of a ledge a couple of yards from another narrow tunnel.
Its eyes glinted in the dazzling beam. It did not move. Its attention had been focused on the narrow opening and beyond its reach.
Those evil orbs turned to focus on him. Surprise and indecision. Its crustacean brain was momentarily confused.
That was when Calvin detected a faint human cry from within the opening ahead of him, indecipherable but undoubtedly a strangled plea for help. It could only have come from the missing diver held at bay by this terrible creature.
‘Adrian?’ Calvin’s voice echoed down the tunnel, ‘Adrian… Adrian…’
‘Help me.’ This time the voice from that recess was unmistakable; a desperate reply which embodied both relief and sheer terror.
‘Stay where you are Adrian!’ If the other emerged he would doubtless be seized by a pincer which opened in anticipation. Christ, what do I do now? Calvin froze, his beam fixed on the crab’s small face. Its eyes glinting greedily. He sensed that momentarily it was as surprised and confused as himself. He had to take advantage of its brief indecision; a brace of human prey, which one should it attack first?
Lost for choice it hesitated.
Calvin directed the powerful beam of his lamp directly on those evil orbs. They glowed brightly like coals in a fire about to burst into flame. The creature halted, bemused, the pincer dropping down from the ledge above where it had been scraping.
‘Adrian!’ Calvin’s shout echoed down the passage beyond. ‘Get out now, head this way as fast as you can!’
There was a moment or two of silence and then Adrian came stumbling from the small cave, clutching at the rocky sides of the ledge for support, using his own beam to guide him.
He had no idea who his attempted rescuer was, but another human was sheer relief.
‘Head this way. Follow me!’ Calvin’s beam had certainly disorientated the crab but for how long? It wallowed and splashed in the deepening channel.
‘Carry on towards the exit, I’ll try to confuse the bastard as long as I can.’
Adrian stumbled, almost lost his balance and fell but somehow remained upright.
Progress was difficult on the uneven surface and both men knew that when they reached the flooded pool they would need to go underwater, fight their way against the increasing, raging current until they emerged into the open. If they made it that far.
Calvin backed away, following the other, trying to keep his balance and avoid plunging over the edge. If that happened, he would be easy prey for the crustacean.
Still dazzled, the crab’s fury at this sudden disturbance was only too clear. Pincers waved from side to side, disturbing loose stone which splashed down into the water. Human prey was here for the taking, it was determined to catch one or both of the men.
‘Keep going!’ Calvin yelled to the other.
Although dazzled and confused the crustacean was using its pincers to aid it in its pursuit, scraping the rocky sides of the fast-flowing water course as the only guide it had to the pursued. Its shambling gait was fast reducing the distance between them.
Adrian lowered himself in to the current, fighting against it, as it threatened to sweep him back along with Calvin who was close behind, pushing at him.
Now they clutched at each other for support. God, how much further? Additional turmoil was being caused by those gigantic claws which powered the beast in their wake.
Then both divers were clear of the passage beneath the cliff face, pulling themselves up on the rocky beach, but it was imperative to maintain their flight until they reached safety.
Some distance away they were just able to make out a group of men attempting to shelter behind a pile of rocks, waves crashing against it. They waved; their shouts lost in the tearing gale. The small rescue group of military and coast guards had been reluctant to desert their divers although they had almost given up hope of seeing them again.
Yet the danger was far from over. The pursuing monster emerged from the cave entrance and crouched on the rocks. Shots rang out from armed soldiers. Bullets ricocheted off the giant shell, but the monster appeared to be impervious to gunfire.
Calvin and Adrian wallowed in the rushing incoming tide, and were almost battered against the cliff face. A glance behind showed the crab had ceased its pursuit as a mighty foaming wave struck it. It halted, watching its prey disappearing and then turned back the way it had come. It was not prepared to risk venturing into the open raging tide.
‘It’s going back into the cave!’ Calvin’s cry of relief was whipped away by the tearing gale. ‘Keep going, we’ll make it yet!’
Soon they had joined the waiting group huddled behind the pile of rocks which afforded scant but welcome shelter.
‘Thank God you’re both safe!’ Sanderson shouted in sheer undisguised relief.
‘There’s crabs in there all right,’ Adrian’s voice shook as he recalled what he had seen. ‘Big ‘uns and little ‘uns, and stinking dead ‘uns. It’s a breeding hideout until they’re ready to launch a full-scale attack!’
