Fangtooth

Chapter 37

Bruce helped the men clamber off the boat. When Zander climbed down, he said, “Where’s Powell?”

Zander shook his head. “Those monsters, they got him.”

Local residents ran across the road to help. Bruce waved his arms at them. “Get back inside,” he shouted. The people stared at him as though he were mad.

“What’s going on?” an old man asked.

“There’s been an accident,” Bruce replied. “Chemical leak. Everyone get inside.” He didn’t think they would believe him if he told them the truth.

“I can’t see any chemicals,” the man said, screwing his face up like a wizened old owl.

“They were on board the boat. Highly toxic. Now fucking get inside.” The old man sucked his lips in, then turned and ran back across the road.

“We’d better get out of here, too,” Zander said.

“Yes, what’s the quickest way out of the village?” Bruce asked.

“I think it’s too late for that.” Zander pointed along the street.

Bruce turned and stared, horrified to see the creatures scrambling towards them.

“Shit!” He didn’t like the idea of staying in the village, but there seemed to be little option. “Let’s go back to the bar,” he said. “It’s closest.”

Without any argument, everyone started to run across the road. The teenagers piled through the doorway, followed by Erin and then Zander, and a couple of men Bruce assumed to be members of Zander’s crew, one with ginger hair, the other with a beard and a blood covered face. Bruce entered next. He turned at the door, saw Duncan waiting outside. The shopkeeper looked sheepish, anxious.

“You can’t leave me out here,” he said

“And why not? You wanted to sacrifice us, you bastard.”

Across the road, a drain cover clattered aside and Bruce looked over to see a Fangtooth emerging from the ground.

Duncan’s expression hardened. “But I didn’t. It was all Lillian’s idea. I got caught up in her madness. I’m sorry. Jesus, they’re coming. You can’t do this.”

Bruce didn’t doubt Duncan was sorry now that his ass was on the line, but the bastard had tried to kill them. He didn’t deserve to live, but if he left him outside to die, that would make him just as bad, so he grudgingly stepped aside. “You make one wrong move, and you’ll be back out that door before you can blink,” he snarled.

Duncan nodded and scurried inside. Bruce slammed the door shut and threw the bolts across top and bottom. Seconds later, he heard wicked claws tearing at the timber. The door was old and made of sturdy, thick wood, but he didn’t think it would prove an obstacle for too long.

“Zander, help me shove that table in front of the door.” He indicated a sturdy, wooden table. Zander took one side, Bruce the other, then they turned it on its end and rammed it against the door.

“Can someone tell me what the fuck’s going on?”

Bruce turned and looked at the landlord, Graham. He stood behind the bar nursing his head.

“And if I find out who hit me over the head, I’ll fuckin’ kill him,” he groaned.

Bruce looked at Jen, and she turned away and stared down at the ground. He was tempted to say someone had beaten him to it, but he kept his mouth closed. Whatever the repercussions, he would always be grateful to her for pushing her grandmother into the water, giving Erin a chance to escape.

“Call the police,” Bruce said. “Tell them anything, but get them to come out and investigate. Anyone else with a phone, do the same thing. They might not believe one person, but they can’t ignore two or three or more.”

Jack nodded, took his phone out and dialled. Sara did too.

The sound of the Fangtooth scraping at the door grated on Bruce’s nerves. He looked around the room. The occupants were dishevelled, postures slumped as though in defeat. The two men who accompanied Zander sat at the bar.

“Of course it’s an emergency,” Jack said. He paced the floor, talking animatedly. “Yes, there’s been a murder.” He glanced quickly at Jen, bit his tongue then turned and walked the other way. “Send as many police as you can.” He gave them the name of the village, then disconnected the call.

“Graham, whisky,” said the bearded man at the bar. “Make it large.”

“Make that two,” said the grease covered man who sat next to him.

The landlord rubbed his head. “Whisky! Someone clocked me on the head, and you want whisky. Can someone tell me what the fuck is going on?”

“It’s like we told you,” Erin said. “There are mutated creatures outside.”

Graham looked unconvinced. “Why have you barricaded the door? If you’ve scratched that table, you’ll have to pay for it.”

“Graham, pour me a fuckin’ drink before I come round there and pour my own,” the bearded man said.

Graham continued as though he hadn’t heard or wasn’t listening: “And who the hell’s scratching on my door? Where’s that police officer gone when I need him?”

“He’s dead,” Bruce snapped. “They’re all dead. Now shut the fuck up and pour the men their drinks.”

The landlord opened his mouth to respond, but Bruce glared at him, and Graham seemed to decide against it.

Bruce felt everyone staring at him, but he didn’t care. The wolves were literally at the door, so what people thought of him was the least of his worries.

Erin stood in the middle of the room. He looked at her and offered a weak smile.

Erin’s eyes went wide; her mouth opened, but no words came out. Bruce followed her line of sight. The window cast a reflection of the room’s occupants, but outside, its features bathed in light, a Fangtooth peered through the glass.

Bruce felt sick; felt like an animal in a cage. The glass misted over as it breathed, making its features appear ethereal.

“Graham, switch the lights off,” he ordered.

“I’ve only just got them back on again,” he grumbled. “Someone had put a piece of paper between the fuse and the connector so it wouldn’t work.”

“Graham, look at the fuckin’ window.”

The landlord begrudgingly turned and stared at the window. Although Graham only had one eye, Bruce watched it enlarge to cyclopean dimensions. His jaw went slack, his features growing pale as the blood drained away.

“Fuck,” Graham said. “There’s a goddamn monster out there.” He lurched across the room and smacked the light switch, plunging the room into darkness.

Bruce waited for his eyes to adjust, then he said, “Everyone, help me stack tables against the windows.” He turned to Graham. “We need something heavy. Something to brace the tables with.”

Graham stroked his jaw. “The cellar’s full of barrels. Will that do?”

Bruce nodded.

“I’ll need a hand,” Graham said.

Bruce ran forwards. “I’ll come with you.”

Zander waved an arm. “Brad, Jim, help me with these tables.” The grease covered man seated at the bar jumped to his feet and ran across the room.

“Brad,” Zander said as the man reached his side, “grab that end.”

The man with the beard stood up. “The sooner we get back to fishing and make some money instead of messing about, the better,” he mumbled.

Bruce motioned towards Jack. “You and the others see if there’s anything we can use as weapons. We’ve got to hold out until someone comes to help us.”

“Try in the kitchen back there,” Graham said. “You’ll find some carving knives and the like.” He pointed towards a door to the left of the bar.

As Erin walked by, Bruce took hold of her gently by the arm. “Look after him for me. He’s all I’ve got left.”

She nodded. “He’s not the only one you’ve got, though.” She smiled, then she followed Jack and the other teenagers through the door.