Fangtooth

by Shaun Jeffrey

  Bruce couldn’t help but feel what a ragtag group they made.

  He looked at Erin as she lit another cigarette from the butt of her last one. Despite her dishevelled appearance, she still looked radiant. He noticed her hand shake as she put the cigarette to her lips, and he walked across and stood beside her.

  “I don’t think Zander endeared himself to the police officer. What do you think he’s going to do?” he asked.

  Erin turned towards him and he saw a deep sadness in her eyes, but also something else, something that made her appear as a frightened child. “Who, Zander or Powell?”

  “Zander. What do you think he’s going to do?”

  Erin shrugged and puffed on her cigarette. “I don’t know. He’s crazy enough to do anything.”

  “You look worried.” He hoped her concern wasn’t for Zander; that she didn’t have feelings for him.

  Erin emitted a nervous laugh. “Is it any wonder? You saw those things. God knows how many of them there are.”

  “Well I don’t think there’s anything to worry about. The army will take care of them.”

  “You think it will be that easy.” It was not a question.

  Bruce put his hands on the bar. “They’ve got guns and all manner of weapons. I don’t think a few fish, no matter how big, will be a threat.”

  “You seem to be forgetting, these fish, although I don’t think it’s right to call them fish anymore, are now as at home on land as they are beneath the water. That gives them an advantage, a big advantage in my book.”

  “We’ve got one of the best armies in the world.”

  “And now we’ve got one of the most fearsome predators after us. We’ve only seen a few, but a population can’t sustain itself without there being a lot more of them.” The fear on Erin’s face was evident.

  Bruce saw Graham peering at him and he turned away.

  Through the window, he could see the harbour lights. He had watched Zander set sail. So had Powell, but he hadn’t intervened. Bruce wondered what would happen when he returned to port. Wasn’t disobeying a police officer a crime? Having never broken the law, Bruce was unsure of the rules, but he didn’t think running away from a questioning officer would go down too well. But then again, from Zander’s expression, he didn’t think the man could care less.

  The darkness outside was intimidating. It allowed things to hide too easily. He shivered at the thought. The bright lights of the bar reflected off the glass, so it was hard to see out, but Bruce moved away from the window in case anything looked in and saw him

  He anxiously fingered the wallet in his trouser pocket, hoping the influence of the lucky charms would pass through the leather. The way things were going, he needed all the good luck he could get.

  A sudden noise made Bruce jump. It originated outside, sounded like a glass bottle kicked across the ground. All eyes turned to the window, then the lights went out.

  Bruce heard a scream. He didn’t know who it was, or whether it was male or female. Shazam barked once. The tip of Erin’s cigarette shook in the dark.

  “It’s probably the fuse,” Graham grumbled.

  Bruce heard a chair scrape across the cold stone floor.

  A light penetrated the dark, blinding Bruce as it swept across his face. “Is everyone okay?” Powell asked as he shone the flashlight around the room.

  Despite his impaired vision, Bruce saw a few blurred heads nod in the glare of the torch, and heard grunts of ascension before he rubbed his eyes to clear his sight.

  “Do you need a hand?” Powell asked as he shone the flashlight behind the bar. “Where’s he gone?”

  “Who?” Bruce asked.

  “The barman, Graham.”

  “He was there a minute ago,” Erin said.

  “Well he’s not now.” He approached the counter and shone the torch around the bar. “Graham, are you there?”

  No one answered.

  “Dad, what’s going on?” Jack asked.

  “It’s okay, Graham’s just gone to check the fuses.”

  “Then why isn’t he answering?”

  Bruce wondered the same thing, but he didn’t want to encourage the nervousness permeating the room. He heard a sob, hoped it wasn’t Erin, but couldn’t see her in the dark. At times like this, he felt useless. Didn’t know what to do or say.

  The torchlight illuminated an open door at the rear of the bar. Behind him, Bruce heard footsteps as the assembled crowd gathered around, close enough for him to hear their breathing.

  He stared at the doorway.

  “Graham?” Powell said.

