Fangtooth

Chapter 36

Zander surveyed the damage to the boat and his heart sank. The insurance would cover the cost of the vessel, but what about those who died? Nothing could repay their loved ones for the loss.

He stared towards the stern where Robinson’s half-eaten body lay. A pain burned in his stomach, remorse. He felt sick; fought to restrain the feeling.

Powell joined him at the wheelhouse door.

Zander gripped the handle of his knife tight enough to make his knuckles go as white as his face. Years at sea had hardened him, but nothing prepared him for this. He had lost his gun during the crash, and the knife felt like a poor substitute.

He slid down the deck, using the fallen masts and derrick to stop himself from falling too far. Smoke poured out of a hatch leading to the engine room and he coughed as he breathed in the acrid vapour.

Waves slapped over the submerged stern. Zander narrowed his eyes, spied creatures lurking in the surf. A couple scuttled onto the deck. They looked up at him, opened their mouths and hissed, their long, curved fangs dripping saliva.

Zander clenched his teeth. “Come on, we’ve got to be quick.”

He clambered down and swung around the side of the wheelhouse. The door to the lower decks hung open, and he gripped the door frame and hauled himself through. Smoke crept across the ceiling, shrouding the flickering light to create a stroboscopic miasma.

Powell scrambled in behind him. “I don’t believe it. Those things, whatever they are, they’re coming.”

Zander nodded. “And they’re hungry.”

In the flickering light, the passageway looked foreboding. Zander swallowed to wet his throat, but he couldn’t produce saliva. His tongue felt like a bloated slug in his throat. Utilizing the walls, he dragged himself up the passage. At the end, a ladder led down to the engine room. A door to the side led to the crew’s quarters, fitted with coffin bunks. Another door led to the galley and the head. Smoke poured up from where the ladder descended.

Moving cautiously, Zander made his way towards the ladder. He heard Powell bringing up the rear. Once at the ladder, Zander descended into what he could only describe as a cloudy hellhole.

Smoke poured from the engine and sparks flickered from the tangle of electrics on the back wall. Almost indiscernible from the smoke, steam gushed from a broken pipe and scalded Zander’s hand, making him wince.

“Brad, are you down here?” Zander shouted.

A sudden bang made him jump, and he peered over the top of the engine as Brad emerged from a space beside the equipment.

“Skipper, am I glad to see you. I thought everyone was dead.”

“Is Jim here with you?”

Brad shook his head and stood up. He looked at the engine and sighed. “She were a lovely old girl.”

“We haven’t got time to stand around and mourn the fucking engine. Those things are still aboard. Let’s go.”

Brad rolled his shoulders, clucked his tongue, nodded, and then picked up the axe and followed Zander up the ladder.

At the top, Zander nodded at Powell. “We’ve got a live one. Come on, those engines could catch fire at any time and I don’t want to be caught standing on top of them when they do.”

Zander brushed past Powell and took the lead. He reached forward to grab the edge of the doorway to his right; the boat shifted, Zander slipped, missed the doorway, his hand entered the room–and touched something scaly. His heart missed a beat.

Recoiling, he snatched his hand back and withdrew the knife. A loud hissing noise emanated from the doorway, and one of the creatures stepped through. Its body glistened, quicksilver eyes reflecting Zander’s terrified features. It opened its mouth, revealing the long fangs.

Powell gasped. Brad swore.

Zander knew he had to act quickly. Without hesitating, he released his hold on the opposite wall, grabbed the knife handle with both hands, and flew at the creature.

Although he tried to aim for its eyes, he missed. The blade skidded across the creature’s head, throwing him off balance. The creature snapped its jaw as it tried to take a chunk out of Zander’s arm. Still moving forwards, Zander rolled around the creature until he ended up at its rear. Wicked spines rose from its back, and Zander narrowly missed impaling himself.

He heard a roar, watched Brad charge at the creature, axe raised. The grease and muck on his face looked like camouflage paint, made him appear fearsome.

The axe head split the creature’s head, and a viscous fluid spurted out and coated Brad’s arm.

“Not quite the trip you had in mind, hey, Skipper.”

Zander shook his head.

He noticed the hatches to the gutting room were open, and he scrambled towards the entrance. He peered down the chute used to drop the fish below, but couldn’t see anything.

“Brad, Powell, keep a watch,” he said, then he slid down.

Jim stood by the conveyor. As Zander crashed down, he raised his gutting knife, prepared to strike.

“Whoa, Jim, it’s me.”

“Skipper. Have you seen those things? What a size. Should be worth a fortune.” Jim raised a creature’s gutted carcass. The beast’s innards lay in a sloppy pink congealed mess in a basket.

Zander grimaced. “For God’s sake, man. Get a grip. We’ve got to get out of here. Those things, they’re…” His words trailed off when he saw Muldoon’s eviscerated body lying on the ground.

Jim shook his head. “First decent catch we’ve had in ages, and you want to leave it. Me and the boys, we’ve got bills to pay too, you know.”

“Jim. Listen to me. Look what’s happened. Look at Muldoon.” He pointed at the body. “Do you know where we are? We’ve run aground in the harbour.”

Jim laughed. “Then we’d better get the haul ashore.”

“Skipper,” Brad hollered. “You’d better shake yourself. We’ve got company.”

Zander gulped. “Come on Jim. We’ll gut the catch later.”

Jim’s eyes twinkled maniacally. “You bet we will.”

Zander grimaced.

He followed the conveyor towards the exit, peered out at the ladder leading up, then slowly ascended. He kept glancing back and to the side, wary of something jumping out on him. When he reached the deck, he saw the creatures scrambling towards them. He counted four, the sight turning his blood cold. He turned back, grabbed Jim by the arm and hauled him out.

“Come on, man, hurry.”

Jim came topside and stared at the creatures. “More money for the pot,” he said, rubbing his hands. “Come on ya fuckin’ monsters, let’s be havin’ ya.”

Zander gritted his teeth. “Jim, get ashore.”

Powell withdrew an extendable baton and started hitting the nearest creature, but it had no effect, so he scuttled away.

“Duck,” Brad shouted.

Zander looked back up the deck to see Brad levelling the high-pressure hose his way. Operated by the auxiliary donkey engine, it didn’t need the main engine to operate, and as he opened it up, a jet of water shot out and lifted the lead creature off its feet and slammed it back into the sea.

“Don’t lose the bastards,” Jim shouted.

Zander grabbed Jim by the arm and manhandled him back up the deck towards the bow. Powell followed. Brad kept them covered.

Once they reached the bow, Zander sat astride the edge and forced Jim to clamber over the side.

“Brad, you go next. Make sure Jim gets down,” he said.

Brad nodded and squeezed past. Then Zander reached back for Powell, but a creature scuttled out of the wreckage and grabbed Powell’s foot.

“No,” Zander shouted. He stretched to grab Powell’s hand, the officer’s fingers only millimetres away, but the creature pulled him down.

Powell screamed as the creature sank its teeth into his stomach, twisting its head. It pulled its head out, trailing a length of intestine from its jaw, formed the semblance of a grin, then chugged down the morsel of flesh.

Zander tore his gaze away, hopped over the side of the boat and scrambled down to shore.