When they were all out, Bruce tapped Jack on the shoulder. “Okay, let him go. Come on, we’ll find Powell and let him sort this out.”
Jack released Duncan and jumped to his feet to follow Bruce outside. As he shut the door, Bruce heard Lillian scream in anguish. The sound went through him. She was totally crazy. He wondered why no one had ever noticed that she needed to be locked up.
He thought Jen of all people should have noticed her relative’s behaviour, but then he remembered his own nana was as fruity as a bowl of punch, and no one had bothered having her put away. But at least she didn’t go around making pagan sacrifices.
He looked along the street, but Powell was nowhere in sight. Where were the police when you needed them? If he were speeding, no doubt an officer would appear out of the blue, but now when he needed one, the blasted idiot had wandered off.
Getting angry wasn’t helping, but it felt good to let off a little steam. “Powell,” he shouted.
“Dad, we’ve got to get out of here,” Jack said.
Before Bruce could reply, Erin pointed. “Isn’t that Zander’s boat?”
Bruce looked out to sea where the running lights of the trawler reflected from the choppy waves. Bright spotlights illuminated the water around the boat, making it appear ethereal, like a ghost ship.
“She’s coming in fast,” Bruce said.
“Too fast,” Erin replied.
Bruce heard the roar of the boat’s engines as the craft sped towards the harbour. In the glow of her lights, he noticed ropes trailing in the water.
“Is that smoke?” Jack asked as he pointed at the boat.
Bruce ran across the road, vaulted the harbour wall and stared out to sea. Jack was right. A column of black smoke drifted from the boat, and although not an expert, he noticed the craft appeared to list sharply.
As the vessel drew closer, he was able to make out more details, the skeletal framework of cranes and the bristly sea urchin-like array of masts and aerials.
A shout issued from the boat, followed by movement on the deck. Now close enough to see more clearly, he saw someone or something had smashed the wheelhouse windows.
Erin stood behind the harbour wall. “Jesus,” she said. “They’re in trouble.”
Rocky pointed. “They’re going to ram the harbour.”
“Shit,” Jack said.
A white froth fanned out from the boat’s bow as it sped towards the harbour. “You’d better stand clear,” Erin said.
Bruce didn’t move. He looked at the boat, his eyes narrowed. There was someone hanging from the crane. At least it used to be someone. Even from a distance, he could see the figure had been severed at the waist. A grisly mass of entrails hung down like obscene rigging. It looked as though something had eaten him while he tried to climb out of reach.
“Bruce, stand clear,” Erin shouted.
Movement in the water caught his eye, and he stood transfixed at the sight of hundreds of dark objects swimming alongside the boat.
A shoal of Fangtooth. A pack of killer creatures shepherding the boat to its destination.
This was bad. This was very bad.
The sound of the boat grew louder. Bruce looked up, alarmed to see it looming upon him, a gigantic axe head of metal and wood. He jumped aside, rolled, banged his shoulder against the harbour wall. Pain shot through his body.
As the boat struck the harbour, it felt like an earthquake – a horrendous noise of tortured metal and pulverized concrete rang out. The ground underfoot shook violently. The light from the lampposts flickered, throwing wild shadows around the harbour. Someone screamed. Shards of concrete and metal started to rain down. Bruce shielded his face. A lump of concrete struck the back of his hand, sending a jolt of pain along his arm. He heard the boat creak and squeal as though in torment. He peeked between his fingers, saw the boat’s bow sticking up in the air. A fallen mast lay feet away. Water poured from the side of the boat. The intermittent flash of sparks illuminated the boat’s wheelhouse. Shadows danced among the sparks.
Concrete dust filled the air; hung like a fog obscuring his vision. Bruce coughed and stood up. His legs shook, made him feel unsteady. He took a tentative step towards the boat. The sound of squealing metal rang out and the boat slipped back a couple of feet, making him jump.
“Hello, can you hear me?” Bruce shouted.
Footsteps sounded behind him and he turned to see Erin approaching. “Jesus,” she said as she surveyed the scene.
“Help me!”
Bruce heard the voice, but with the boat standing proud, he couldn’t see anyone.
“Hello, where are you?” he shouted back.
“Help me!” the speaker croaked.
Bruce studied the boat; saw a tangle of ropes and chains hanging down.
“I’m going to have to climb aboard,” he said.
Erin touched his hand gently. “Be careful.”
“I’ll come with you,” Jack said.
Bruce shook his head. “No, you’d better stay here.”
He stepped towards the edge of the harbour and looked down. For a moment, he felt dizzy and his heart thudded. The water looked cold, dark and foreboding. Sudden movement disturbed the surface, revealing the Fangtooth circling the wreckage. Some of them scratched at the boat, trying to find a handhold. Bruce gulped. He tried to swallow but found he couldn’t.
The front of the boat was crumpled and dented, with jagged shards of metal jutting out at odd angles.
He grabbed hold of a hanging chain. It felt cold and wet within his grasp. Then with the help of the sharp metal protrusions created by the blow with the harbour, he started to climb.
Heights always made him a little apprehensive, but climbing up the side of a damaged boat, above Fangtooth infested waters, well, that was just plain crazy, and his sweaty palms, shaking legs, thrumming heart and spinning head told him so. But someone needed help, and he couldn’t stand by and do nothing, so he climbed, hand over hand, foot over foot, one torturous, slow step at a time.
“Now do you see why we have to make the sacrifice?”
Bruce twisted his head at the sound of Lillian’s voice. She stood at the edge of the harbour, a vitriolic glare plastered across her face. Blood dribbled from a cut on her forehead. In the light from the lampposts, it looked like an exclamation mark. Duncan stood behind her. He rubbed his wrist as though to relieve it from pain, his gaze fixed firmly on Jack. Since leaving the bar, he had armed himself with a wicked looking spiked hook.
“Do you want some more?” Jack asked, bobbing his head.
“Jack,” Bruce shouted, hoping the inflection in his voice was enough to cool his son’s bravado. They had enough trouble without creating more.
“Yeah,” Rocky said, squaring up to Duncan, “you ain’t gonna sucker punch me and get away with it.”
Bruce bit his lip. This was turning into a testosterone showdown, and here he was, stuck up the side of a boat.
“Everyone calm down,” Erin said. She waved her arms in the air and stepped between the warring factions. “We’ve got injured people to help here. We don’t need this right now.”
Bruce readjusted his grip. He felt relieved that Erin was taking control and trying to calm the situation. His feelings for her went up another notch. Growing tired hanging onto the boat, he continued climbing and clambered over the side and onto the sloping deck.
Holding onto the front of the boat to stop himself falling towards the wheelhouse, he looked back down at the harbour, his eyes opening wide when he saw Lillian raise the club. His heart stopped.
“Look out,” he screamed, but he was too late. Lillian swung the club, hitting Erin on the head. Even from a distance, Bruce heard the sharp crack of wood on bone. Caught unawares, Erin’s head snapped to the side and she staggered back. Bruce cringed.