She let go of the plunger and the flame went out. She moved aside, placing herself between the teenagers and the creatures. She didn’t know how much gas remained in the can, but she hoped and prayed there was enough to allow them to escape.
“Follow me–slowly,” she said.
Although she felt like running, she knew she couldn’t. She let loose another blast of flame, warding the creatures away. She only hoped more monsters didn’t rush into the room.
The flame flickered and stuttered. Erin’s heart rose into her throat. She took her finger off the plunger and shook the can. It sounded nearly empty.
Zander appeared in the doorway leading to the bar. He surveyed the scene, jaw clenched. He had a large tumbler of whisky in his hand, which he threw over the nearest Fangtooth.
The Fangtooth turned and bared its teeth at him. “Torch that fucker,” Zander said.
Erin moved towards the creature, pressed the plunger and struck the lighter. A jet of flame shot out, igniting the whisky. A throaty roar echoed from the Fangtooth’s throat. Cloaked in a blanket of flame, it raked its claws in the air and crashed against the worktable, sending pots and pans flying. The second Fangtooth dropped to all fours and backed away. The pungent aroma of roasting fish filled the air. Burning scales flaked off the Fangtooth’s body and fell to the ground.
“Quick,” Erin said, “around the other side and through the door.”
Jack and the others moved where she indicated. She noticed Bruce appear in the doorway, his hand out to help pull them through.
“Come on,” he shouted.
Jack shook his head and ushered the others back. “We can’t get past.” He pointed at the Fangtooth barring the way.
The flames from the burning Fangtooth licked the ceiling, setting off the ear-piercing wail of the fire alarm. Erin could hardly hear herself think. She winced.
Seeing the predicament the teenagers were in, she slid around the table, wary of the burning Fangtooth. The second Fangtooth regarded her from its lower position. Its jaw hung open, the spines on its back bristling in anticipation. Erin raised the can, struck the lighter and pressed the plunger, only to find the can empty.
“Shit,” she said. She threw the can at the creature and stepped back. Her fingers brushed the tabletop, felt the cold handle of the fluted knife. She grabbed hold of it with both hands and, without thinking, she leaped at the Fangtooth and plunged the blade through its eye.
The blade met resistance as it sank through the eye socket. A clear liquid spurted out, struck her cheek, making her cringe. The creature bucked like a bronco, slashing with its claws. Erin kept it at arm’s length, the vicious spines along its back dangerously close to her eyes. She pushed with all her strength, her triceps aching with the strain. Blood seeped around her fingers, weakening her grip on the handle. She bit her lip, held on for dear life. The Fangtooth felt cold and dry; its sharp, rough scales sliced through her wrists with the same pain as a paper cut. Erin winced, tears blurred her vision.
The blade met further resistance. She pushed. Hard. Seconds later the tip of the blade punctured the Fangtooth’s palate, resembling another wicked tooth as it protruded through its mouth. She twisted the blade, gouging a hole, causing maximum damage. She felt the fluted edge grind against the creature’s eye socket, splintering tough bone. Next minute the Fangtooth shuddered and collapsed to the ground. Its jaw struck the tiles, forcing the knife back out.
Erin jumped to her feet. She turned towards the side door to confront Duncan, only he was no longer there.
Enraged, she ran across, slammed the door shut and leaned against it, breathing heavy. If he wanted to be fish food, so be it.
Chapter 39
Duncan peered through the narrow gap in the pantry door, his heart pounding. He saw Erin slam the side door shut, then lost sight of her. The alarm drowned out any noise he might make. Coupled with the distraction of the creatures, it had also helped him enter the pantry without anyone noticing.
Tins of food filled the shelves. The tins clinked at his back as he adjusted his position, his hands and legs shaking. Fear had driven him to hide, and now embarrassment made him stay. His only choice now was to escape and flee the village.
He tightened his grip on the gaff hook and pressed his ear to the door to see if he could hear any conversation, but apart from the alarm, all seemed quiet.
He assumed those monstrous creatures–what did that bitch call them, Fangtooth–had arisen because of the failed sacrifice. The ocean’s way of making amends, to teach them a lesson.
The sound of hammering broke his chain of thought and he peered through the gap to see Zander and Bruce nailing a small wooden table across the door. A moment later, the fire alarm fell quiet, although Duncan’s ears continued to ring for a few minutes after.
His legs ached from standing in one place, but now that the alarm had fallen silent, he didn’t dare move in case he made a noise and he did his best to control the shakes that still coursed through him.
The hammering continued for a while. They were battening down the hatches, for what good it would do them.
Finally satisfied there was no one left in the kitchen, he eased the door open and peeked out, the gaff hook held ready to strike at anyone that might be loitering around. Relieved, he stepped out and studied the table they had nailed to the door. He had planned to pull it off, but there was no way he could remove it without being heard.
The two dead Fangtooth lay on the ground. One toasted, the other stabbed. Duncan looked at them, repulsed but also slightly impressed by their appearance. Blood pooled around the stabbed creature, and he knelt down, ran his fingers through the red liquid, and smeared the gore across his cheeks. He hoped it would be enough to convince the Gods of his devotion–that in the coming slaughter, they would deem him worthy and spare his life.
