The Tide of Terror
Page 29
Jenny took her chance and climbed to her feet, picked up the knife and lobbed it far off it into the distance.
Cross managed to roll away, shaking Scruffy off. The little dog, crouching down, snarled, pressing herself against Jenny's legs, protecting her mistress.
As Cross climbed to his feet, Belinda appeared beside him, slipping an arm around his waist. Hair fell in wet, limp strands over her face, masking the bruise across her cheek, the mascara around her eyes smudged, giving her the look of a panda. A mess, all of her previous assertiveness gone, she merely sneered. “Just give us the pendant. Then we'll go.”
“We can't just let her win,” said Cross, his face a mask of fury. “It will never end until she is dead!”
“I know,” Belinda said, “but who says we have to kill her?” She held out her hand, “Give me the pendant. We'll leave you alone and you can take your chances with the monk!”
Jenny opened her mouth to speak, but something ran around in her head. A prompt, or a compulsion, something. Something beyond her control. With a limp hand, she held out the plastic wallet.
Belinda stretched out to take it, but no sooner did her fingers touch the plastic, than it fell.
Scruffy caught it before it hit the sand.
Everyone gave a collective gasp and Scruffy ran off, the prize clamped in her jaws.
Jenny reacted first, shouting out, “Scruffy, Scruffy come back!”
As the little dog ran, the mist cleared, parting like curtains on a stage, revealing the whole vista before them. Beach and sea, the water lapping up against the edge. Scruffy plunged into the water and Jenny made to race after her. But Cross was faster, his arms and legs pumping, plunging into the grey, unforgiving river.
Jenny pulled up, heart hammering, watching with disbelief as Cross tried vainly to get closer to Scruffy. But the little dog swam out still further.
“Scruffy!”
The response came quickly. The terrible, guttural growl of a dog much bigger and infinitely more dangerous than Scruffy could ever be. Jenny whirled. Belinda stood, bent double, holding herself, hair hanging down, masking her expression. And beyond her, poised and coiled like a spring, the huge dog that had attacked Maureen Cross. Its great tongue lolled out of the corner of its mouth, its flanks moving in and out as it breathed rapidly, its eyes burning with a barely contained fury which seared into the brain.
Jenny span away as the dog attacked, not able to watch the animal sinking its great jaws into Belinda's pathetic figure. Jenny could hear it though, even with her hands clamped over her ears – the pitiful screams, the terrible growls, the awful tearing of flesh.
Then, silence.
Jenny waited, knowing she would be next. The animal, the servant of the monk, would have its orders. Kill, destroy…Drawing in a deep breath, she thought how awful her life had become, to live through so much, to strive, hope, for it all to end like this. Resigned, she accepted her fate and readied herself for the assault, her body quaking. She knew she couldn't outrun it, but perhaps if she could make a wild grab for the knife, manage to somehow twist the blade into its throat. But even as she considered this course of action, she realised the futility of it. This dog was huge, a mountain of flesh and muscle. Once it attacked, nothing was going to save her. Nevertheless, she tugged off her coat and wrapped it around her left arm. Once the dog attacked, she could give it her arm, protected by the coat, then…Trembling, she turned to face it.
It had gone.
The only thing visible, the dismembered remains of poor Belinda, strewn across the ground in bloody chunks, entrails fanned out, the sand soaked in red. It was as if no human being had ever stood there.
Jenny collapsed on her knees, hands clamped to her mouth, and broke down in fitful sobs.
Chapter Twenty-One
A piercing scream roused her and Jenny stood up, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand and looked out towards the river.
Floundering amongst the waves, Cross shouted again, the words cut off by the choppy swell of that cold, bleak stretch of water.
Scruffy, her little head just visible above the waves, struggled valiantly against the surging tide. Jenny panicked. The tide was coming in fast, very fast. Without another thought, she raced towards the water's edge.
Cross seemed to be in serious trouble, but somehow he managed to gain the little dog. Stretching out, he grabbed her. Scruffy jerked away, the pendant glinting momentarily in the diffuse sunlight. A sudden wave hit them both with terrific force and Cross cried out before disappearing beneath the water.
Without a pause, Jenny plunged into the river. The cold hit her like a body blow and she gasped, the breath ripped from her. But when Scruffy let out a pitiful whimper, she ignored her own discomfort and struck out against the tide.
Roaring like some demented sea-serpent, Cross erupted from the river and made a grab for Scruffy, tearing it from the dog's jaws. The plastic wallet ripped and as Scruffy swam towards her mistress, Cross held the pendant aloft in triumph, laughing maniacally, consumed by his victory.
