Her gaze fell upon a can of spray polish on the worktable. She grabbed it, placed the knife on the edge of the table, then realised she didn’t have a light.
“Here.”
Erin looked across at the sound of Jack’s voice. As if he had read her mind, he threw her his lighter, which she caught in midair. Using her thumb, she flipped the lid off the can, sparked the lighter and pressed down on the plunger. The spray ignited with a satisfying whump. A wave of heat wafted over her and she aimed the yellow flame at the nearest Fangtooth. As she’d hoped, the universal fear of fire stilled the beast’s approach. It reared back, raking the air with its claws, teeth bared. A grumbling sound emanated from its throat, which sounded like anger and hunger combined. She tried not to think what might happen if the flame entered the pressurized can in her hand.
She let go of the plunger and the flame went out. She moved aside, placing herself between the teenagers and the creatures. She didn’t know how much gas remained in the can, but she hoped and prayed there was enough to allow them to escape.
“Follow me–slowly,” she said.
Although she felt like running, she knew she couldn’t. She let loose another blast of flame, warding the creatures away. She only hoped more monsters didn’t rush into the room.
The flame flickered and stuttered. Erin’s heart rose into her throat. She took her finger off the plunger and shook the can. It sounded nearly empty.
Zander appeared in the doorway leading to the bar. He surveyed the scene, jaw clenched. He had a large tumbler of whisky in his hand, which he threw over the nearest Fangtooth.
The Fangtooth turned and bared its teeth at him. “Torch that fucker,” Zander said.
Erin moved towards the creature, pressed the plunger and struck the lighter. A jet of flame shot out, igniting the whisky. A throaty roar echoed from the Fangtooth’s throat. Cloaked in a blanket of flame, it raked its claws in the air and crashed against the worktable, sending pots and pans flying. The second Fangtooth dropped to all fours and backed away. The pungent aroma of roasting fish filled the air. Burning scales flaked off the Fangtooth’s body and fell to the ground.
“Quick,” Erin said, “around the other side and through the door.”
Jack and the others moved where she indicated. She noticed Bruce appear in the doorway, his hand out to help pull them through.
“Come on,” he shouted.
Jack shook his head and ushered the others back. “We can’t get past.” He pointed at the Fangtooth barring the way.
The flames from the burning Fangtooth licked the ceiling, setting off the ear-piercing wail of the fire alarm. Erin could hardly hear herself think. She winced.
Seeing the predicament the teenagers were in, she slid around the table, wary of the burning Fangtooth. The second Fangtooth regarded her from its lower position. Its jaw hung open, the spines on its back bristling in anticipation. Erin raised the can, struck the lighter and pressed the plunger, only to find the can empty.
“Shit,” she said. She threw the can at the creature and stepped back. Her fingers brushed the tabletop, felt the cold handle of the fluted knife. She grabbed hold of it with both hands and, without thinking, she leaped at the Fangtooth and plunged the blade through its eye.
The blade met resistance as it sank through the eye socket. A clear liquid spurted out, struck her cheek, making her cringe. The creature bucked like a bronco, slashing with its claws. Erin kept it at arm’s length, the vicious spines along its back dangerously close to her eyes. She pushed with all her strength, her triceps aching with the strain. Blood seeped around her fingers, weakening her grip on the handle. She bit her lip, held on for dear life. The Fangtooth felt cold and dry; its sharp, rough scales sliced through her wrists with the same pain as a paper cut. Erin winced, tears blurred her vision.
The blade met further resistance. She pushed. Hard. Seconds later the tip of the blade punctured the Fangtooth’s palate, resembling another wicked tooth as it protruded through its mouth. She twisted the blade, gouging a hole, causing maximum damage. She felt the fluted edge grind against the creature’s eye socket, splintering tough bone. Next minute the Fangtooth shuddered and collapsed to the ground. Its jaw struck the tiles, forcing the knife back out.
Erin jumped to her feet. She turned towards the side door to confront Duncan, only he was no longer there.
Enraged, she ran across, slammed the door shut and leaned against it, breathing heavy. If he wanted to be fish food, so be it.
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.