The Tide of Terror

by Stuart G. Yates

  They loomed up like black monoliths, not squealing and running this time, just standing there, watching. The mother too. Jenny stopped, the strength running out of her legs. In the dark, the sow looked more monstrous than ever. There was a single, warning grunt and Jenny retreated, very slowly, stepping backwards, keeping the torch trained on the ground. She couldn't see the body, didn't even feel it until it was too late, tripping over it, landing on her back with a heavy jolt, the torch falling from her hand, head hitting a rock. Lights flashed, bees buzzed, and suddenly the world was sunlit and she felt she was floating. It felt nice for a moment, welcoming and comforting and she gave herself up to it as she lapsed into unconscious.

  Something cold and wet nuzzled into her ear and she sat up at once, instantly regretting it as a sharp stab of pain lanced into the back of her skull. The piglet ran back into the night and the mother-pig grunted loudly. Jenny touched the back of her head and winced, her fingers rubbing against dried blood. By tomorrow morning her head would be hurting so badly she'd want to rip it off.

  But then she saw what had caused her to fall and nothing else mattered any more. It was Mr Fletcher and he was lying there, very, very still.

  Chapter Eight

  Sitting in the back of the ambulance, Jenny felt a little self-conscious at being the centre of attention. The paramedic had cleaned her wound and bandaged it expertly. She felt grateful but wanted to get away as quickly as she could. The policeman had been kind, the same one she'd met over on the cliffs when the helicopter was searching for the pot-holer. But he had been meticulous and needed to know why she was out in Fletcher's fields, at night, and why she and the farmer had had a fight.

  “We didn't have a fight,” she said, trying to make herself sound convincing. All the policeman did was give her a twisted smile. “It's the truth! I couldn't see him and I tripped over, that's it.”

  “So why are there marks on his body?” He brought up the little shovel, now held in a sealed piece of plastic. “And why have you got this?”

  Jenny suddenly felt the world pressing in against her temples and her headache grew worse. She closed her eyes for a moment, hoping it would all go away. But when she opened them again, it was all still horribly real. And now the policeman's half-smile had been replaced by a snarl. “I think we can carry on with this interview down at the station.”

  The statement took a long time to write. Her head was full of cotton wool and she found it difficult to concentrate. The policeman had told her Mr Fletcher was being flown over to Guernsey. He was in a fragile state, but they were confident that his injuries were not life-threatening. That was good, and Jenny felt relieved at this news. However, she still had a lot of explaining to do. And there was now nothing she could do but tell the whole truth, including her run-ins with the dog-people, as she now called them.

  There was a detective in the interview room. His name was Mills and he had as much good-humour about him as a bull-dog with tooth-ache. He read the statement, chewing the end of a pencil as he did so, then, when he'd finished, he leaned back in his chair and looked towards the uniformed policeman who had brought Jenny in. “Cup of tea,” he said, then threw the statement back on the table. “None of this explains why you went up there.”

  “I was worried.”

  “Why?”

  “Why?” She looked at him, her mouth hanging open. “Because he…because…” She suddenly felt like she was drowning. Why had she been so worried? After all, Fletcher had said he would phone her if anything happened, and the night was still young when she'd gone up there. The truth was, everything had combined to make her feel uneasy. The attacks on the animals, the pot-holer getting trapped, those horrible people threatening her, tampering with the van…”I just felt he was in danger.”

  He didn't believe her, she could tell that from the look on his face. The door opened and the tea arrived. One cup. Very hot. Mills grunted and sipped it, smacked his lips, leaned back and folded his arms across his chest. He looked as if he were enjoying himself, all of his training at last being utilised. “Why didn't you report these people? The ones with the dogs?”

  “Their name is Burke, Mr Mills.”

  The detective nodded his head at the other policeman's disclosure. He narrowed his eyes as he took another sip. “Well?”

  Jenny tried to think, knowing any explanation was going to sound feeble. “I didn't think…” She shrugged, not able to find the words.

