Stan and Milo led the group. Travis brought up the back, screaming for Tyde to run faster. He swung his arm behind and fired blindly into the planks and water.
A claw burst through the boards in front of Wendy. The dried planks snapped between the massive pinchers. Wendy stumbled, her arms paddling the air, a useless attempt to stop herself from pitching forward into the water. Wendy’s eyes, filled with a strange amber glow from the sodium lamps, were wide and panicked. A second claw forced its way past the pilings and lumber, struggling to snatch Wendy from the crumbling pier.
Cal lunged forward. There was nothing to grab, expect for Wendy’s hair. His fist closed around a knotted length and yanked. Wendy howled as Cal pulled her across the hole and past the claws.
“Sorry,” he shrugged and helped her to her feet.
Wendy looked at her hands, peppered with jagged splinters and slick with blood. “Thank you.”
“Jump,” Travis shouted and fired a shot past Tyde. A small section of spiny shell broke free from the claw, but the monster showed no reaction. Tyde leapt.
Two beady black eyes, the size of grapefruits, watch Tyde’s progress. Tyde, fighting his natural urge to close his eyes, looked down in time to see the second claw break through a tangled snarl of lumber.
He felt a dull pain blossom in his ribcage, had a few moments to shout stupidly before splashing into the dark water beneath the pier. Though he could see nothing and hear little more than the screams of his companions, Tyde sensed motion beneath him. Like Eddie, he would be snatched from the water, torn in two and shredded by the tireless grinding of the crab’s mouths.
The water swelled and rose, a small bluish island rising before Tyde. Two long, jointed appendages extended, holding two glassy black globes. The claws would follow soon.
Tyde kicked. He could hear everyone screaming for him to swim. He had to swim.
The claws rose from the water.
How was there only one of these monsters left? Where had the others gone? Tyde tried to silence his brain, force himself to think of nothing beyond survival, but the questions persisted. There had been at least five of these hell-spawned crustaceans, why would, all but one, suddenly lose interest such an easy meal.
Tyde’s frantic kicks and panicked slapping of the water did little to move him away from the monstrous claws that flexed and snapped behind him.
Something moved behind the crab. The water shifted and pulsed. What began as a slight ripple and swell, grew into a wall of surging water. Perhaps the other crabs hadn’t gone as far away as Tyde had thought.
The water fell away, a salty mist dancing lightly on night breeze. Somewhere in the distance, Tyde could hear the sound of canned Reggae music being piped through tinny speakers. Would a watered down version of a Jimmy Cliff song really be his funeral march?
As the mist cleared, Tyde could see that the wall of water had disappeared. In its place, the ungodly tangled grin of an immense crocodilian head bobbed above the rippling water. The reptile eyes Tyde with indifference, as if assessing his caloric value. Tyde treaded water, scared to move, to make himself appear more enticing or full of life. Even the crab appeared to hesitate.
A deafening crack and spray of water caused Tyde to cough and frantically wipe his eyes. The crab was gone. Two severed arms, the claws still flexing, sunk beneath the turbulent waters.
“Swim, you moron,” Milo shouted from the seawall. They were safely off the ruined pier and waving for Tyde to join them.
The seawater felt thicker, almost viscous, as Tyde pulled himself through it. A lifetime passed before his hands closed around the tarred timbers that held the seawall in place.
“Climb, come on, Tyde! Climb!” Wendy motioned as Milo and Travis reached down. He would need to pull himself higher.
Tyde’s body ached with exertion and horror, but he forced his hand onto the next length of lumber. Next was one foot. Then another. He was out of the water. A few more movements and he could reach Travis and Milo’s outstretched hands.
Fingers brushed, but found no purchase. Tyde struggled to draw all of his remaining strength to surge forward and grab Travis or Milo. His body protested.
“Shit,” Stan growled. Tyde watched him level his gun with the water and fire. He could hear the hiss of salt forth dissolving as the churning water surged forward.
