Crustaceans

by Meikle, William

  “I guess you can afford to give me another cigarette then?” he said.

  Garston almost laughed as he handed over the carton.

  They both lit up.

  Garston looked over the railing again.

  “Do you really think you have a chance of catching this thing?”

  “Son,” Porter said as he exhaled a lung-full of smoke. “I’m the best damned crabber on the Long Island shore. Hell, maybe even the best on the whole Eastern Seaboard. If anybody is going to catch that thing, it’s me.”

  While they smoked Porter listened for any sounds from below. Pipes gurgled, and once he heard the far-off sound of running machinery. But there was nothing to suggest that the crab was anywhere close.

  He knew that didn’t mean anything.

  Sneaky little fucker could be anywhere.

  He decided to give Garston one more try.

  “I’ll double the money if you stay and help me catch it,” he said.

  Garston smiled ruefully.

  “Five hundred guaranteed, with me free and clear and out in the daylight in ten minutes, is worth a lot more than a thou’ I might get too dead to see.”

  They finished the cigarettes and hefted the cage and gear. After relaxing, just slightly, during the smoke, Garston showed signs of spreading panic. He started to talk, faster and faster.

  “Five hundred bucks will come in handy,” Garston said. “I’ve got a girl. She wants to go to Florida for a weekend. You ever been to Florida?

  He didn’t wait for an answer.

  Porter backed down onto a flat floor and realised they had reached the bottom. It was darker here, with deep shadows in the corners. The only light shone above a swing door and a sign that read Sub-Basement 3 – No Unauthorised Admission.

  Porter moved in that direction, away from the stairs.

  Garston was still talking.

  “They done got this beach that goes on forever, the sand so yellow it hurts your eyes. And they have these broads that parade up and down with their tits hanging out. My girl doesn’t know that. She’s just seen Miami on the television and thinks it would be cool to hang out there. I…”

  Snick.

  The cage dropped to one side with a clang and clatter. At first Porter thought that Garston had tripped.

  Then he saw the claw.

  The crab had been hiding underneath the metal stairs. Just as Garston reached the bottom it reached out between steps and took his left foot off just above the ankle.

  Garston lay against the corridor wall, staring at the stump. His foot still sat on the stairs. The spray of blood covered a large triangular area. It still spurted, an almost three foot arc that steamed in the air. The youth, even paler now, looked on, aghast. Porter knew that the pain hadn’t hit yet.

  But it will.

  He didn’t have time to help the youth. The crab scuttled out from the gap under the stairs. It snapped its claws together.

  Clickety-click.

  Standing up on its legs it showed Porter its belly. Down here in the cramped area it looked even bigger than before.

  Porter shuffled to one side, putting the cage between him and the crab. The crab barely slowed. It came forward, snapping. Porter bent, trying to reach the length of chain, anything that could help as a weapon. But the cage itself was in the way.

  And the crab is too close.

  The creature snipped at the cage. The metal didn’t give. But it did bend. The right claw grabbed tight at the roof of the cage and pulled. Porter grabbed the edge and tried to pull against it, but the crab proved to be incredibly strong. It dragged the cage to one side and threw it aside, the noise as it hit the wall almost deafening.

  But not as loud as the shotgun blast. Something tugged at the cloth of Porter’s jacket. But the bulk of the shot hit the crab’s shell. Pieces of carapace flew. But the shell withstood the blast. No real damage had been done.

  It had however drawn the beast’s attention back to Garston. That gave Porter time to bend and lift the chain. He had no real plan in mind, apart from getting the crab to take the eel bait that still hung at the end.

  Garston had other ideas. He raised the shotgun again.

  “Don’t kill it,” Porter shouted.

  “Fuck that,” Garston shouted back. Porter ducked just in time as the gun boomed.

  He was showered in small pieces of shell, and he smelled the unmistakable whiff of crabmeat.

  The bastard has killed it.

  But when he looked up it was to see the crab scuttle away through the swing doors. One of its legs lay on the ground at Porter’s feet. Porter kicked it to one side and ran over to kneel by Garston.

  The lad was as white as a sheet, his eyelids fluttering. The blood still flowed at the stump, but it was barely a trickle.

  The poor bastard is nearly gone.

  Even as Porter knelt at his side, the lad’s head lolled to one side and he let out one last drawn out gasp. Then he was gone.

  Porter looked back up the stairs, then at the swing doors.

  Fifty thou’. Remember the fifty thou’.

  He rolled the long chain into a loop and draped it over his shoulders. He didn’t want to, but he forced himself to go through Garston’s pockets. He found a packet of cartridges for the shotgun, a fresh pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He put them all in his jacket, and took the shotgun from the holster. Without looking back he headed through the doors into the darkness.

  25

  The first passageway Shona and the team tried proved to be a dead-end after only thirty yards. The red brick arch crumbled in places, and long strands of pale lichen and roots hung limply, slapping against Shona’s face as she tried to peer into the corners.

  There was little sign that the space had been used apart from a pair of rotting sleeping bags and a small pile of fast food cartons.

