Crustaceans

by Meikle, William

  “Okay,” Stark said, leaning close to Shona’s ear. “You next. Can you get up there?”

  In truth, she wasn’t sure she had the arm strength.

  But I’m not about to admit it.

  “Boost me up,” she said. She noticed a slight delay before he put his arms at her waist and lifted her up to the first steady rung.

  It proved easier than she’d thought. After four rungs she was able to get a foothold and scamper quickly up to join Wilkes. She let him pull her into the side tunnel and turned back.

  She was just in time to see the nearest crab raise itself out of the water and look straight at the members of the team. It raised its pincers and clacked them together, the noise audible above the rush of water.

  The second crab brought its head up. It too clacked.

  Down below she saw Stark boost the next man onto the ladder.

  “Hurry!” she called.

  But there would not be time to get all the men up. The nearest crab had already hauled itself up to its full height, almost filling the culvert.

  It scuttled forward.

  “Fire!” Stark called.

  The tunnel was filled with the thunderous roar of gunfire and the lightning flash from muzzles.

  30

  Porter ran down the subway tunnel, aware that a train might slam towards him at any second. He could hear little above his own heavy breathing and the thudding of blood in his ears, but he was afraid to turn and look back.

  My imagination is doing enough of that already.

  In his mind’s eye he saw a horde of clacking pincers just inches from his heels. That, and the image of the bleeding stump that had killed the security guard was enough to give him impetus.

  There was a side tunnel ahead to his left… a narrower opening just wide enough for one person to move through.

  The fuckers won’t get in there.

  He threw himself inside. Within five yards it was nearly pitch black, only a dim grey light coming in from behind him, and his body was blocking most of that. He stopped, and turned to face the opening.

  All was quiet. Eventually his heart slowed and his breathing returned to something approaching normal.

  Where are they?

  At every second he expected to hear the clickety-click. But no noise came.

  Then he heard the rumble. His heart leaped as a train blew past in the tunnel, a blur of light and noise and vibration that passed so fast he didn’t even have time to be surprised.

  His mind raced.

  How did things turn to shit so quickly?

  He took out a smoke and sucked on it eagerly, trying to find the same calm that he would get while out on his boat crabbing. But it wouldn’t come. He kept seeing that suppurating stump, and he jumped at the slightest noise.

  I need to get out of here.

  He couldn’t make himself step back out into the tunnel.

  He turned back to the dark passage. Using the lighter he walked in further. It seemed to be a long-disused maintenance duct, the walls little more than rough concrete. The flame on the lighter flickered slightly; a cold draft blowing into his face from ahead.

  The lighter wasn’t going to last forever. He walked along the passage as fast as he dared. The only noise was the padding of his feet on the dusty ground below.

  He came to a corner. There was more light beyond and he was able to put out the lighter. But as soon as he turned the corner he immediately stepped back into the shadows. His heart pounded again, so loud he thought his chest might burst.

  Well. I’ve found the crabs.

  He risked a look.

  Beyond the corner lay a high vaulted area… another abandoned station. Faded paint-work on the tiling spelled out the station name but it was too worn to read. All he could make out were two letters, a C and a T. High above were brightly coloured tiled arches, rusted chandeliers and grey murky skylights. It had been abandoned for some time, as there was no sign of any rails, and any platform there might have been had crumbled to rubble.

  Dim light came from way up above. There might be a possible way out up there, but Porter wasn’t thinking about that. He was looking, awe-struck, at the heaving mass of beasts that crammed into the space, some sleeping, others scuttling to and fro on missions to who knows where.

  My god. There’s hundreds of them.

  And it wasn’t just the number that amazed him. Many were as big as horses, but others were so big his brain struggled to make sense of it. Out in the middle, surrounded by smaller beasts, sat a grey mound more than twenty-five feet across. It wasn’t moving but there was no mistaking that it was a crab. A monster crab.

  Porter couldn’t quite process the information. The smaller crabs seemed to be delivering food to the larger one; rank after rank of them, like ants feeding a queen. Piles of scat lay everywhere and the stink stung in his nostrils and at the back of his throat.

  Over at the far side of the chamber there was a series of four tunnels. These were not man-made, but had been recently dug. Following the ranks of smaller crabs he saw that they were using these tunnels to get in and out of the cavernous space.

  He leaned out of the narrow tunnel as far as he dared. He stood on a ledge some ten feet off the floor. On either side of him the walls were smooth with no discernible exits. Away to his right he could just see the darker hole where the old subway tunnel disappeared into blackness. A horde of crabs scuttled and crawled between him and it.

  He looked back to the four tunnels opposite. They seemed to stretch away upwards from the cavern floor, and might prove his best hope of escape.

  But to get there, I’d have to get across the floor and pass the big one. Ain’t no way that’s going to happen any time soon.

  He hefted the shotgun in his hands. The solidity of it grounded him back in something approaching reality, but he was a long way from feeling calm. He backed away further, back round the corner. The darkness now seemed positively welcoming.

  He leaned back against the wall and lit up another smoke.