‘Blow the cave up. Bury them alive!’ Sanderson addressed the two soldiers.
‘No chance,’ came the reply from a saturated uniformed sergeant. ‘We’d never get back to the cave now and even if we did, I doubt that our explosive equipment would still be there on the rock where we left it.’
Sanderson nodded his reluctant acceptance. ‘I guess you’re right. Well, at least everybody’s safe an
d we know that the crabs are definitely hiding out in there. I guess we have no option other than to leave, wait until this storm has abated, and then return and blast that cave entrance.’
‘And hope that the crabs haven’t moved elsewhere now that their presence has been discovered,’ Cliff Davenport shook his head. Right now, though, all he wanted was to get back to Pat who would be worrying herself sick.
He knew, though, that he could not leave the Welsh coast until those crabs in the caves had been destroyed. Only then would he be able to rid himself of forty years of phobias and nightmares.
12
Downing Street had already been in contact with the Russian Embassy by the time Sanderson and Professor Danielson had changed into dry clothes and assembled with others in the latter’s office. Only Cliff Davenport was absent having returned to Pat at their hotel.
Outside the storm was raging. The previous year the media had dubbed the hurricane which had swept in from the east as ‘The Beast from the East’, now they were calling this latest storm ‘The Terror from the West’. It was reputedly the worst cyclone in the past fifty years and massive damage had resulted on the west coast of the USA with over 100 deaths recorded and many residents reported missing amidst the debris left in its wake.
Sanderson stared out of the window at the promenade in the distance, now heaped with rubble washed up from the beach below. A shelter had been demolished and parked vehicles overturned and wrecked.
‘They reckon this storm is going to last for at least another couple of days,’ he announced, tight lipped. ‘Which means there’s no chance of us blasting those crabs into oblivion until it abates.’
‘Which probably will make no difference to the outcome,’ Danielson replied. ‘As we know that monster chasing our divers drew back when it encountered the sheer force of the waves. It and its companions are doubtless huddled in the caves awaiting the storm to abate before emerging and going in search of food. If we time it right, we can blast ‘em all to hell whilst they’re still in there.’
‘Fingers crossed,’ Sanderson pursed his lips. ‘Right now, all we can do is sit and wait.’
‘God, am I glad to see you back safe and sound!’ Pat Davenport wrung her hands together as she watched her husband donning a dry set of clothes. ‘I’ve been absolutely frantic. Now, please, can we go back home?’
‘There’s no chance of us going anywhere in this!’ He indicated the rain splattered window.
At that moment a tile came off the roof. They heard it smash on the ground below. ‘Just going outside would be dangerous. And I fully expect that the roads homewards will be blocked by fallen trees.’
‘So we just sit it out in here,’ she muttered. ‘You won’t be going back on the beach after the storm, though, will you?’
‘I don’t know right now,’ he replied, dropping his gaze. ‘If I do then it will only be to watch from a distance whilst those soldiers blow up that cave. At least then I’ll know that the crabs are destroyed once and for all and maybe that will be the end of my phobias.’
‘I suppose I’ll have to go along with it,’ she sighed.
Would this dammed business never end?
An emergency meeting was taking place in the Prime Minister’s private office at 10 Downing Street. In attendance were the Foreign Secretary and Defence Secretary. All three had grim expressions and momentarily there was an uneasy silence.
Russian television and radio had already issued a grim statement following a telephone call to the embassy concerning the fate of the submarine which had entered UK waters.
‘One of our submarines had ventured into UK waters purely on an experimental mission to test the effectiveness of new technology which had been installed. It carried no weaponry and its purpose was to discover whether or not it could be detected by patrolling ships, helicopters or drones.’
‘It was detected, and an attack followed by a UK submarine causing damage which allowed water to penetrate thus drowning the crew of three. Now our submarine is held by the British and we are demanding its immediate return together with the bodies of those who died.
‘This is clearly an act of war and we await an announcement from our President on what action will be taken.’