The door to the bar was ajar, and Duncan crept towards it and peered through the gap. Erin sat at a table drinking what looked like brandy. Bruce sat next to her, his arm around her shoulder. The teenagers sat in the corner; Rocky twiddled with his knife, spinning it on the tabletop. He couldn’t see anyone else, and he daren’t open the door too far as the dog would be somewhere, and the slightest thing might alert it to his presence.
The position of the counter meant he could duck down and no one in the bar would be able to see him, so as long as there was no one behind the actual counter itself, he could crawl through to the back of the building.
He knew it was no good holing up in the kitchen, as someone would be bound to return soon.
Dropping to his knees, he leaned as far around the door as he dared. Satisfied no one could see him, and that no one stood behind the counter, he crawled cautiously out of the kitchen. The pungent smell from the slop trays below the pumps made his nose itch, and he fought not to sneeze.
A draft emanating from a door a few feet further on blew around his body, making him shiver. Duncan crawled towards the door and found himself staring down a set of steps towards the cellar.
As Bruce and Graham had been down in the cellar to fetch barrels, he surmised they wouldn’t have any need to venture down again.
The steps weren’t too steep, and he slid cautiously down the steps. Halfway down, he heard a voice muttering from below and he froze on the spot.
Still too high up to see into the cellar, he took a couple of deep breaths, and continued down.
The person in the cellar continued to mutter away, so he guessed they hadn’t heard or hadn’t registered his presence. Now closer, he recognised the voice as that of Graham, the proprietor. As no one else spoke, he guessed–hoped–the barman was alone.
Duncan crept down one step at a time. Once low enough, he ducked to see below the door frame, saw Graham bending over a barrel in the corner and tiptoed across the room as fast as he dared.
Beer shot out of the barrel Graham was messing with, soaking his front. “As if I haven’t got enough problems,” he mumbled.
“And here’s anothe
r to add to the list,” Duncan said.
Graham turned at the sound of Duncan’s voice, his one eye going wide as he spied the raised gaff hook.
“What the blazes …” he shouted.
Duncan slammed the hook into Graham’s throat and yanked hard, as though landing a fish. The point ripped through his skin and out the other side of Graham’s neck. The flesh pulled taut, stretched. Blood spurted out. Graham raked Duncan’s face with his hands, opening up a vicious cut down his cheek.
Duncan grimaced and wheezed. Graham was a big man, and Duncan thought he had underestimated his opponent.
Using all his strength, Duncan snatched the gaff hook back and the skin ripped open like a wet paper bag. The lower section lay as a flap of purple and red bunting. As Graham exhaled, the top flap lifted, spraying blood across the ground. Graham gagged. He staggered back, hands at his throat. Blood poured between his fingers. His eye rolled in its socket and he dropped to his knees. Blood bubbled from between his lips as he tried to speak. Duncan couldn’t understand what Graham was trying to say, but it wasn’t anything he wanted to hear.
He raised the hook again, swept it down and across, spearing the landlord’s cheek. The tip of the point slid from between his lips where it had impaled his tongue. Without hesitating further, Duncan pulled hard. For a brief moment, Graham’s tongue appeared in the gash in his cheek, then the skin tore open and the tongue split in two like a snake’s.
Graham fell forward, his head striking the ground with a loud crack and Duncan slammed his foot down on Graham’s head until the barman stopped moving.
Duncan felt strangely buoyant, empowered. His cheeks flushed. His hands tingled. To anyone who didn’t know, Graham had been attacked by a Fangtooth.
Blood pooled on the ground in a widening circle. Duncan stepped over the puddle and entered the shadows where the light didn’t reach. When his eyes adjusted, he spied a pale rectangle of illumination overhead that outlined the trapdoor leading to the street. He grinned, traced around the edge to locate the retaining bolts, then slid them across.
Chapter 40
Bruce stared through a slim gap in the barricade of tables and barrels they had fashioned over the window. He thought he heard someone scream outside, but couldn’t be sure. He couldn’t see much, but he perceived things moving, the click of sharp claws scurrying across concrete.
Erin came up beside him. Her hand trembled, making the cigarette clenched between her fingers shake.
“I really can’t believe this is happening,” she said.
“Me neither. All I wanted was a home by the coast, you know, a quiet place. But this …” He raised his hands, didn’t know what else to say.
Erin sucked on her cigarette, exhaled a pale cloud of smoke.
Bruce rubbed his hands across his face. His muscles ached. “I can’t believe what Duncan and Lillian were prepared to do. It’s like something from pagan times. I shouldn’t have let him in. Should have left him outside in the first place.”
“Well he’s gone now. And good riddance.”
“Yes, but I should have—”
Erin placed her finger over Bruce’s mouth. She removed it moments later only to replace it with her lips. Bruce didn’t resist. He closed his eyes, the kiss creating a warm feeling in the pit of his stomach. She tasted of cigarettes, but he didn’t mind. He slipped his arms around her waist, pulled her towards him, her body warm against his. He felt the crush of her breasts against his chest–it felt good.
