The Devil's Triangle

by Mark Robson

  ‘Hey, look at that!’ Callum exclaimed as they reached the very heart of the bay. He pointed at the surf and ran off at a sprint towards the water.

  Sam followed. It took a few seconds for him to realise what Callum was so excited about. The shallows were literally boiling with fish: not small fry, but a mass of medium- and large-sized fish thrashing around, apparently throwing themselves at the beach. Sam had never seen anything like it before.

  ‘Come on! There’s so many, we should be able to grab them with our hands,’ Callum yelled. ‘I’m sure Brad and Leah would appreciate an easy meal.’

  ‘I’m not sure, Cal,’ Sam replied, stopping short of the water. ‘I’ve never seen fish behave like that before.’

  Callum ran on into the shallows, heedless of the spray he was kicking up. Suddenly, he turned back towards Sam, plunged his hands into the water and attempted to scoop a fish into the air. His first effort failed as the fish he tried to lift slipped from his fingers and barely broke the surface, but on his second attempt Callum succeeded in sending a good-sized fish sailing through the air towards Sam. It landed with a wet slap and instantly began to flap and flip around on the sand.

  Drawing his knife, Sam reversed the blade and crouched down with the intention of clubbing the fish on the head with the handle. As he did so, a shadow in the surf caught his eye and his heart leapt. A dark shape was racing along the wave and into the shallows faster than Sam would have believed possible.

  ‘CALLUM! LOOK OUT!’

  Callum looked up and then around at the sea. For an instant, he couldn’t see what Sam was yelling for, but then a monstrous head erupted through the waves and he screamed in terror. It was a thing of nightmares and it was coming straight for him at speed. His first fleeting impression before he ran was of a huge gaping maw filled with a mass of teeth, bulging green eyes and a long, sinuous black body. Then he was flying from the water, bounding through the shallows with long, high steps.

  ‘Holy crap!’ he shouted as he reached Sam’s side, breathless and eyes wide with shock. He turned and looked in horror as the enormous eel-like creature thrashed and writhed through the shallows eating fish after fish. ‘What the hell is that?’

  ‘Who knows?’ Sam replied. ‘But I’ve gone right off the idea of an afternoon swim.’

  ‘It’s got to be at least ten metres long!’ Callum panted.

  ‘And it’s not alone,’ Sam observed.

  Three more of the monsters appeared, angling through the surf at high speed. They also ploughed into the stranded shoal of fish and began to feed.

  ‘I’m glad I didn’t know about those things when we were on the boat yesterday. They’re even scarier than that Nessie creature that came and took a look at us. I’d have been bricking myself if I’d realised there were a whole bunch of monsters hiding beneath the waves.’

  ‘Um, Cal,’ Sam said, backing slowly away from the sea.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Have you ever seen a conger eel move on sand?’

  ‘No, why?’

  ‘Trust me, they move pretty quick and I think that big fella over there fancies more than just fish for lunch. RUN!’

  Callum did not need telling twice. The creature’s body hissed through the shallows and across the sand as it began to chase them up the beach. Sam ran as fast as he could, a surge of adrenalin racing through him as he tore up the beach. He could hear Callum just behind him. His friend was not a natural runner, but it appeared that he could run faster than most when motivated.

  Sam glanced over his shoulder. The beast had not given up. Its green eyes held a deadly focus and it was slithering across the sand at frightening speed. By chance, in that instant of looking back, Sam’s right foot landed in a particularly soft patch of sand. Before he could react his ankle turned and he was down. He cursed as he hit the sand and rolled to a stop. Sam flinched as Callum hurdled him and kept running.

  The creature was closing fast, its mouth opening wide in preparation to strike. In a flash, Sam had scrambled to his feet. He suddenly became aware of the survival knife that he was gripping hard in his right hand, but one more look at the creature was enough to dispel any thought of heroics. There was no hope of stopping something that size with a knife. He turned and ran again with the creature literally snapping at his heels. His right ankle felt as though it was on fire as he ran, but Sam closed his mind to the pain and he concentrated on trying to catch up with Callum.

