Fangtooth

Chapter 39

Duncan peered through the narrow gap in the pantry door, his heart pounding. He saw Erin slam the side door shut, then lost sight of her. The alarm drowned out any noise he might make. Coupled with the distraction of the creatures, it had also helped him enter the pantry without anyone noticing.

Tins of food filled the shelves. The tins clinked at his back as he adjusted his position, his hands and legs shaking. Fear had driven him to hide, and now embarrassment made him stay. His only choice now was to escape and flee the village.

He tightened his grip on the gaff hook and pressed his ear to the door to see if he could hear any conversation, but apart from the alarm, all seemed quiet.

He assumed those monstrous creatures–what did that bitch call them, Fangtooth–had arisen because of the failed sacrifice. The ocean’s way of making amends, to teach them a lesson.

The sound of hammering broke his chain of thought and he peered through the gap to see Zander and Bruce nailing a small wooden table across the door. A moment later, the fire alarm fell quiet, although Duncan’s ears continued to ring for a few minutes after.

His legs ached from standing in one place, but now that the alarm had fallen silent, he didn’t dare move in case he made a noise and he did his best to control the shakes that still coursed through him.

The hammering continued for a while. They were battening down the hatches, for what good it would do them.

Finally satisfied there was no one left in the kitchen, he eased the door open and peeked out, the gaff hook held ready to strike at anyone that might be loitering around. Relieved, he stepped out and studied the table they had nailed to the door. He had planned to pull it off, but there was no way he could remove it without being heard.

The two dead Fangtooth lay on the ground. One toasted, the other stabbed. Duncan looked at them, repulsed but also slightly impressed by their appearance. Blood pooled around the stabbed creature, and he knelt down, ran his fingers through the red liquid, and smeared the gore across his cheeks. He hoped it would be enough to convince the Gods of his devotion–that in the coming slaughter, they would deem him worthy and spare his life.

The door to the bar was ajar, and Duncan crept towards it and peered through the gap. Erin sat at a table drinking what looked like brandy. Bruce sat next to her, his arm around her shoulder. The teenagers sat in the corner; Rocky twiddled with his knife, spinning it on the tabletop. He couldn’t see anyone else, and he daren’t open the door too far as the dog would be somewhere, and the slightest thing might alert it to his presence.

The position of the counter meant he could duck down and no one in the bar would be able to see him, so as long as there was no one behind the actual counter itself, he could crawl through to the back of the building.

He knew it was no good holing up in the kitchen, as someone would be bound to return soon.

Dropping to his knees, he leaned as far around the door as he dared. Satisfied no one could see him, and that no one stood behind the counter, he crawled cautiously out of the kitchen. The pungent smell from the slop trays below the pumps made his nose itch, and he fought not to sneeze.

A draft emanating from a door a few feet further on blew around his body, making him shiver. Duncan crawled towards the door and found himself staring down a set of steps towards the cellar.

As Bruce and Graham had been down in the cellar to fetch barrels, he surmised they wouldn’t have any need to venture down again.

The steps weren’t too steep, and he slid cautiously down the steps. Halfway down, he heard a voice muttering from below and he froze on the spot.

Still too high up to see into the cellar, he took a couple of deep breaths, and continued down.

The person in the cellar continued to mutter away, so he guessed they hadn’t heard or hadn’t registered his presence. Now closer, he recognised the voice as that of Graham, the proprietor. As no one else spoke, he guessed–hoped–the barman was alone.

Duncan crept down one step at a time. Once low enough, he ducked to see below the door frame, saw Graham bending over a barrel in the corner and tiptoed across the room as fast as he dared.

Beer shot out of the barrel Graham was messing with, soaking his front. “As if I haven’t got enough problems,” he mumbled.

“And here’s another to add to the list,” Duncan said.

Graham turned at the sound of Duncan’s voice, his one eye going wide as he spied the raised gaff hook.

“What the blazes…” he shouted.

Duncan slammed the hook into Graham’s throat and yanked hard, as though landing a fish. The point ripped through his skin and out the other side of Graham’s neck. The flesh pulled taut, stretched. Blood spurted out. Graham raked Duncan’s face with his hands, opening up a vicious cut down his cheek.

Duncan grimaced and wheezed. Graham was a big man, and Duncan thought he had underestimated his opponent.

Using all his strength, Duncan snatched the gaff hook back and the skin ripped open like a wet paper bag. The lower section lay as a flap of purple and red bunting. As Graham exhaled, the top flap lifted, spraying blood across the ground. Graham gagged. He staggered back, hands at his throat. Blood poured between his fingers. His eye rolled in its socket and he dropped to his knees. Blood bubbled from between his lips as he tried to speak. Duncan couldn’t understand what Graham was trying to say, but it wasn’t anything he wanted to hear.

He raised the hook again, swept it down and across, spearing the landlord’s cheek. The tip of the point slid from between his lips where it had impaled his tongue. Without hesitating further, Duncan pulled hard. For a brief moment, Graham’s tongue appeared in the gash in his cheek, then the skin tore open and the tongue split in two like a snake’s.

Graham fell forward, his head striking the ground with a loud crack and Duncan slammed his foot down on Graham’s head until the barman stopped moving.

Duncan felt strangely buoyant, empowered. His cheeks flushed. His hands tingled. To anyone who didn’t know, Graham had been attacked by a Fangtooth.

Blood pooled on the ground in a widening circle. Duncan stepped over the puddle and entered the shadows where the light didn’t reach. When his eyes adjusted, he spied a pale rectangle of illumination overhead that outlined the trapdoor leading to the street. He grinned, traced around the edge to locate the retaining bolts, then slid them across.