‘Scientists at Porton Down are currently examining this technology,’ the Defence secretary broke the uneasy silence, ‘We need to know how it operates and, more importantly, how we can infiltrate its anti-detection system otherwise Russian subs will be invading our waters whenever they choose. Furthermore, it has already been proved that the attack was carried out by a large and powerful marine creature, presumably a crab or crabs. There can be no doubt about that. And as we already believe that these crustaceans are inhabiting caves in the cliffs, less than a mile from where the attack was carried out, there is no possible other explanation. The submarine was too strong for them to break into it but the damage incurred by their attack was sufficient to allow water to penetrate and drown the occupants who, incidentally, were senior GRU officers. In a nutshell, that’s it!’
‘As we are already aware from past instances concerning British spies murdered on our shores,’ the PM stated ‘the Russians will attempt to explain their innocence with the most unbelievable lies. In effect we are banging our heads against a brick wall. President Putin and his office will never accept that this was an attack by giant crustaceans, no matter how much proof we present them with. In addition to their underwater trespass it was a spying mission.’
‘We can only strengthen our patrols,’ the Defence Secretary stated, ‘and watch and wait for any further outcome. We have never been closer to war now than we were back in the 1960’s when the Cuban Crisis arose.’
The meeting broke up and the Prime Minister prepared for a meeting with a gathering of journalists who had assembled outside. They, too, would need much convincing of recent events.
13
The full force of the storm had passed on up into the mountains, yet full strength winds and lashing rain still swept the Welsh coast two mornings later. It would probably be another twenty-four hours before anything resembling calmer weather replaced it. Nevertheless, a small group of locals had ventured out. A massive transporter carrying the damaged submarine away had attracted attention along with police and military vehicles. What the hell had been going on down there on the beach? Everybody was curious, hence a few of them braved the remnants of the Terror from the West, seeking any scant shelter from which to view the beach below the cliffs.
That was when Reuben Ryan wheeled his surfboard on a trolley from behind his parent’s house, and bracing himself against the remnants of the storm, struggled towards the track that led down to the shore.
Reuben had just celebrated his twenty-third birthday, tall and red-haired, he worked part time in the building trade, on call when he was needed. His favourite hobby was water skiing out in the bay. The past forty-eight hours had been impossible even for somebody of his fearless nature. Now, though, with the worst of the hurricane having gone inland the rough sea presented a challenge, especially as a small crowd had gathered in the shelter of a pile of rocks. He would show them what he was capable of, display his fearlessness when there was not another single bather in sight.
The incoming tide was splashing on the bottom of the cliff face. Clad only in bathing trucks he struggled with his lightweight surfing board in search of deeper water.
Staying upright was impossible as he lay full length on his lightweight craft, he attempted to paddle but it was nigh impossible. Damn it, the strong current would take him back to shore.
A glance to his rear revealed that bunch of spectators. He welcomed an audience, the opportunity to display his contempt for the conditions. If only he could paddle sideways, a hundred meters or so…
Up above, a patrolling coastguard had joined the throng, an expression of annoyance on his weather-beaten features at the sight of a water skier out there in such conditions.
‘Bloody idiot!’ He grunted. A rescue mission w
as a strong possibility. He pulled a mobile phone out from beneath the waterproof jacket.
Something bumped the underside of Reuben’s lightweight craft, lifting it above the tide, then dropping it back with a splash. An incoming wave submerged it briefly. He held on tightly, somehow preventing himself from being dislodged and deposited in the water.
Face down, through his blurred goggles he discerned a shape, a rounded sandy coloured shell from which protruded huge pincers, clawing up and attempting to reach the bobbing craft. Even through his restricted watery vision he recognised it as a giant crab!
His scream was silenced by a mouthful of saltwater. That pincer now secured a grip on the frail craft, tipped it sideways and catapulted Reuben overboard. In crazed realisation of what was happening, he instinctively attempted to swim towards the shore.
Within a couple of metres of the panic-stricken threshing of his limbs he felt something grip an ankle, closed on it and almost severed the foot. Blinding pain engulfed him; another attempted scream was stifled by an intake of salt water. His injured leg and arm flailed as he was pulled below the surface.
The crab began to drag its victim shorewards, shambling in the strong current until it emerged close to that cave opening in full view of the horrified human spectators for a few seconds before it vanished.
The small watching crowd stared in horror and disbelief at the sight which had been briefly revealed to them. Screams were whipped away in the strong wind. The coastguard phoned again, but had difficulty in speaking; producing a garbled plea for assistance from their base at Barmouth.