  He dared not look back again until he was nearly at the trees. Callum had stopped there. He was red-faced, panting and speechless, but the fact that he had stopped told Sam what he needed to know. The creature had given up the chase. Putting his hands on his knees, he turned and spat, raising his eyes to look at the retreating monster. The horror from the sea had turned back only when it reached the flotsam line where the sand turned from wet and relatively hard to the dry, fine and soft stuff at the top of the beach.

  ‘That’s one . . . for the blog,’ Callum gasped. ‘Shame I didn’t have . . . my camera with me. That beastie had . . . a wicked smile.’

  Sam nearly choked as he laughed and panted simultaneously. He put a hand on his friend’s shoulder and shook his head, unable to speak.

  They both watched as the monster snaked its way back down to the water and slipped into the surf. By the time it finally disappeared, Sam had recovered his breath.

  ‘Come on,’ he urged. ‘Let’s get away from here. I don’t think it will come back, but I’d rather not wait around to find out. I can’t help thinking that I know now why we haven’t seen any sign of the guy Brad mentioned.’

  ‘You think he’s been . . .’

  ‘Either that or he read the signs and made himself scarce,’ Sam suggested. ‘Who knows?’

  The two boys set out along the beach again, this time staying just below the high tide line. Callum was very quiet. Sam got the impression his friend had not really believed all the stuff about evolved dinosaurs and parallel worlds, but then he hadn’t seen the raptors and heard the roar of whatever had been in the trees last night. Given the number of nervous looks he was affording the nearby jungle, Sam could see he believed it now.

  The sand was softer here than it was near the water, but they laboured on in unspoken agreement. This line kept them a comfortable distance from the monsters in the surf, while also affording a margin from the jungle, which suddenly looked all the more menacing.

  It took about another half-hour to reach the headland, by which time it had become obvious that the tide was on its way in. As they rounded the end of the bay and looked along the next, Sam was disappointed to see no obvious sign of the boat.

  ‘Look, Sam!’ Callum exclaimed suddenly, pointing. ‘Up there by the trees. Is that the boat? I think it is!’

  The two boys began to run, the soft sand making it difficult to get up any speed. As they approached, they slowed further as they realised the prow of the boat had been dragged under the trees. It was way up above the flotsam line and a trail through the sand showed clearly where it had been dragged up the final part of the beach to the edge of the trees. It would take a dozen strong men, or more, to drag a ten-metre boat that far up the beach. Whoever, or whatever, had done this would have to be immensely strong.

  ‘The engines have gone,’ Sam noted, stopping a dozen paces short of the boat.

  ‘Maybe whoever dragged it up here took them off to reduce the weight,’ Callum suggested.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Sam said softly as he began to circle the back of the boat in a wide arc, taking care to keep his distance. ‘I don’t see them anywhere on the beach. No. Something tells me that’s not it.’

  With muscles tensed, ready to run at the first sign of danger, step by careful step Sam moved in closer. Callum held back, watching with breathless anticipation. The boat was resting at an angle, the deck tipped away from them. Closer and closer he crept to the stern. He reached it and looked in from where the engines should have been.

  ‘What the . . .?’


  There was a loud scream from above his head and Sam dived away from the boat, rolling like an acrobat across the sand and up onto his feet. Heart racing and poised to run again, Sam was embarrassed to witness a whirr of wings and a flash of colour through the trees as a startled parakeet beat a hasty retreat.

  Callum laughed, though he looked as nervous as Sam felt. ‘Oh, my blog entry for today just keeps getting better and better,’ he said. ‘First the sea monsters and now seeing Sam Cutler scared by a parrot! All I need is a computer to write it on.’

  ‘Well, you’re not going to find one in the boat,’ Sam said, his shoulders relaxing as he recovered from the fright. His voice was serious now – serious laced with a touch of anger. ‘In fact, you’re not going to find anything at all in it. It’s been gutted.’

  ‘Gutted?’

  ‘Absolutely stripped clean. Look’s like there’s nothing left but a fibreglass shell. This boat isn’t going to get us home any time soon.’