When they parted, Bruce opened his eyes, saw Jack looking at him. Although he expected Jack to be furious, he was surprised when his son nodded to offer his approval before turning away to give them a little privacy.
Bruce returned his gaze to the gap in the window, but he didn’t let go of Erin’s hand.
Brad knocked back another whisky. Not wanting to pass up a free bar, he topped off his glass from the bottle on the counter. The golden liquid felt as warm as it looked as it rolled down his throat. He licked his lips and noticed Zander look up from his perusal of the ground long enough to glance at him then turn away.
Graham seemed to be taking his time. He said he was only going to change a barrel, although Brad couldn’t see the point. It was not as if they were suddenly going to be snowed under with customers, but he guessed the man wanted to keep busy as a distraction from what was happening.
The wrecked boat meant he was out of a job, at least for a while–his brother always said there was a place for him at the garage, but Brad had always refused. He didn’t think it was a good idea to mix family and business. Now it looked as though he had no choice, reason enough for another drink. He swallowed most of the contents of the glass and was about to pour himself another, when he thought he heard something from down in the cellar, a sort of muffled groan.
“Did you hear that?” he said to Zander.
Zander shrugged. “Didn’t hear anything.”
Brad set his glass on the counter and stood up. “Jim, did you hear it?” Jim mumbled something through his beard. It sounded like, “Mine’s a double.”
“Graham’s down there,” Zander said, “so you’re bound to hear something.”
“No, this was like a groan, you know.” He turned towards the cellar door, leaned across the counter and peered down the steps. “Graham,” he called, “you okay down there?”
No one replied.
“Graham,” he shouted again.
“This happened before,” Bruce said, “when the lights went out. He said he couldn’t hear through the thick walls. It’s nothing to worry about.” The dog growled, her hackles raised as she stared towards the cellar door.
Brad narrowed his eyes and turned to look back down the steps when he saw a quick blur of movement. Then a sound, the sharp click of claws on stone as a Fangtooth scurried up the steps on all fours, head held high as though sniffing the air.
“They’re here,” Brad shouted. He vaulted the bar, grabbed the axe from the counter, and plunged it into the Fangtooth’s head as it reached the top of the steps. The blade crunched through thick skull, killing it instantly. “Take that, you piece of shit.”
“Graham’s down there,” Zander said.
Another Fangtooth started up the steps, more followed behind. Too many to count. Brad pushed the carcass down the steps and slammed the door shut. “If he is, he’s dead now.” He leaned against the wood. The door had not been designed to keep people out, and it didn’t have a lock. Something clattered on the other side, and the door banged. The bottom of the door moved inward, the flimsy wood bending.
“This ain’t gonna hold ‘em,” he roared.
The dog started barking, tail between its legs.
Panic seemed to flow around the room. Sara sobbed.
Jim stood up and shook his head. “You’re throwing away good meat,” he said. “Let them in, I’ll show you how it’s done.” He brandished the knife in his hand.
Brad shook his head. This was no time for Jim to lose it.
Jim grinned. “Come on, let the fuckers in. It’s gutting time.”
Zander grabbed Jim by the shoulder and spun him around. “Be serious, man. Those things, they’ll kill ya.”
Jim shook Zander off and rolled his sleeve up to reveal a six-inch scar. “If that shark we had tangled in the net couldn’t do it, then no fucking bottom feeding piece of mutated scum sucking fish bladder is going to either.”
Brad braced his legs against the counter, and ground his teeth together. How many of the bastards were there on the other side of that blasted door?
“I won’t be able to hold them for long,” he wheezed.
“Then let the bastards in,” Jim said.
Brad didn’t like the maniacal glint in Jim’s eyes. Didn’t like the way he held the knife with a caressing touch. He knew some men formed a sort of bond with their knives on board a trawler, and woe betide the man that touched another man’s knife.
“Don’t talk daft, man,” Zander said.
Jim waved his
knife around. “Me and this ’ere knife, we’ll slice and dice the fuckers, mark my words.”
The creatures scratched at the door at Brad’s back. He could literally feel each claw scraping across the wood; half expected one of the brutes to break through at any minute.
Bruce ran around the bar, placed his hands on the door, and pushed to help keep it shut. Splinters of wood skittered through the gap at the bottom.
“We won’t be able to hold them much longer,” Brad said. “The door’s not strong enough.”
“Here, wedge this between it and the bar,” Zander said as he passed over a chair. “It’ll give us long enough to get upstairs.”
“Then what?” Erin asked. “Upstairs or down, they’re going to come for us. We can’t hole up there forever.”
“So what do you suggest?” Zander asked.
“We need to get away. Out of the village.”
“How? Those creatures are out there.”
“Fire keeps them at bay. We can use it to help make an escape.”
“And where are we going to get something to burn?” Zander asked.
“Will these do?” Jack held a chair leg aloft.
“Perfect,” Erin said. “Now we need to wrap them in something that will keep burning.”
“Graham won’t need them anymore, look for some clothes upstairs,” Brad said.
Jack started towards the door leading through to the stairs. “I’ll go.”
“Me too,” Jen said as she hurried after him.
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