  As far as he could tell his options were limited. There was no way he was going back into the abandoned station. Just thinking about the big crab made him shake and shiver. But going back the way he had come didn’t hold much attraction either. He still hadn’t forgotten the chorus of clicking out in the main subway.

  They could still be out there.

  Sneaky little fuckers. They’ll be waiting for me. But it’s the lesser of two evils.

  He smoked the cigarette right down to the butt then ground it out beneath his foot. He flicked the lighter into life and started back down the dark passage, back to the main subway tunnel.

  He had only got two yards when he heard a distant rat-a-tat.

  Gunfire?

  The noise was joined by a cacophony of clacking from back in the disused station. Something had the crabs riled up, and Porter’s curiosity got the better of him. He turned back round the corner and looked out over the cavern.

  All the smaller crabs headed for the four tunnels opposite, pincers raised, clacking in unison like a marching army. He saw now that there were three more of the very large beasts; too big to even get out of the chamber.

  They’ve been growing down here.

  The big ones sat still, grey domes that could almost be mistaken for concrete. The other crabs all streamed out of the tunnels. Somewhere in the distance the rat-a-tat of gunfire got more insistent.

  Someone else is down here. It might be my best chance. I’ve got to find them.

  Porter jumped down into the chamber, holding tight to the shotgun.

  31

  Shona helped Wilkes haul two team members from the ladder into their side tunnel. The problem was that every member that came up meant one less down below to fight off the attacking crab. The second crab crawled out of the culvert, just behind the first which was already reaching a pincer towards where the team fired round after round. Bullets pinged and ricocheted off the carapace but the crab kept coming.

 
And Stark is still down there.

  She tried to shout above the din.

  “Aim for the eyes,” she shouted. “Take out the eyes.”

  The men below didn’t hear her. But Wilkes did. He made sure he had firm footing and un-holstered his weapon. The noise level got even worse as he leaned over the shoulder of the men at the mouth of the cave and let off a burst. The crab’s left eye exploded.

  It threw itself forward in fury.

  The man next to Stark was taken completely by surprise. A claw nearly six foot long clamped around his waist and clicked. The man fell in two pieces, dead before he had time to scream. The second crab scrambled over the top of the first, reaching over the head of Stark and plucking a climbing man from the ladder. The man tried to turn, raising his weapon, but he wasn’t given time to fire. The pincer squeezed. Blood spewed from the man’s mouth in a fountain. Stark blew the joint of the pincer apart with a close-up burst from less than a yard. The claw fell into the sewer, the man still held in its grasp. His lifeless stare looked back at them until the current took him through the culvert and out of sight.

  Despite the best efforts of the team the crabs kept up the attack. Down in the culvert shadows showed against the wall. Pincers, tens of them, waved menacingly in the air.

  More crabs are coming.

  Wilkes had noticed.

  “Get up here,” he shouted. “Fast. We’ve got incoming.”

  Shona moved aside as the two other men joined Wilkes in setting up covering fire for the other men to come up the ladder. Another wild scream pierced the air above the gunfire.

  Stark? Please, don’t let it be Stark.

  She felt ashamed for the thought, but she couldn’t lie to herself any more. She cared deeply about what happened to the Colonel. She looked each man in the face as they came up the ladder.

  Stark was last to get to the top. As he pulled himself up into the tunnel his face looked ashen, the strain showing.

  “Fall back,” he shouted. “Into the tunnel. It’s our only hope.”

  A huge pincer raised up just behind him. Shona screamed. Stark spun and fired in one movement. Bits of shell flew - the bullets at close range doing most damage. But it wasn’t going to be near enough. When the firing stopped Shona heard the noise she was coming to fear above all others.

  Clickety-click.

  She peered between the soldiers and looked into the sewer chamber.

  The whole area was a seething mass of scuttling, crawling crabs of sizes ranging from two to twelve feet. They clambered over each other, filling the space, piling high on top of each other, forming a pyramidal mass reaching almost to the level of their feet.

  “Fall back,” Stark called again. Shona hit the wall as two soldiers forced their way past her to hold a rearguard. Stark grabbed her arm and half-dragged her deeper into the tunnel.

  They were pressed close now.

  Easy prey.

  Beyond the two men in the tunnel mouth the air was full of swaying claw and the loud snap of the pincers coming together. One of the magazines ran empty. He stepped back to reload. He wasn’t given time. A huge claw plucked him from the tunnel and he was gone without a sound.

  Stark pulled harder at her arm.

  “Come on. Time to go.”

  Indeed, they had almost waited too long. A horde of smaller crabs, still near two feet across themselves, spilled into the tunnel. The man at the entrance went down under a mound, firing a short burst that was quickly silenced.

  “Fire in the hold” Wilkes shouted.

  This time Shona remembered to turn away and close her eyes. The flash flared in her eyelids, but she barely had time to register it. Her ears filled with a deafening roar. She tasted mud in her mouth, just for a second, before the roof fell on her and everything went black.

  32

  Porter clambered over large piles of rubble and stood looking over the disused station. Most of the smaller crabs had now left, headed up the tunnels opposite.

  But I still have to walk past those big buggers. And I’m not sure I want to do that.

  Not just yet.

  He walked slowly, carefully, but the large grey domes of the crabs’ shells did not move.