  Wilkes prodded one of the sleeping bags.

  “This could be the home of the ones who…”

  He didn’t have to finish. They all knew what he meant. Shona thought it would be a long time before she forgot the sight of those two pitiful fingers lying on the dirt.

  Stark came to Shona’s side.

  “What do you think?” he said.

  “There’s no way they came through here,” she replied.

  Stark nodded, agreeing.

  “Let’s move on. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover.

  Stark lifted a finger to his ear and did something with his headset.

  “Alpha team reporting,” he said. “We’re going in deeper.”

  “Reporting in?” Shona asked. “We can do that down here?”

  “For now,” Stark said. “While we’re near the surface. If we get deeper then it’s less likely.”

  “And backup?” Shona asked. “Do we have any?”

  Stark smiled grimly.

  “Well, there’s Sergeant Brookes’ team. But they’re halfway across Manhattan in Central Park. Let’s hope we don’t have to walk that far.”

  Let’s hope.

  Stark led the team out again.

  The second passageway proved more hopeful as a lead. It opened out slightly into a wide tunnel that led away from the sea in a very slight down slope. A corroded set of rails showed where a cargo train had once ran. Whispers ran and echoed around them. Their headlights showed more of the red-brick arch above. This one was clear of the damp and hanging roots. Indeed some of the brickwork looked almost new. Shona tried to look further down the tunnel but her light could not pierce more than twenty yards ahead in the gloom.

  When she started to turn towards Stark something caught her eye. She knelt and checked the ground at their feet. Lieutenant Wilkes stepped forward but she waved him back.

  “Wait. There are some tracks here.”

  She bent closer. Her first instincts had been right.

  Crab tracks. Big ones. And lots of them.

  “They came this way?” Stark asked.

  “It certainly looks like it.”

  She was
aware that around her the men stiffened, and became a lot more watchful as they headed deeper into the tunnel.

  It got cold quickly. The air tasted slightly metallic. Shona heard, as if from far off, an intermittent rumbling noise. Wilkes saw her looking up.

  “Traffic noise,” he said. “We’re off the docks and under Manhattan itself by now.”

  “It’s hard to believe all this is underfoot and no one ever thinks about it,” she said.

  Wilkes laughed.

  “You ain’t seen nothing yet,” he said. “There a whole other city down here. I hope you’re prepared for a walk. We could be down here a while.”

  The tunnel led steadily down for a hundred yards before Stark brought the men to a halt.

  “Miss Menzies,” he said. “You need to see this.

  She looked to where he indicated. Three pyramidal piles, each almost two feet high, sat in the centre of the tunnel. In the light from the head-lights it showed up grey, almost ghostly.

  “Is this what I think it is?” Stark asked.

  She nodded.

  “Crab scat. And a lot of it.”

  She knelt.

  “It’s old,” she said and plunged a hand deep into the nearest pile, ignoring the groans and complaints from the men around her.

  “You can tell a lot from crab scat,” she said.

  Wilkes laughed loudly.

  “I think I already know all I want to.”

  She pulled a fistful of damp material from the centre of the pile and studied it closely. She ran some of it between her fingers. It fell to the ground slowly, little more than fine dust.

  Two, maybe three months. It fits with what we saw earlier.

  Stark came forward.

  “Anything?”

  She was about to reply when she found a more solid piece. She blew away the dusty detritus around it, and gasped.

  “What?” Stark said. “What is it?”

  She held it up and showed him. She had uncovered a human fingernail, cracked and broken, but unmistakable.

  “There’s no possible doubt about it now. The things we are after don’t just slice and dice. They are man-eaters.”

  26

  Porter had to stand in the gloom beyond the swing doors for several minutes before his eyes adjusted to the near-dark. Black shadows hung everywhere he looked, and vague shapes were scattered around on the floor of the room he’d entered. After a while they began to resolve into tables, chairs and piles of old filing cabinets, some of which were metal, some older still… huge solid wooden constructions that would take a team of workmen to lift.

  There was no sign of the crab.

  Porter took out the shotgun and loaded it by feel. He stood still and listened. The only sound was the far off rumbling of machinery that he guessed, given how far down they’d come, to be some part of the subway system.

  I have to get the little fucker’s attention soon. I ain’t going crawling around in no dark tunnels on his account.

  Once he started to move he was able to pick his way though the debris easily enough. He took it slowly and carefully, aware that at any second he could hear the snick that would spell his death.

  He was grateful for the feel and solidity of the gun in his hands. After seeing the effect the shot had, he was confident he could at least fend off an all out attack. But that wasn’t the plan. The length of chain weighed heavy on his shoulders, but there was no way he was going to ditch it. He was here to go crabbing, to get the catch of his life.

  But first I have to find the fucker.

  He moved deeper into the gloom. The further in he got, the more he could hear of the deep rumbling. At the far end of the basement he found another stairwell, dark, dank and uninviting. The rumbling was louder down there, and a dim light showed several flights below.

