The Last of the Dragons (Carberry's Cryptozoology) by Paul Carberry

Author:Paul Carberry [Carberry, Paul]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Engen Books
Published: 2022-09-29T16:00:00+00:00

CUT OFF

Harold rushed forward as the narrow corridors filled with shadows, enclosing him in a tomb of darkness. A shrill scream shattered the methodical rhythm of the storm, ringing out from somewhere within the warehouse. His boots sloshed in the rising water, the cement floor leaving nowhere for the surging water level to drain. As he turned the corner, a slate-gray sky offered a trickle of dull daylight, into the building. He found himself paused in-between two offices. Even though the situation left him vulnerable, he compelled himself to push deeper into the building toward the light. In the remaining darkness, Harold’s feet tangled in something beneath the water, and he fell face first into the filthy liquid with a resounding splash.

“Christ,” he groaned, pushing himself up from the frigid water. Water-logged wrappers and other garbage clung to his rain slicker. Kneeling in the water, he swept the debris from his coat and recoiled as his hand brushed against a used condom. He gagged and wretched as acidic bile burned his throat.

“Look out!” a screaming warning filtered through the wall.

Harold didn’t heed the warning. “Stay put. I’ll get you out of there.” He trudged through the floating garbage, the water level reaching over his rubber boots.

“There’s something in the water,” the voice called out, clearer this time.

That froze Harold in his tracks. Something in the water. He leaned against the door frame that led into a warehouse. A woman sitting on the top shelf drew his attention. She tucked her legs beneath her and sat against the back wall below a narrow window, allowing a sliver of gloomy daylight into the room. The woman’s shoulders trembled as hitching sobs shook her body.

“You’re going to be alright, ma’am.” Harold tried his best to sound calm, but his voice wavered with fear. A growl, gurgling and filtered through phlegm, rumbled from within the darkness. “What the hell?” Harold muttered, fumbling on his belt for his flashlight.

“Run!” the woman yelled, forcing the word out between her choking sobs.

A shelving unit along the far wall teetered. Dust-covered cardboard boxes tumbled into the water with a rumbling crash that sent ripples racing along the surface. Bursts of brownish-white foam sprayed in all directions, splashing the gritty liquid into Harold’s eyes. He stumbled backward as he wiped his eyes with a gloved hand, and his shoulder slammed into the door frame. The woman was crying out, her words lost beneath a jumble of incoherent, panicked warnings.

The water splashed as something moved gracefully along the surface toward Harold. Hardened dark green scales reflected the faint light from the window above the stranger from behind the cluster of fallen boxes. A row of gnarled teeth erupted from the water amidst a guttural growl roar.

“Jesus Christ.” Harold tripped over his feet and dashed into the hallway. He raced toward the open door, toward daylight. His eyes fixed on the outside, he never saw the mangled gazelle half submerged in the flooding waters, and his foot snared in its rib cage, sending him face first into a slick puddle of blood.

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