  A noise filtered through the door. Bruce heard those around him hold their breath in anticipation. Sudden movement at the edge of the doorway caught his eye. One of the young girls squealed. Bruce involuntarily clenched his fists; his eyes went wide, fearful. Then a face appeared.

  The figure shielded its face. “Get that light out of my fuckin’ eye,” Graham said as Powell shone the torch at him.

  The group released a collective breath. Bruce unclenched his fists. Powell lowered the torch. “Why didn’t you answer when I called?”

  “Didn’t hear you. Thick walls.”

  “Was it the fuse?” Erin asked.

  Graham shook his head. “They all look fine to me. Probably a power cut.”

  Bruce pointed to the window. “Then why aren’t the harbour lights out?”

  All eyes turned towards the window, beyond which the harbour lights glowed. A murmur filtered around the bar.

  “What’s going on?” Jen asked.

  Powell waved his arms in the air, making the torchlight chase shadows around the room. “Now if everyone will just calm down. It’s probably nothing to worry about.”

  “Of course it’s nothing to worry about,” Graham said

  Bruce felt something brush against his leg. He looked down and saw Shazam, her head held high as she sniffed the air, ears cocked.

  “What is it girl?”

  Shazam looked up at him. In the near dark, her eyes glistened.

  “What, you think you’re Doctor Doolittle now,” Graham said. “First monsters, now this. Jesus.” He snorted loudly.

  “I’d better go and check around outside,” Powell said.

  “First sensible thing you’ve said all night,” Graham snapped.

  Bruce thought he saw Powell sigh, but he wasn’t sure as shadows played tricks with Powell’s face.

  “Be careful,” Erin said.

  Graham spat. “Let the man do his job.”

  Although not a violent man, Bruce felt like punching Graham.

  He watched as Powell turned and walked towards the door; wondered whether he should offer to accompany him, but decided against it. Now that he had Jack back, he didn’t want to let him out of his sight.

  Once Powell walked outside, darkness descended upon the bar. Bruce felt something brush his hand, felt fingers intertwine with his own. He looked up, could just make out Erin in the gloom. He squeezed her hand, saw the reflection of her teeth as she smiled in return. Her aroma filled the air, a smell that excited him. He felt they were like school kids, sitting in the back row at the cinema, too shy to surrender to their feelings, but her presence was comforting.

  His eyes slowly adapted to the lack of light, and he watched as Sara wandered over to the window and peered out. Beyond the glass, he could see torchlight flicker as Powell swept the area.

  He saw Jack staring at him, realised he was still holding Erin’s hand and let go. As though sensing the reason for his action, Erin gave him an encouraging look and then lit another cigarette.

  “What’s taking him so long?” Sara asked.

  Rocky spoke for the first time, “Perhaps those things got him.”

  “Not you as well. I would have thought you had more sense,” Graham said.

  “You weren’t there.”

  Graham poured himself a whisky and knocked it back.

  Bruce saw movement in the doorway behind Graham, but before he had a chanc
e to say anything, a figure rushed forward and struck Graham over the head. He dropped his glass. Bruce heard it shatter. Then Graham collapsed in a heap on the ground behind the bar.

  Bruce was too stunned to move. His gaze travelled up the body of the new arrival until he saw her face: Lillian Brown.

  By now, everyone had heard the commotion and Bruce heard a voice say, “Gran! My God, what are you doing?”

  He turned to see Jen on her feet, shaking her head.

  “Hush child,” Lillian said. Her wild eyes surveyed the room before coming to rest on Bruce. He shivered.

  Although the bar was between them, Bruce could make out a club of some sort in her hand, which he surmised she had used to hit Graham over the head.

  Lillian held her free hand up. “I’ve not come this far to be stopped now.”

  “I don’t understand,” Jen said, her voice choked with tears.

  “The sea needs sacrifices, child. That’s why this is happening.”

  Bruce couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You’re crazy. Duncan, help me out here.”

  He heard a bolt snap into place and turned to see Duncan standing with his back to the door.

  “I’m sorry Bruce, but she’s right.”