What Tyde had come to think of as the dinosaur, rammed the seawall, shaking the timber and rocks, as if in mockery of man’s desire to hold nature at bay. A thick length of wood broke free from above Tyde’s head. He leapt sideways, but not soon enough and the heavy chunk of wood collided with his right shoulder, spinning him and pulling his hands free of the tarry surface he clung to, quite literally, for dear life.
A feeling of weightlessness overtook Tyde as he felt the world drop out from under him. He was going to fall, was going to land in the water below and was going to be eaten by a creature that should have never shared the same timeline as mankind.
Tyde slammed into the side of the seawall, memories of a failed attempt at rock climbing ricocheting through his head. Milo’s hand closed around his forearm and pulled upwards. Travis reached out to assist. Tyde had always loved the water, but had never been happier to be on dry land. Wendy wrapped her arms around his neck and squeezed.
“No time for that,” Milo said. He looked towards the water as the monster prepared to ram the seawall again. “We should get moving.”
“It can’t do anything to us here,” Stan said. “Give them a second.”
A shudder passed through the ground as the monster rammed the seawall.
“Just because you’re my brother doesn’t mean that it’s your genetic obligation to argue with everything I say,” Milo snapped. He was half joking, relieved to have found a moment to do so.
The asphalt rippled, buckling upwards before sliding towards the ocean. Stan stumbled and struggled to regain his balance. Milo lunged forward, but it was too late.
The asphalt moved like a conveyor belt, sliding his brother further away and closer to danger. The seawall buckled and collapsed into the water. Stan let out a cry as he tumbled off the collapsing bulwark of the seawall and into water.
Milo raced forward, but Travis yanked him back.
“It’s collapsing,” Travis cried. “We need to go.”
“My brother,” Milo shouted and broke free from Travis. “He could still be okay.”
Milo edged closer to the valley that had opened in the seawall. The water below was a churning mess of stone, dirt and timber.
“Stan!” Milo inched closer, more asphalt and earth breaking free with each ounce of body weight he placed upon it. “Stan!”
A series of bubbles, large and erratic, percolated the surface.
“He’s down there,” Milo yelled. “We need to help Stan. He’s down there.”
The bubbles increased in their ferocity. One bubble, larger than the other, broke the surface and slowly bled across the surface of the water. The brownish white foam of the sea became pink and then red.
The bubbles stopped.
-47-
Charles Whitley never understood Reggae music. What was the appeal of metal drums and songs about jamming things or buffalos? Now something with a slide guitar and a refrain about a pick-up truck or a woman with a cheating heart, that Charles could understand. Unfortunately, his wife Cindy was a different story.
Cindy was college educated and from the Northeast. One of those kids who got to college and realized how ‘oppressed’ they had been by their parents’ wealth and good life choices – exactly the type of kid who started listening to Reggae music right after her first joint.
Charles had nothing against the music itself; he just didn’t understand how it was the soundtrack of his wife’s life. But then again, there were many things about Cindy that he didn’t understand. Charles would never be able to figure out why Cindy refused to allow her parents to pay for their wedding or more importantly, why she chose to marry him in the first place. Gr
anted, Charles figured there were worse husbands than himself, but much like the Reggae music Cindy loved, he just couldn’t figure out how he fit into the narrative of her life. Somehow her love of both things had landed them in the Bahamas for their honeymoon.
“Come on,” Cindy said, her words slightly slurred, “have another Corona.”
“A Corona?” Charles laughed. “Aren’t those Mexican?”
“Mexican?” Cindy laughed. “They’re a vacation in a bottle. Now drink.” She thrust the beer towards her husband.
Charles shrugged and took a long draw from the bottle.
A department store rendition of a Reggae song droned on in the background.
“Dance with me, Charlie,” Cindy grinned. She was the only one who called him that, or at least the only one he allowed to.
“Not to that,” Charles said, motioning towards the jukebox with his beer.
“Then put on something that speaks to your hillbilly blood so I can enjoy my husband.” Cindy planted a sloppy, beer-tinged kiss on Charles’ lips. He grinned all the way over to the jukebox.