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Even as Niamh watched the droplet of sweat plummet towards the policeman, his weight shifted forward again. Although he did not move quickly enough for the drop to miss, instead of impacting his head square on, it struck the hair at the back of his head and ran straight down to end as a tiny trickle at the back of his neck. The man’s right hand automatically rose and reached around to smooth the back of his hair.

  It’s over, Niamh thought, closing her eyes again and waiting for the order to climb down. To her amazement, it didn’t come. She opened her eyes again. The man had failed to look up and was moving away, stepping lightly in an obvious effort to conceal his movement. It looked as though he was hoping to catch Niamh out with his stealth. Perhaps he was thinking that if he moved more slowly than she expected, Niamh would make another move and betray herself.

  A warm feeling of relief flooded through her body as she realised she was not going to get caught, but the sense of reprieve was short-lived. To her dismay, the initial rush of warmth did not disperse as she expected. Instead, it lingered, focusing into a burning sensation in her bladder as she continued to stay as still as she could. Her relief at evading the policeman, combined with the physical pressure from the branch against her belly, made the urge grow with unnatural speed into an intense need. She could not stay here long.

  Every second stretched as Niamh’s discomfort intensified over the following few minutes. Ideally, she would have waited much longer before moving, but once she had started thinking about needing to go to the toilet, it became impossible to think about anything else. She couldn’t hear the policeman any more, but neither had she heard the car leaving. Would she hear it from here? Probably not, she decided. Had she waited long enough? It was impossible to tell, but she didn’t feel she could stay even a moment longer.

  Tipping her body off the branch, she hung for a moment by her fingertips before dropping lightly to the ground. For a moment, she remained in a crouched position, one knee on the floor and senses alert for any sign that she might have been detected. The change of position had relieved the immediate pressure, but the desire had not gone away. Did she dare go home? There was a spare key hidden at the back of the house. The drive to the Sheriff’s Office building at Key West would take at least fifteen to twenty minutes. By the time they got there, booked in her father, gathered a search party and returned, Niamh estimated it would be at least an hour before they came in force to search for her. Even so, going to the house seemed risky.

  ‘I need a way to get off Summerland Key – and fast,’ she breathed. But I’m not going anywhere until I’ve been to the loo, she added in her mind.

  Moving silently, she flitted from bush to tree to bush along the line of the canal until she approached the Mitchells’ house. There was no sign of the policeman anywhere. From her concealed vantage point near the Mitchell’s mooring, Niamh could see Moira moving around her kitchen, presumably making breakfast. On seeing her, thoughts of hiding in the shed vanished. With one final look around, Niamh raced up to the window and tapped urgently on it with her fingernails.

  Moira looked around in surprise, but her expression turned immediately to a smile as she recognised Niamh. First she waved and then crossed the living area to the patio door to unlock it.

  ‘Mornin’, honey,’ she said. ‘Any news of the boys?’

  Niamh shook her head. ‘No news yet,’ she said.

  ‘Really?’ Moira said, sounding genuinely worried for the first time. ‘I’d have thought they’d turn up by now. You been walkin’ the canal? Come in, come in! Don’t stand out there like a stranger.’

  ‘Had to stretch my legs.’

  Moira nodded. ‘Well, I’m just heatin’ up some waffles for breakfast. Mitch is just gettin’ dressed. He’ll be right through. Would you like to join us?’

  ‘That would be wonderful, Moira. Thanks,’ Niamh replied. ‘But can I pay a quick visit to your rest room first?’

  ‘Sure. Go right ahead. You know where it is. Oh, that’s a nasty scrape! How did you get that?’

  Niamh looked down at her leg to where Moira was pointing. She had been so focused on getting away from the policeman that she had completely forgotten the graze she had got from hurdling the fence earlier.

  ‘I tripped and scraped it down on the path,’ she said quickly. ‘Don’t worry. It doesn’t hurt much. I’ll clean it up.’

  ‘You do that, honey,’ Moira agreed. ‘And I’ll have some antiseptic cream ready for you when you come back out.’