  Porter did a quick sweep of the room he was in. He couldn’t see anywhere else that the crab could have gone.

  But I don’t want to be poking around any further than I have to.

  He took out a cigarette and lit up. The flare from the lighter blinded him momentarily, and he realised he’d just been really stupid. If the attack came now, he was defenceless. He held his breath, listening to his heart pounding in his ears, trying to hold the shotgun steady despite sudden tremors in his hands.

  There was no snick.

  By the time he was able to see properly he had his composure back. He smoked the cigarette down to the butt before looking down the stairwell again. The darkness hadn’t got any more inviting.

  Fuck it. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

  He started down. Once on the stairs he could feel the rumbling as a vibration through the soles of his feet. It was almost enough to make him give up. But the thought of the money was more important than any fear he had for his own safety.

  He kept going.

  It got steadily lighter. At the bottom of the stairs he emerged into a narrow tunnel. Ten yards further this opened out onto a set of subway tracks lit every twenty yards with a bright lamp.

  Porter’s heart sank.

  It could be anywhere by now.

  Then he heard it, loud even above the distant rumbling of a train.

  Click, click, clickety click.

  He had broken into a run even before the screams followed close behind.

  The screams turned into full-blown shrieks as he came out of the tunnel into a dim cavernous area that had once been a station. A group of heavily swaddled people ran along the platform, coming straight towards him. Behind them there was a white flash.

  Snick.

  The crab was there, its white claws looking almost iridescent as they flashed left and right. Blood spurted in a high arc. More screams followed.

  Porter had to stand to one side as the swaddled mass of people pushed past him into the tunnel. One of them stopped. He couldn’t tell whether it was a man or a woman… the face was covered in a thick layer dust and grime.

  “Get out of here man. They’ve found us.”

  Before Porter had time to reply the people had all pushed past him. He heard their footsteps echoing away down the corridor but by then his attention was on the crab.

  The loss of a leg hadn’t slowed it down any. It stood over two bodies, slashing and cutting. The pincers fed strips of bleeding meat into a maw already red and dripping.

  I guess the eel wasn’t tempting enough.

  Porter pulled himself up onto the platform. The chain scratched loudly against the concrete. The crab lifted its eyes, two pearly globs on long stalks that swivelled to stare straight at him.

  “That’s right fucker,” Porter said. “Daddy’s here.”

  He had little idea what he could feasibly do next. He had a vague idea that involved crippling the beast enough that he could drag it back up top. That had sounded fine in his head, but here in the gloom of the disused station it now seemed completely impractical.

  But it’s all I’ve got.

  He walked towards the crab. Every nerve in his body was telling him to run the other way, and his bowels were so loose he might well need a cork. But he didn’t trust himself with the shotgun at distance. He’d have to get up close and personal to have any chance at all.

  The crab watched him come forward. Almost casually it tore a long length of flesh from a human leg and fed it, inch by inch, into its mouth.

  As Porter got within fifteen yards it stood upright and showed him its belly.

  Clickity click.

  It snapped its pincers in the air and scurried forward, straight at Porter. He raised the gun and took aim. But before he had time to pull the trigger the beast veered sharply to its left and slid from the platform onto the rails.

  Oh no you don’t.

  Porter ran to the edge.

  The crab was already heading off at speed further down the tunnel, deeper into the subway system. All that he could see was the white flashes of its pincers reflecting the light from the track-side lamps but all too quickly it was lost in the distance.

 
It doesn’t like the gun. Little fucker learned fast.

  That gave Porter hope that he might have an edge that would help him catch the crab. He jumped down onto the rails and, as fast as he was able, followed the crab into the tunnel system.

  27

  Stark brought the team to an abrupt halt. They’d been following the large tunnel for nearly fifteen minutes, with no noise but the distant rumbling of traffic above them. Their easy walk came to an end at a junction. The way ahead had been blocked by a pile-up of wrecked carriages and steam engines, rusting heaps all jammed tightly together in the main passageway. Two men went forward and studied the wrecks. One turned and gave Stark a thumb’s down.

  “No way through that way sir.”

  Shona knew what was coming next as Stark turned to her.

  “So, left or right?” he asked.

  I don’t know. I’m new here.

  She walked to the left tunnel. A warm draft of air wafted against her face and she smelled fish. The right tunnel sloped downward at a steeper angle. The brickwork was older, some of it crumbling, and the air felt cold and damp.

  She wanted to say left and take the easy option.

  But I’ve seen these crabs. And if they get loose in the city, there will be havoc. We have to find them. And find them quick.

  “This one,” she said to Stark. “We should head down here.”

  Stark didn’t question her judgement. He moved the team out.

  The way became more difficult almost immediately. The ground underfoot felt soft, almost slimy. Thick sticky ooze sucked at their boots and they struggled to stop sliding and slipping. Overhead on the arch the brick showed signs of decay, gaps and holes in places. Ghost white roots hung limply, wafting in the slight breeze. The tunnel was noticeably narrower than the one they’d been in previously, being only ten feet or so at the widest.