  “No,” said Mills, “you haven't been doing much of that, have you.” He settled the cup down on the table top and reached over for the shovel, which was still in the plastic. He hefted it in his hand. “This doesn't correspond with the marks on Mr Fletcher. So what did you hit him with?”

  “I didn't. It was dark and I didn't know he was there. I fell over him, hit my head, and that's all I know.”

  “So why this?” he waved the shovel, trying to look dramatic.

  “I don't know…I found it…I was scared.”

  “Of what? The pigs?”

  It may not have been meant as a joke, but the policeman in the corner laughed anyway. Mills ignored him. He wasn't smiling.

  Jenny let her head hang down. “I don't know…I just felt there was something wrong. I still do.”

  “Well, that much is true!” That look again, hard and unwavering. “So, let's get this right. You felt there was something wrong, although what it was you can't really explain. You decide to go up there, find out what's going on. But you can't use your vehicle because the tyres have been slashed by the Burkes, even though you haven't reported that fact, nor have you changed the tyres. Anyway, leaving that aside for a moment, you wait until it's dark then go up to Fletcher's farm, find this,” he tapped the shovel again, “go back outside, trip over his body and bang your head.”

  She nodded, feeling deflated and sick. The way he had recounted it, making it sound so unlikely, so far-fetched, she barely believed it herself.

  He leaned back again, smug, confident, assured. “You're free to go.”

  She looked up, eyes wide, darting from him to the other policeman and back again. Her mouth worked, but no words came out.

  Mills suddenly stood up, “Don't forget to pick up your things on the way out. It's late, and we all need some sleep. Do you need a lift home? We have to keep the bike…evidence.”

  Jenny got to her feet, feeling a little queasy. “I…I don't understand.”

  “Just go home, see to your dogs, or whatever it is you do up there at that rescue place. We'll be in touch…don't worry.”

  Needless to say, she couldn't sleep. Scruffy snuggled up beside her. The one good thing that had come out of all of this was that little dog and Jenny gave her a cuddle and kissed her head. Scruffy sighed with contentment and drifted off to sleep. For Jenny, the night was very long and full of bad thoughts.

  With the weather slightly improved, Jenny dropped the rope ladder over the side, tested that she had secured it properly, and started the descent. Pure grit and determination, distilled through a disturbed night spent lying wide awake next to a softly snoring dog, had brought her to this point. Anger too had boiled in her veins. Enough was enough, it was time to go on the offensive.

  She reached the entrance to the tunnel with few problems. Now that the wind had dropped, the rescue operation had resumed and they had found the pot-holer. His ankle was broken, but he was otherwise unharmed. Jenny had heard it on the radio, first thing in the morning, and had immediately decided to go and have a look for herself. Just as with Mr Fletcher, she didn't really understand why she had to go there. Something was nagging away at her, inside. Not a voice, a feeling. And no matter what she tried to do, it just wouldn't go away.

  The tunnel snaked on into the side of the cliff. It was a superb piece of engineering and must have been hellish to construct. She'd heard the stories, knew something about what had gone on. All those slave workers, forced to labour hour after gruelling hour, fed on scraps, treated in the most appalling way imaginable. It was
hard to believe that human beings could treat others so badly. But they did, it was all true. And this tunnel was just one little piece of evidence to prove it.

  Jenny came to the place where the man had become trapped amongst the broken rocks. Pausing only for a moment or two, she moved on, the space cramped but not so narrow that she found it difficult. She couldn't stand up to her full height, but the further she moved into the side of the cliff, the more she got used to stooping and, before long, the tunnel opened up into a large box-like area. Her trusty torch, which had served her so well, picked out the rubble-covered floor, the rusted, mangled bits of metal against the walls, the doorway that would lead to further tunnels. And the bones.

  She sucked in her breath. Bones? She got down on her knees and ran her fingers through them. Animal bones, small, like a rodent's or a tiny bird's. What had brought them into this dark and lonely place, and having caught them, eaten them? Why would any animal drag its prey so far into this labyrinth when it could so easily eat them at the entrance?