  Niamh nipped across the living area to the far door and out into the hallway.

  ‘So has Matt gone out and left you alone already?’ Moira called after her.

  ‘Pretty much,’ she called back. ‘I don’t think he’s going to be back for a while. He’s gone to the Sheriff’s Office in Key West.’ Niamh hated lying, but this was close enough to the truth that she did not feel too uncomfortable.

  ‘So are they searchin’ in force yet?’

  ‘Oh, yes!’ Niamh called back, thinking of the charges that had been made against her father. ‘I’m pretty certain everyone is out looking for the boys now.’

  ‘Well, that’s somethin’ then. Don’t worry. They’ll turn up, honey. You’ll see.’

  By the time Niamh returned to the kitchen, an idea had begun to form in her mind. Could she fool Mitch and Moira for long enough to make it work? Her heart began to race just thinking about it.

  ‘What do you like on your waffles, honey? I’ve got strawberry jelly, maple syrup, peanut butter . . .’

  ‘Maple syrup would be lovely, thanks,’ Niamh said quickly. ‘Good morning, sir,’ she added as Mitch entered through the far door.

  ‘Mornin’ Niamh,’ he replied. ‘And please – I’m no “sir” these days. I get all twitchy if folk call me anythin’ but Mitch. Gets me thinkin’ I forgot to retire.’

  Niamh laughed nervously. ‘I can see how that might be disturbing,’ she said. ‘Um, Mitch, would you be able to go out and search for the boys again today? My dad and I would really appreciate it.’

  ‘So they didn’t come back last night then,’ he said, looking worried. ‘Of course, I’ll be happy to go out again. Did Matt say where he’d like me to go lookin’ ?’

  ‘No, he shot off to the Sheriff’s Office in a bit of a hurry this morning, so I was hoping that I might be able to come with you today. I told Dad that I’d be coming over here to ask.’

  Mitch looked across at his wife, who nodded.

  ‘I don’t see why not. The forecast is pretty good. We should be able to cover a lot of water. Did you bring the glasses with you?’

  Niamh’s heart dropped into her stomach and she knew her face must be reflecting her internal reaction as she struggled for an excuse not to go back to the house. ‘I think I left the binoculars you gave me in Dad’s car,’ she groaned.

  ‘Don’t worry, Niamh,’ Mitch assured her quickly, holding up a hand to stop any attempt at an apology. ‘I’ve got another set on the boat. We’ll just grab a bite and then w
e’ll get right on out there.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  Breakfast with the Mitchells proved a severe test of nerves. Moira insisted on smothering her graze in antiseptic and made a big fuss over her as she did so. The cream stung, but not too badly. Niamh then struggled to eat her waffles, spending the entire time fighting an inner battle to keep from looking at her watch every thirty seconds. The maple syrup tasted sickly sweet, but she forced it down. Once she got away from Summerland there was no telling when she might get hot food again.

  As she ate, she tried to second-guess what the police might do next. Would they radio ahead and call for a search team to come out? If so, there could be patrol cars arriving within just a few minutes.

  ‘All right then, Niamh,’ Mitch announced suddenly, making her jump. ‘I can see you’re itchin’ to get goin’, so let’s go down and fire her up, shall we?’

  ‘Great!’ she replied, leaping to her feet. ‘Sorry for all the trouble.’

  ‘It’s no trouble,’ he assured her. ‘I’d have only been out fishin’ or playin’ golf. I’m sure the fish’ll wait, and the real golfers’ll probably thank you for keepin’ me away. I don’t play well and I think I irritate ’em with my attempts at hackin’ round the course.’

  ‘If you hold fire for two minutes, honey, I’ll put together a pack up, so you’ve got some food with you,’ Moira offered.

  ‘That’d be great, dear,’ Mitch said, giving his wife a peck on the lips as he headed for the door. ‘I’ll just go and get the boat ready. I’ll be back for it in a couple of minutes.’

  Niamh could not help taking a good look round as they left the house. To her relief, there was no one else about and Mitch didn’t seem to notice her furtive glances.