Most of the songs and artists were foreign to Charles, but he eventually found a Brad Paisley song buried towards the back. It was an older one, definitely not one of his best songs, but it was good enough for Charles. A few heads turned as Charles played a country song in an island bar, but most people shrugged, a few smiled and most didn’t care. Music was music after all.
“Is that better?” Cindy smiled as she fell into her husband’s arms. Charles nodded and spun his wife onto the dance floor. Most of the tourists had evacuated the dance floor when the Reggae stopped, but Charles wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. This was their moment. This was about them.
Cindy laughed and tucked her head into the crook of Charles’ neck. He could feel the warm tickle of her breath as she whispered proclamations of her love for him.
“Dip me,” Cindy said and pitched backwards. Charles, unprepared, almost dropped his wife and stumbled to remain standing. The two dancers stumbled towards the wall, a fit of laughter overtaking them.
“I love you, baby,” Charles grinned and had never meant it more.
“Say it again,” Cindy implored, as she pulled closer to Charles.
A flash of stilted movement outside of the bar caught Charles’ attention.
“Say it again,” Cindy laughed. “Charles? What’s wrong?” The mirth of her words now replaced with concern.
“Did you see that?” Charles asked.
“See what?” Cindy turned towards the window.
A gnarled claw crashed through the nearby window, ripping it from its frame and splintering the wall.
Charles leapt back, pulling Cindy into the safety of his arms. Her grip around his neck loosened and went slack. Over his wife’s shoulder, Charles watched the claw pull Cindy’s lower half through the ruined window. Warmth coated his bare legs and wept onto his sandaled feet.
“Say it again,” Cindy said. Her words were thin and breathy. “Please, Charlie.”
“I love you, baby,” Charles choked. Something hot and knotted slide down his leg like a fiery serpent before slapping to the dance floor.
The claw returned, joined this time by spindly legs, and ripped a larger hole in the wall of the bar. The monster forced its way further inside.
“I love you, baby,” Charles whispered over the screams that filled the bar. “I love you, baby. I’ll be with you soon.”
-48-
Things scuttled from the shadowy spaces between buildings. Things that should never have existed. These creatures clearly clung to some prehistoric branch of the crustacean family tree – a branch should have stopped producing fruit eons ago.
Lenny marveled at the speed of the creatures. Crustaceans never held much allure for him, but he could not help but be entranced by the ones before him. Slowing the van to a stop, Lenny watched one of the monsters crash through the side of a building, possibly a bar, and pull something out. It looked like legs.
There was nothing Lenny could do to help those people. There probably was very little Lenny could do to help himself. Maybe he should have stayed at the camp? What had drawn him towards town? Why would he follow these nightmares?
But that was exactly the point – to follow, to observe. Lenny’s scientific mind remained intact and demanded answers. He wanted, no needed answers. It was a physical drive, probably what addicts felt. This could not be ignored.
A light tap on the driver’s side window shook Lenny from the inner sanctum of his deep thoughts. Images of a hellish claw shattering the glass and removing his head raced through Lenny’s mind. He turned towards the glass. There was no crab. No claw.
The barrel of a gun pointed towards Lenny through the glass. It was Agent Travis Howard. Lenny figured he would have fled or died with the rest of the government hacks. Perhaps he underestimated him? Or was it an overestimation? A ragged group of slightly familiar people huddled behind Agent Howard.
“Can I help you Agent Howard?” Lenny asked. “Or is it Travis?”
“Open the van,” Travis said. “Now.” He kept his voice low not wanting to attract the attention of the spiny monsters that scuttled through the town, rendering flesh from bone and limb from body.
“I’d rather not,” Lenny said.
“I’d rather shoot you, dump your body and drive myself,” Travis shrugged. “Your choice.”
“As you wish,” Lenny said and clicked the button to unlock the doors. The group of people scurried towards the van. Cal was with them.
“Well hello there, Cal,” Lenny nodded. “I guess I’m glad to see you alive.”