  Something moved.

  Jenny whirled round, flashing the torch across the walls, seeking out the corners. A shadow, like a flitting, darting piece of black cloth caught in a gust of wind, flew past her. It was close and sheer instinct made her duck, even though she felt sure it wasn't attacking her. Whatever 'it' was, there was no sound of beating wings, no screech. A bat, perhaps? But big, too big really. She tried to follow it with her torch, but it was gone, so she followed it, as quickly as she could, back down the tunnel, the small sliver of light from the entrance growing bigger with each step.

  Its shape filled the entrance for a moment, but only briefly. She had no time to identify it, no time to think. She just kept pounding on, the torch redundant now. Wincing as she stepped out into the bright light of the day, she looked all around and felt the disappointment hit her like a wave. It was gone.

  Torn with indecision, she didn't know whether to return to the tunnel, investigate a little more, or go back to the cliff top. The gunshot decided everything for her.

  Quickly, she reached out for the ladder and made her way upwards, gritting her teeth, breathing hard. The gunshot had been close and the rising feeling of panic made her lose concentration. She slipped, almost losing her grip. For a horrible moment she thought she was going to fall, but she managed to hold on, the coarse rope cutting into her palms, whilst she scrambled to regain her footing. Steadying herself, her breath coming in short, sharp rasps, she continued, with far more care now, accepting that caution had to be her guide.

  Reaching the top, she peered around and saw him, way over in the distance. A man, shotgun in hand, walking steadily over to the cliff edge. She called out and began to break into a run. If the man had managed to shoot the creature, she had to know what it was. If he had missed, perhaps he had caught a good enough sight of it to make a good identification. Perhaps the mystery was close to being solved.

  Chapter Nine

  It was Reynolds, the farmer. He snapped the shotgun closed as he came up to her. Jenny was peering over the side of the cliff. All she could see were the waves, way below, crashing against the rocks. “You saw it then?”

  She looked up at him and shook her head, “No. I heard your shot. What was it?”

  He shrugged. “Dunno. I've been waiting for it. Patience, that's the answer. And patience has paid off.” He joined her, looking towards the surf. “We won't be seeing it again.”

  “I wouldn't be too sure.”

  He was going to ask her what she meant, but when he looked around it was to see Jenny breaking into a run, sprinting towards a little outcrop of rocks.

  It was lying there, its breathing very shallow, a guttural snarl coming from deep within it. But it was alive. Reynolds came up, and he froze. Jenny understood exactly how he felt.

  This animal was like nothing she had ever seen before.

  It sported two large wings, not feathered like a bird, but covered with thin, rubberised skin, thickly veined. The shotgun had blown a hole in one, the other appeared twisted, broken. Over a metre in length, its legs were powerful, heavily muscled, evil looking claws retracting in and out as its eyes glared at its attackers. It was those eyes, and its entire head, which held most of Jenny's attention. Massive, elongated and heavy like an anvil, huge mouth, teeth protruding, its eyes burning red slits. Jenny was aghast. It was neither bird nor mammal, perhaps more reptilian than anything. But reptiles don't fly…at least, they don't now…

  “What in the name of creation is it?”

  Jenny couldn't answer – she didn't know. “I need to examine it, back at the surgery.” She stepped back, “Is your car near?”

  “My truck is.” Reynolds seemed to be considering something, and his fingers played nervously at the trigger guard of the gun. “Don't you think I should just finish it off, here and now?”

  That riled her and a deep frown creased her face. “No, I don't. We need to find out what this is, Mr Reynolds and whether this is what's responsible for all the attacks – including those on your sheep.”

  “You could still examine it if it were dead.”

  “Mr Reynolds…” she paused for effect and she saw his shoulders slump. Then he was turning, making his way slowly to where he had parked his truck.