  Chapter 32

  Zander saw McKenzie keep stealing glances his way, and he knew given the chance the drug dealer wouldn’t balk at killing him. But he hadn’t counted on a crew of trawler men who stared danger and death in the face every time they set sail, men who wouldn’t flinch at McKenzie’s threats.

  The sea stretched before him, relentless. A shroud for the denizens of the deep. Zander steered a course for the rocks where he had picked up Jack and Jen. Despite his brave countenance, he felt nervous, his stomach bubbling with apprehension.

  He didn’t really know what he was going to do when he found his quarry, but find it he would.

  The searchlights illuminated choppy waves, from the crests of which the wind whisked trails of foam. He had hoped to see McKenzie looking pale and sick, but he seemed to take the movements of the boat in his stride, his jaw never losing the clenched aspect that made his cheeks prominent.

  Muldoon sat to the side, scanning the sonar screen. He glanced at Zander and nodded as though in encouragement, but Zander couldn’t help wondering if the bravado that had fuelled this voyage wasn’t running out. It had seemed like a good idea at the time. Not that he would dismiss it as foolhardy now, but out here, where the sea ruled, it made him take stock.

  He looked to port where Robinson was busy on deck, and caught sight of his own reflection in the glass. He looked manic, wide-eyed, crazy from lack of sleep. It’s no wonder McKenzie didn’t argue, one look at Zander probably made him think twice.

  The cliffs were visible at the fringes of the searchlights. Zander knew them well, and he could plot his position by those alone.

  When they reached the location where he had seen the creatures, Zander eased off on the throttle.

  Muldoon leaned closer to the sonar screen. “There’s something down there, but the readings are strange.”

  Zander knew it wasn’t only the readings that were strange. He sounded the alarm, and then lifted the microphone, his voice booming out of the speakers: “Right everyone, make sure you’re armed and ready. These creatures are tough sons of bitches.”

  The men on deck signalled with thumbs up and Zander started lowering the nets, creating a ladder leading up from the ocean.

  Brad patted the six cylinder, turbo diesel engine, pleased to hear it rumble contentedly. The rocker arms clacked up and down in quick succession. He checked the gauges and monitored dials, giving the oil pressure gauge a tap. Oil and grease marred his forehead and his hands were black with grime.

  The metal walls of the engine room were rusty. Remnants of paint made up abstract patterns that if he stared at them for long enough, formed into pictures. Here a face, there a cat.

  Tangles of wires and pipes filled the room, each pipe colour coded: blue, fresh water; green, seawater; red, diesel and yellow, oil. The belts running from the engine whined, but Brad liked it down here. The engine was his baby. He was at home changing fuel filters, bleeding the system, doing oil changes, tune-ups and cooling system maintenance. His mechanical expertise was second to none, and he figured he could get her up to speeds of twenty knots if he needed to.

  The engine shuddered, and he tapped it with a spanner, which made her tick over contentedly again. Out here, a loss of engines could mean certain death.

  He heard the alarm. Metal clanged against the hull, the sound reverberating around the engine room as Zander lowered the nets.

  Brad picked up a dirty rag and mopped the sweat from his brow. Plainspoken, he wasn’t afraid of calling a spade a spade, and he didn’t like that McKenzie fellow one bit. If it were up to him, he’d toss him overboard as fish bait. None of the men on board would comment, or breathe a word about what happened. They were closer than a family, so perhaps if he had a chance, he’d do it for Zander anyway. He had never killed anyone before, but had thought about it plenty of times, especially his ex-wife, Maureen. He couldn’t believe she wouldn’t let him see their son, Sean. What did she think he was going to do? The bottled rage bubbled up, and he concentrated on the engines to quell the anger. Now was not the time to lose it.

  A sudden noise against the hull caught his attention. He was used to hearing noises down here, but this sounded different – almost like someone tapping against the side. He cocked his head and listened, heard a sharp rat-a-tap-tap, then a protracted scratching sound, like sharp fingernails dragged across the metal. He remembered the creatures he had seen in the water. Not an easy man to scare, Brad was surprised to find he was holding his breath, and that goose bumps mottled his arms. He scanned the sides of the boat, trying to trace the sound, but it seemed to be moving, first one side and then the other. That’s when he realised the sound originated in more than one place at once.