“Doc,” Cal nodded. His fist shot forward, colliding with side of Lenny’s head and propelling it into the steering wheel. The horn blared.
Everyone within the van watched as one crab, then another and another turned towards the vehicle. Their inky eyes shone under the dull streetlights. They betrayed no emotion, no purpose beyond finding their next meal.
“A simple ‘hello’ would have sufficed,” Lenny said, rubbing the side of his head.
“Drive,” Travis snapped from the passenger seat, his gun still trained on Lenny.
“Where?” Lenny groaned.
The first of the monsters was no more than twenty feet away, its spidery legs quickly closing the distance.
“Anywhere,” Travis said. “Just drive.”
Metal screeched in protest as a claw closed around the bumper of the van and squeezed. Travis pressed the button to lower the passenger side window and began firing at the creature. A black globe popped, oozing a thick blue liquid down the quivering stem that once held the eye in place. The crab recoiled, tearing the bumper free and casting it to the other side of the street.
“First reasonable thing I’ve heard all night,” Lenny said and shifted the van into reverse.
-49-
The asphalt was left pocked and chipped from the tireless scuttle of the crabs. Faces, slick with sweat and fear, peered out from behind darkened windows, hoping to find the streets silent. Claws, oversized and jagged, shattered glass, severing flesh and bone alike.
A body hung from the window of a sightseeing business. It was limp and bent at the waist. A crab tugged, its claw closed around the neck, until the head came loose, spinal cord dangling from where it had been pulled from its fleshy refuge. Blood spilled from the ragged stump of a neck and crept across the sidewalk.
The crab shredded meat and tossed away bone. A pile had slowly grown next to the creature as it continued to feast. There was almost a perverse irony in the image, though none were present to observe.
Not far from where the crabs gorged themselves, a creature glided silently through the water. Unlike the crabs, it knew when to stop eating, when to leave one hunting ground before it drew too much attention.
Turning from the ruined seawall, the creature swam silently towards the open water. There would be time to hunt again. Time to consume. But something deep within the reptilian brain of th
e monster urged it to swim, to leave. It wasn’t fear that drove the creature. It was a primal sense of survival.
The crabs continued to eat, searching through the clapboard buildings that lined the street. Bright, cheery colors, all with names that sounded like drinks or ice cream flavors, covered the walls of the buildings. Dark smears had been splashed across them like an obscene form of graffiti.
Screams had filled the air, echoing sharp and wet before going silent. Now there were none. No lungs retained the air needed to force a thick gurgle as pinchers drew together around a neck.
The gnashing of the crabs’ mandibles and claws filled the silence, a hellish backing track for the canned Reggae that still droned from some forgotten speaker.
-50-
“Care to tell me where we are going?” Lenny asked. He had driven the van out of town and now idled on the shoulder of a dirt road.
Travis raised his gun, as if considering whether or not to shoot Lenny. Milo’s hand pushed the barrel of the gun.
“Go to the police station,” Milo said. Pain cracked his words, made them jagged and cutting. He was going to stick with Stan’s plan, even if Stan was gone.
“Back in town?” Lenny asked. “Doesn’t that somewhat defeat the purpose of driving away from the creatures that are presently eating people?”
Tyde, Wendy and Cal shared a look.
“I hate to say that I agree with Doc Borges,” Cal said, “but I’m not sure that’s the best idea…no offense, Milo.”
“I’m open to other ideas,” Milo replied. “Anyone else know where we can get weapons and keys to a boat fast enough to outrun that thing in the water?”
“He’s right,” Tyde added.
“Right about the weapons,” Lenny said. “But I’m not so sure about the boat idea. That creature, that beautiful creature, is an apex predator. It is designed with one purpose, to hunt. I don’t think there is a boat in the RBDF fleet that is safe enough to attempt an escape.”
“We should stay out of the water,” Wendy said. She shot a quick glance at Tyde. He couldn’t tell if it was accusatory or cautionary.
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