  There was an old blanket in the back and they managed to wrap the creature up in it, securing it with some twine. It struggled, but not too much. It must have lost quite a lot of blood and although its jaws snapped a few times, it soon surrendered as the fight went out of it; it was then not too difficult to bundle the creature into the rear of the truck. Then Reynolds set off towards the rescue centre, with Jenny in the back, watching the creature every second of the way.

  They carried it into the surgery and lay it down on the table. With supreme slowness, Jenny cut off the twine and opened the blanket. In the confines of the surgery, the stench was almost over-powering. Jenny recoiled and Reynolds gagged, putting his hand over his mouth, gasping. “It's like rotting fish,” he blurted.

  It was true, and Jenny had a sudden memory of an injured gannet and the reek that emitted from it. There was no link between the two, but it was a disturbing feeling nevertheless, to be reminded of everything in such a rush.

  A noise, like the squeal of puppy dog, came from the creature's throat then. They both looked down as it tried to raise itself up, but then flopped back down, exhausted. “I'm going to try and tape that mouth up,” she said, going over to the far side of the room. She opened up a cabinet and delved inside the drawers before coming back with some heavy duty tape and a pair of extremely sharp scissors. “Can you hold its head?”

  Reynolds's eyes betrayed his fear, but he nodded once, then quickly took the heavy head in his hands whilst Jenny wound a strip of tape around the mouth. As she cut off the tape with a loud snip of the scissors, she stepped back, sighing. “That was easy. Easier than I thought.”

  “Perhaps it's dying.”

  “Perhaps it knows.”

  “What?” Reynolds looked closer at the wound. There was no blood and already the hole seemed to be repairing itself. “You mean, it knows it's dying? They say only humans and pigs know they will die.”

  “I meant, I think it knows we're trying to help it.”

  Reynolds shook his head, not convinced. “Nah… I reckon this is some African thing, probably from the Congo…There's all sorts of undiscovered things there, so they say.”

  “What would something from the Congo be doing here?”

  He shrugged. “Climate change, isn't it. Global warming. We get lots of things moving around – there was that report of a great white shark being seen in the Channel. Weird.”

  “Mr Reynolds, this creature is like nothing else that exists in the Congo, or anywhere else! It's…my God, it's like a pteradon!”

  “A what?”

  “One of many prehistoric, flying lizards.”

  Reynolds scoffed, his voice sarcastic, “What, like a dinosaur? That's Jurassic Park stuff, that is!”


  Jenny said quietly, “They weren't dinosaurs, to be absolutely accurate.” Reynolds didn't seem to hear, so she continued, “Well, whatever it is…I' m going to take some photographs and e-mail them to the Natural history Museum in London. Hopefully they might help.”

  But they didn't.

  Three hours later, Jenny was still sitting in front of her computer screen, reading through what the experts at the museum had said. They wanted to see it, to make a definite judgement. At first they thought it was all a hoax, that Jenny was some sort of prankster, but after they'd checked her out, they seemed more willing to help. And more enthusiastic. They suggested she get in touch with a zoo. They could arrange that for her, if she wished. And could she send them a video, to show it moving.

  By the time all of this was completed, it was too late to receive a reply from anyone else. She had contacted both London and Chester zoos and all Jenny had to do was wait until the morning.

  Mr Reynolds had gone back home, still chuckling to himself about Jenny's idea that the creature could be a flying reptile. When she came back inside, the creature followed her with its eyes. There was intelligence there, she knew that. It was measuring her, making assessments. It was a deeply disturbing thought. When she gently took it up in her arms, it tried to bleat, but nothing much came out thanks to the tape. She smiled towards it, “I'm sorry,” she said quietly, “I'm just going to put you in a holding pen. By tomorrow, you should be all right.”

  With the creature in the pen, she made up a glucose solution and, using a syringe, fed it with a large dose. It took the mixture readily and responded well. She had a sudden urge to remove the tape, but she resisted it. She couldn't begin to understand why, but she felt that the creature meant her no harm, that it really did know that she was helping it. Those claws could have caused tremendous damage, but they just hung there, limp and harmless.