  The engine seemed to cough and wheeze, bringing Brad’s attention back to the task of keeping the boat running. He adjusted a couple of valves and the engine sputtered and then continued chugging smoothly.

  He kept a small cassette player in the engine room, and he turned it on. The sound of Robert Wyatt’s haunting voice drifted out with the Sea Song: You look different every time you come from the foam-crested brine.

  He had always thought the song was about a mermaid, but listening to it now, he heard it in a new light.

  Down in the engine room, Brad turned the music up loud to drown out the sound of scratching on the hull.

  Now alone in the wheelhouse with Zander, McKenzie glanced at the knife. Zander had put it on a shelf where it was clearly visible and accessible. McKenzie wasn’t stupid. He knew Zander wouldn’t have put it within reach if it wasn’t for a reason, and that reason was probably to let him know that out here, if he did anything stupid, there was no way he could pilot the boat himself. But as soon as they reached land …

  He stared out of the window at the nets descending into the deep. In the beam of the lights, the nets seemed to glisten. Flecks of foam coated the buoys and clogged some of the holes in the net itself. He heard the heavy clang of metal as something banged against the side of the boat. This was nothing like the fishing he used to do in the river with his dad when he was a lad. He remembered the day they caught an eel. The thing hadn’t been that long, but it had wrapped itself around his arm and refused to budge, which made him understand where the term slippery as an eel came from. The hook was wedged firmly in its mouth, and his dad had struggled for ages to unhook it without being able to get a good grip. Eventually fed up of watching his dad try to unfasten it, McKenzie sliced the eel with a knife – the same knife Zander had put on the shelf – and the fish unwrapped itself and flopped aside. Yes, that knife had a history, and that was the first blood it had shed, but it certainly wasn’t the last. While many of the local gangsters used guns, McKenzie preferred the personal touch associated with a knife. There was nothing
like standing next to your victim and being able to see the look of horror and pain on their face as the blade penetrated their flesh.

  He had been questioned about various crimes, but there was never enough evidence to make a conviction stick, so he wasn’t about to let some fish-stinking fisherman call the shots when the police had never been able to.

  He had plans and dreams. One day, he was going to take over from Monty. And then there wasn’t going to be any of this pussy-footing around with small—

  A high-pitched squeal cut into his thoughts. McKenzie narrowed his eyes and turned to look at Zander to ask what the hell that fuckin’ noise was, but when he saw Zander’s nervous expression, he decided against it. He had never seen the skipper appear anything other than stony, and the realisation that something had rattled the man made him feel anxious too.

  McKenzie glanced at the knife, wanted the comforting feel of its handle within his grasp, but it was out of reach at the moment. He chewed his top lip and looked out at the net.

  The high-pitched noise caused Zander to flinch. He stared out, saw something hauling itself up the outside of the net, clawing its way along the mesh.

  “Here they come,” he said.

  McKenzie stared at him. “What the fuck’s going on?”

  Zander pointed outside, saw McKenzie’s expression turn to shock as the first of the creatures flopped onto the deck.

  A large wave washed across the starboard bow. The boat listed precariously.

  McKenzie jumped up and grabbed his knife. A small grin altered his expression as he opened the blade. “What are those things?”

  “I told you, they’re what took your drugs.”

  McKenzie narrowed his eyes. “If this is some fuckin’ sort of joke … if you’re fuckin’ with me …Right, let’s go see how they like the taste of cold steel.” Then he turned, ran towards the door and disappeared outside.

  Although not a religious man, Zander said a prayer then picked up his shotgun and followed McKenzie outside.

  The wind roared around him, sea spray stinging his face. McKenzie ran on in front, slipping across the deck. He reached the nearest Fangtooth and started stabbing it with the knife. The blade pierced its body and the creature slashed out in retaliation, raking its wicked claws across McKenzie’s arm, tearing cloth and parting flesh.