Trevor Baxendale - Something in the Water

The dog was barking itself hoarse. Its paws were splashing at the edge of the water, sending ripples out into the green scum.

‘Get back here, you little horror,’ the man stepped forward, trying to reattach the lead.

But the dog was having none of it.

‘Get it away from the water,’ warned Gwen. ‘It’s not safe.’

‘Get lost,’ said the man. ‘I’m only out walking my dog. Mind your own business.’

‘Hey!’ said Jack. ‘Watch your manners. And get the mutt under control.’ He’d raised his voice initially, so that he could be heard over the barking, but at the last moment the dog suddenly fell quiet.

Automatically, they all stopped what they were doing and looked at the pit bull.

It was standing four-square at the edge of the water, flanks heaving as it panted, tongue lolling, drool hanging in thick strings from its jaws.

And then, with a sudden spray of water, something rose out of the lake just in front of the dog with the savage speed of a crocodile.

Gwen didn’t even see it properly. She stepped back from the edge of the lake, away from the splashing, her heart hammering in her chest after the initial shock. She could hear Jack shouting something and the dog’s owner screaming, but all she could see was the pit bull staggering backwards, minus its head.

She could see it quite clearly, as if the world had slowed to a standstill. The dog’s legs were still working, at least for a few moments as its body scrambled away, but the muscles must have been operating on the last vestiges of nervous impulse: at the neck there was only a red stump, blood jetting madly from the severed arteries. Gwen glimpsed a nugget of white bone where the dog’s thick vertebrae were still visible, and then the torso gave a final, huge convulsion and lay still.

The water was still boiling. Jack had his gun out, aimed at the lakeside, but there was nothing to see. Algae swilled around his feet, and in the mud Gwen saw the pit bull’s head staring out at her from where it had fallen.

The torchlight picked out a wide stream of red in the murky water, and the dog’s owner finally realised what had happened. ‘God almighty! It’s taken his head off!’

‘Get back!’ Jack ordered.

But the dog’s owner was staring in mute, wide-eyed incomprehension at the dead animal at his feet. ‘Karlo?’

Jack grabbed the man by the scruff of the neck and dragged him away from the edge of the lake. ‘I said get back! Keep away from the water!’

‘What the hell was it?’

‘Well I don’t know!’ yelled Jack. ‘D’you want to go back and take a closer look?’

The man shook his head, then turned quickly away and vomited.

Gwen ran back to where Jack stood at the lakeside, scanning the swirling green surface for any signs of life. ‘Don’t get too close,’ she warned. ‘Did you see what it was?’

‘No. Did you?’

‘Too fast, just a blur,’ she replied. She tried to speak quietly and calmly, to control her racing pulse and natural inclination to panic, fighting down the desire to keep away from the edge of the lake. ‘Think the dog had the best view.’

Jack had his gun trained on the water. ‘Didn’t even see which way it went.’

The dog’s owner was walking back towards the lake in a daze. Gwen saw his blinking, disbelieving eyes and recognised the look of a man shocked into a silence that was about to erupt in fury. She could see the spark lurking in his dark eyes as he glared purposefully at Jack.

‘Did you do that?’ the man said, somewhat unreasonably.

Jack didn’t even spare him a glance. ‘Easy, fella. We don’t know what happened yet.’

The man stepped up, close, squaring his shoulders, legs apart. He jabbed a thick finger at the remains of the pit bull. ‘Have you seen that? Have you?’

Jack nodded. ‘Kinda hard to miss.’

The man balled a fist, cocking his arm ready to throw the punch, but Jack had seen it coming five seconds before and put the idiot on his backside with one meaty left hook.

‘Forget it,’ Jack said as the man sprawled in the mud. ‘I’m not in the mood.’

The man touched his lip, found it bleeding, and began to get up. It was impossible to tell whether he was going to admit defeat or have another shot but, with a sudden cry of alarm, he fell down again. For a moment, Gwen thought he had simply slipped in the wet mud, but then she realised that he was being dragged into the lake feet first.

Gwen and Jack saw it clearly. Two long, thin arms reached up out of the water, trailing wet, green weeds and grabbed the man around the neck. Bony, twig-like fingers closed around his throat and pulled, hard. Jack didn’t know whether to shoot or not — he had the gun trained on the lake, but he was worried he might hit the man if he fired.

The man thrashed madly in the water and then disappeared under the foaming surface with horrifying speed. There was a brief, gurgling skirmish during which a last, desperate shout could be heard bubbling below the surface.

And then nothing but disturbed waves running like rats beneath the blanket of green.

Three shots roared into the night air as Jack fired into the churning water. The bullets kicked up a fine mist but struck nothing.

‘He was grabbed,’ Gwen said, backing away from the lakeside. ‘I saw arms — they reached up and pulled him under.’

Jack continued to pace along the edge of the water, gun levelled. ‘Call Ianto and Tosh, get them to bring some depth charges from the armoury. We’ll blast that thing right out of the water.’

Gwen was already dialling.

When Toshiko answered, her first words were drowned out by a series of harsh coughs. ‘Sorry,’ she gasped after a moment, ‘frog in my throat.’

‘We’ve found the water hag,’ said Gwen without preamble. ‘It’s in the lake in Garron Park. We need depth charges, and fast.’

‘Depth charges?’ Toshiko’s puzzled response was suddenly overtaken by a tremendous roar from the lake and a shocking blast of water.

‘Down!’ yelled Jack, turning and hurling himself at Gwen, catching her under the arm with one powerful hand and sweeping her to the floor. She hit the grass winded, but nevertheless had the presence of mind, the fascination, to twist around to see what was happening.

The body of the dog-walker — or what remained of it — landed with a damp thud and a shower of water on the bank. Gwen knelt up for a better look and then regretted it instantly. The man’s legs were still intact, but that was about all. The torso had been ripped wide open from groin to chin, clothes and flesh sliced through as if they were nothing more than wet paper. Internal organs protruded from the scarlet wound like spilt shopping from a carrier bag. It looked like the victim of a shark attack, right here on the bank of a small lake in a park in the middle of Cardiff.

The man’s head was hanging on by a thin strip of twisted flesh and gristle. Blood was flooding out of the shredded throat and soaking into the earth beneath the man’s face, which still bore a rather shocked expression. His eyes were wide but sightless.

With fumbling fingers, Gwen found and drew her pistol. She felt her hands shaking as she disengaged the safety catch and cocked it, already turning in a kneeling position to aim at the lake. Whatever came out next was going to come under heavy fire.

‘Gwen?’ Toshiko’s voice sounded small and far away. ‘Gwen? What’s going on? What’s happened? Gwen, can you hear me?’

‘Tosh, I think it’s too late for the depth charges,’ Gwen replied eventually. Her mouth had that familiar dryness, the numbing shock of coming face to face with the incredible and the deadly. It was at once terrifying and electrifying, the thought that these next few seconds could be her last on Earth. Her last anywhere.