Killer Crabs: The Return (Crabs Series) by Guy N Smith

Author:Guy N Smith [Smith, Guy N]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Horror
ISBN: 9781907846731
Publisher: Black Hill Books
Published: 2012-08-19T12:00:00+00:00

Ten

As he approached Karen’s cottage Brock’s walk had become a stumble. His legs felt leaden, every nerve and muscle in his body crying out for rest. The rifle on his shoulder bowed him like an osteoporosis sufferer. He was breathing heavily. But he had made it against all odds. Jimmie, the Glenkirk nit-wit had not been so lucky.

The light was still showing in a downstairs window. Maybe Karen had left it on for him. Or she was still up and awaiting his return. He experienced a tremor at the thought of the latter possibility. Please, no, I’d rather she had a good night’s sleep before she learns that they are out there, waiting in the mud to mutilate and kill any human within reach of their pincers.

The door was unlocked. It creaked loudly as he eased it open. Damn, that’s enough to wake the dead. Like Jimmie. Nothing would wake him because there was nothing left of him.

“Is that you, Brock?” Karen’s voice came from the kitchen. He heard a chair being scraped back and then she appeared in the doorway. She wore a nylon nightdress, almost transparent if you looked hard enough.

“Yeah,” he grunted, stood his rifle up against the wall, began to struggle out of his waders.

“My god!” she flicked the hall light on stared at him in shocked surprise. “You look like you’ve fallen in a deep creek. I thought you were familiar with the tide times.”

“I misjudged the speed of it,” he extricated himself from the second wader. “I …”

“Something’s gone wrong,” she moved closer, grasped his hand. “Something awful’s happened out there tonight. You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Damned well wish I had instead of that!

“What was it, Brock?”

“I could use a stiff drink.”

“I’ll get you a whisky on condition you tell me.”

“All right,” he nodded. He would have to tell her now. He sighed, shrugged off his mud-splattered Harkila jacket, hung it on a peg, and shuffled through to the kitchen in stockinged feet.

“That’s better,” he swallowed a gulp of the amber fluid, averted her eyes.

“Well, if it wasn’t a ghost, what was it, then?”

“Crabs”, his voice low. “Well, one of them at least. A big one even if it was a little one, if that makes sense.”

“I knew it,” she paled. “And the residents of Glenkirk know but they’re keeping quiet about it. What happened?”

“It got that youth, Jimmie”

“Oh, my god!”

“Don’t ask me for details, Karen. I wish I could forget it but I doubt I ever will. I had the bastard in my sights. That’s a big-game rifle; I brought it specially to hunt ‘em. A going away shot. I cracked and splintered its shell but it made the tide. Then I legged it as fast as I could.”

“Doubtless it was the crabs that got that marine biologist and his mate but the authorities are trying to hush it up, blaming the tide. You’ll have to report it, Brock.”

“I will, in the morning. A few hours isn’t going to make any difference.

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