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pillagers consumed by the fire which they had so often spread in distant
lands. A ghostly ship breaking up, collapsing sedately, then disappearing
amidst a cloud of ash dust.
'Jesus, it's a good job nobody was trapped in that lot,' a fireman muttered
and began playing his hose on the last of the debris.
Chapter Nine
Monday Morning - The Blue Ocean Holiday Camp
MILES MANNING had joined the waiting soldiers down by the boating lake. He
fidgeted impatiently, checked his watch yet again. 1.20 a.m. Surely that
fucking crab had to move soon.
'No sign?' he addressed a tall captain standing by one of the vehicles, spoke
abruptly, his edginess and tiredness showing in his tone.
'No. But it's in there all right.'
'I still say we could depth-charge it.'
'Mr Manning,' impatient, staring fixedly out across the lake, 'we cannot
contemplate underwater explosives here. The charge that would be needed to do
sufficient damage to a creature of that size could not be used in such a small
area of water. This man-made lake would be ripped apart and we should create a
sudden tidal wave of several million gallons of water which would do untold
damage to the camp. We're just going to have to sit this one out.'
Manning grunted, bit the end off a King Edward and struck a match. The Havana
cigar tasted sour, his craving for tobacco had been saturated during the last
twenty-four hours but he needed something to do. Seldom did Miles Manning come
up against a problem which he could not solve himself. Christ, he couldn't
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stand this much longer.
1.25 a.m. A ripple appeared on the surface, spread out in rings like somebody
had tossed a stone into the water. Then another; a definite disturbance.
'Here it comes!'
The tension which had built up to a climax suddenly erupted. Like a behemoth
arising from the deep the huge crab surfaced, a monstrous thing that created
its own waves, the water foaming white as it moved shorewards with
unbelievable speed.
Manning stared, chewed the butt of his cigar to a soggy pulp. It was true
after all, these crustaceans were what everybody said they were, bigger than
the donkeys in the enclosure, that expression captured in the glare of a
searchlight showing a fury that was directed at Man. And if you really studied
the awful features you saw something else-the fear of a trapped animal in
those tiny red eyes. It was very frightened.
'Fire!'
A deafening report, a single armour-piercing rifle bullet on target. Shell
splintered, fragments flying. A whine-a ricochet. The bullet had scored a
direct hit and then bounced off!
The crab did not even slow its pace, a paddle-steamer gone berserk, threshing
the water around it into a foaming cauldron, heading directly towards the line
of parked military vehicles.
More firing; automatic rifles, a fusillade of lead that chipped and scored the
sandy-coloured shell, dented the living armour but did not pierce it. Rage on
that misshapen crustacean face, a hatred for Man that could only be satisfied
by bloody human flesh.
Just as the Barmouth troops had been forced to desert their trucks and retreat
hastily so these soldiers at the Blue Ocean Holiday Camp were scattering;
backing off, still firing; reloading, firing again. A blaze of gunfire that
was proving futile. Demoralising.
The crab reached the side, hauled itself awkwardly up on to the concrete. A
pause as though trying to get its bearings, its tiny brain struggling to come
to a decision. Another hail of fire jerked it out of its reverie. And that was
when the full force of its fury exploded, when it went berserk.
An empty armoured car was its first victim, a fierce onslaught with pincers
that crumpled steel and smashed bullet-proof windows. Slashing, venting its
fury on an inanimate object, battering the vehicle until it resembled one that
had been in a head-on collision with an articulated lorry. A heavy-duty tyre
burst, gave the watchers the weird impression that the creature was somehow
returning their fire.
The soldiers bunched; concerted fire, fragments of shell and deflected bullets
whining their way into the night sky. The captain watched, his mouth dry, a
feeling that his bowels might empty themselves at any second. You were trained
to give orders in battle but that training had not included warfare against
nightmarish invincible creatures such as this. His lip began to bleed where he
had bitten it.
Miles Manning had retreated with the soldiers. His tired features were deathly
white, his lips a thin bloodless line. Never before had he hated anything as
much as he hated that crab and for once he was powerless to exact the
vengeance his very being demanded. Fear, not for himself but for the empire
which he had built here. The crustacean was still venting its rage on army
vehicles but what after that? Would it head for the main camp on a rampage of
death and destruction, seeking to appease its appetite with human carnage the
way the crabs had done on Shell Island?
Everybody watched. Another truck was overturned, the crab clambered over it in
a horrifyingly ungainly fashion, the chassis buckling, more glass shattering.
A crowd somewhere beyond the glaring lights was screaming, fleeing in panic.
But the crab's course was a direct one now, one that took it parallel to the [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]