Battling through the cold, Scruffy reached the safety of Jenny's arms. Crying out in relief, Jenny hugged her for a brief moment before turning around and heading back to the beach. She stumbled through the last few yards and collapsed face down into the sand, taking in great gulps of air whilst Scruffy stood close by, shaking herself wildly.
Coughing coarsely, Jenny rolled over, propped herself up by the elbows and looked out towards the river.
The chill that ran through her was much colder than anything she had experienced previously.
From out of the distance, at first nothing more than a tiny dot, the coracle appeared, moving unerringly like an arrow towards Cross. By now, he was turning to the shoreline but faltered somewhat, perhaps sensing the horror of what was bearing down upon him. He screamed again, and frantically tried to out-distance the little boat as his arms thrashed through the grey, grim water, battling to make some headway.
But the coracle and the monk who rowed it gained on him, despite Cross's best efforts. Before long, it came within an arm's reach of him. Another scream filled the clammy air as the monk reached out and wrestled the pendant from Cross's grasp. Desperately, Cross grabbed at the boat's side, pulling it downwards, trying to over-turn it. But his previous exertions had clearly weakened him and his attempts had little effect.
Standing uncertainly, Jenny stared in abject horror as she saw the monk leaning forward, its face a skull, eyes blazing red. And then it grinned, held up the pendant and roared, “Mine!”
Staggering backwards, Jenny stumbled and fell. The boat was only ten metres from her and she clearly saw the monk bringing the oar through the air in a great arc. It hit the side of Cross's head with a sickening crack, the skull breaking like an egg, brains and blood spewing out in a bright scarlet torrent. Without a sound, Cross rolled over and disappeared beneath the waves.
The monk turned its face towards Jenny. She stood frozen, wondering what new horror awaited her. Scruffy managed a feeble growl and then, without any warning, the clouds parted and brilliant sunshine blazed down, bathing everything in a warm, reassuring glow. Above, seagulls appeared, soaring across the azure skyline. Watching them as if for the very first time, Jenny smiled. Something extraordinary had happened, the atmosphere lighter, less threatening. When she looked across the river once more, she gasped.
The coracle and the monk had vanished, the only hint anything had ever been there, was a tiny slick of red blood tracing a trail thinly across the surface. A wave surged over the tiny slick, wiping everything away.
“Jenny?”
Throwing up her hands to protect herself from yet another attack, Jenny found herself gazing towards Mark, an oafish grin on his face.“My God,” he said, drawing her to him, “I thought I'd lost you.”
Shaking her head, unable to believe what she'd witnessed, she stepped back. Claire and Lawrence were there, with Charlie chasing his tail in a tight circle, Scruffy joining in, barking loudly b
ut happily. Donna too, a self-conscious half-smile on her lips.
“It's over,” said Jenny quietly. “He's got what he wanted – the pendant, his revenge.” She turned towards the becalmed, grey waters. “But he would never have come back if it hadn't been for me.”
“For you?” Mark shook his head, touching her on the shoulder. She looked up at him. “None of this was your fault. Justice has been served, that's no one's fault, Jen.”
“Really? Justice? All those people, dead? How can that ever be justice, Mark.” She shook her head. “I've got some sort of skill, or knowledge, I don't know what. The ability to link with the paranormal. And I don't like it.”
“My son has the same thing,” said Mark, his face set. “He still has nightmares.”
“I don't want any more nightmares, Mark. I don't want any more of this.”
“What are you going to do?” asked Claire.
“I don't know.” She sighed and looked from Mark to Donna, and back again. “But I think you two should stop messing about and become an item. Seriously, if you don't, I'll bash your heads together.”
Mark blinked, his face growing red. Donna smiled sheepishly.
Jenny pointed towards Mark, “That note, the one I gave you.”
He looked at her, face blank. “What about it?”
“You may as well throw it away.”
“Your invitation to take him to dinner?” Both of them looked at Donna. “He left it on his desk, I couldn't help but read it.”
“Sorry,” said Mark.
“Men,” said Jenny, “I think I'll go back home.” She reached down to tussle Scruffy's head.
“Later you must come round and have something to eat,” said Claire.
“Yes, Jenny,” shouted out Lawrence, “I want to ask you about how to become a vet. Or,” he grinned towards Mark, “an archaeologist.”
Jenny smiled again, but a little sadly this time. They'd all missed the significance of her last words, their meaning; about going home. Back to Alderney, and perhaps to someone who really did care. For now, however, she decided not to bring it up again. Not for a short while at least.
THE END
About the Author
Stuart G Yates is the author of a eclectic mix of books, ranging from historical fiction through to contemporary thrillers. Hailing from Merseyside, he now lives in southern Spain, where he teaches history, but dreams of living on a narrowboat in Shropshire.
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