  He breathed more easily. He wasn’t out of the woods, not by a long chalk. But nothing had attacked him for at least five minutes, and that could only be a good thing.

  As he got closer to the nearest giant, he noticed a glistening sheen on the ground, one that shifted in the light like oil on water. He moved closer and bent for a closer look. A clump of silver globes lay there, each reflecting his face back at him. They pulsated, almost as if they were breathing.

  Eggs.

  Small, perfectly formed crabs squirmed inside balls of fluid held together by an oily slime. Porter felt the urge grow to rip and tear at them, to stomp them into mush. He raised a foot.

  At the same time a loud blast rang out from above and echoed around the station.

  The nearest giant twitched, and Porter stopped in mid-kick. He held his breath and backed off, slowly.

  The large crab fell quiet again. Porter moved away further, but almost everywhere he wanted to put his feet he found more of the eggs.

  Thousands of them. Tens of thousands.

  It took him far longer than he wished to navigate the floor of the station. With every step he expected one of the giants to wake and come for him. He clutched tightly at the gun, even though he knew it would be worse than useless if it came down to it. By the time he reached the mouth of the first tunnel he felt like he’d ran for miles, with sweat running in cold runnels down his spine.

  He moved quickly into the tunnel and leaned against the wall until his breath slowed and he stopped shaking.

  Now that he knew what to look for he studied the floor of the station. As far as he could see, the floor, and even the walls, glistened with the oily slime.

  The eggs were everywhere.

  A chill ran through him. The numbers he had seen travelling up the tunnels earlier had seemed bad enough. But if these hatched then the whole city could be overrun in no time.

  Now he had no more thought of the money; indeed, he had forgotten it completely. His only need now was to get out, anyway he could. After that he would find someone to tell about the eggs, then find the nearest bar.

  And I might even change the order in which those two happen.

  It was only when his heart slowed and the pounding in his ears dimmed that he realised there was no more noise from above. The shooting had stopped… it had stopped at the same time as the loud blast.

  Either the crabs are all dead, or the folks doing the shooting are all dead. Don’t matter either way… I have to go up.

  He started up the tunnel. Even here some of the slime glistened, but as it got darker away from the abandoned station the tunnel seemed to be drier, almost clean. He walked in silence, expecting at any minute to hear the clickety-clack. But there was no sign of any crabs.

  Something grew in him, something like hope.

  It was soon quashed.

  He arrived at a junction. Fresh air came from his left and he chose to follow his nose. He soon wished he hadn’t.

  The screaming came softly at first, so quiet that he could almost dismiss it as engine noise from trains in the tunnels. But a minute later he could deny it no longer. Somewhere ahead, people were in panic and fear, and he was headed straight for it.

  But there was light that way, light and fresher air.

  And maybe people with bigger guns. I have to see.

  He walked quicker, almost running. He came to a new opening. The debris and still-damp earth told of a recent cave in.

  Beyond the hole he looked out into a scene of chaos.

  It was a tube station… or rather, it had been. Now, it was a slaughterhouse. Large crabs ran riot through a large crowd of people, snipping and chopping. Limbs flew, blood spurted, and screams echoed loudly in the confined area. Panic reigned everywhere. Not only were the crabs causing carnage, but Po
rter saw several bodies get trampled underfoot by suited commuters climbing over anything in their way as they searched for escape.

  Porter’s viewpoint was from a spot at the end of a long curved station platform. A train was lying at a skewed angle off the tracks. Along its length lay the mangled forms of dead passengers amid broken glass and scattered baggage. Right at the far end of the track he saw a large claw, torn from a body, lying next to a uniformed body that had obviously been the driver.

  Also up that end, what remained of the commuters tried to funnel their way up a staircase to safety in a rolling maul of thrashing, screaming terror. But the crabs were everywhere, and the blood had thrown them into frenzy.

  Claws snicked.

  Limbs fell from bodies. Blood arced high, splashing on the tiled walls of the tunnel.

  Porter sat down, hard, his legs refusing to support him. He dragged himself backward into the tunnel, eyes squeezed shut and hot tears stinging at the corners. He sat there for a long time while claws clacked and the screams slowly faded.

  Someone sobbed loudly. It took him some time to realise that he was the one making the noise. He clamped a hand over his mouth. But he still wouldn’t… couldn’t open his eyes.

  All fell silent, but still Porter did not move.

  It was only the thought of the eggs that got him going again. If they hatched, then the scene he’d so recently viewed would undoubtedly be played out all over the city.

  I have to move. I have to tell someone.

  He risked a look into the station. Nothing moved. There were only the scattered torsos and limbs of dismembered bodies. There was no sign of any crabs. But even as he stepped onto the platform and headed for the stairs that would lead him up to fresh air and sky the screams came again.

  From above this time.

  Crabs were loose in the city.

  33

  Shona dreamed.

  She was ten, and Champion had gone missing. She’d looked everywhere… except one place, the place she wasn’t allowed to go. But the pony wasn’t in the field, and Shona was getting almost frantic with worry. Her fear for the pony overrode any admonishments she might get. She stepped into her father’s study.