Shaun Jeffrey - Fangtooth

When they reached the location where he had seen the creatures, Zander eased off on the throttle.

Muldoon leaned closer to the sonar screen. “There’s something down there, but the readings are strange.”

Zander knew it wasn’t only the readings that were strange. He sounded the alarm, and then lifted the microphone, his voice booming out of the speakers: “Right everyone, make sure you’re armed and ready. These creatures are tough sons of bitches.”

The men on deck signalled with thumbs up and Zander started lowering the nets, creating a ladder leading up from the ocean.

Brad patted the six cylinder, turbo diesel engine, pleased to hear it rumble contentedly. The rocker arms clacked up and down in quick succession. He checked the gauges and monitored dials, giving the oil pressure gauge a tap. Oil and grease marred his forehead and his hands were black with grime.

The metal walls of the engine room were rusty. Remnants of paint made up abstract patterns that if he stared at them for long enough, formed into pictures. Here a face, there a cat.

Tangles of wires and pipes filled the room, each pipe colour coded: blue, fresh water; green, seawater; red, diesel and yellow, oil. The belts running from the engine whined, but Brad liked it down here. The engine was his baby. He was at home changing fuel filters, bleeding the system, doing oil changes, tune-ups and cooling system maintenance. His mechanical expertise was second to none, and he figured he could get her up to speeds of twenty knots if he needed to.

The engine shuddered, and he tapped it with a spanner, which made her tick over contentedly again. Out here, a loss of engines could mean certain death.

He heard the alarm. Metal clanged against the hull, the sound reverberating around the engine room as Zander lowered the nets.

Brad picked up a dirty rag and mopped the sweat from his brow. Plainspoken, he wasn’t afraid of calling a spade a spade, and he didn’t like that McKenzie fellow one bit. If it were up to him, he’d toss him overboard as fish bait. None of the men on board would comment, or breathe a word about what happened. They were closer than a family, so perhaps if he had a chance, he’d do it for Zander anyway. He had never killed anyone before, but had thought about it plenty of times, especially his ex-wife, Maureen. He couldn’t believe she wouldn’t let him see their son, Sean. What did she think he was going to do? The bottled rage bubbled up, and he concentrated on the engines to quell the anger. Now was not the time to lose it.

A sudden noise against the hull caught his attention. He was used to hearing noises down here, but this sounded different – almost like someone tapping against the side. He cocked his head and listened, heard a sharp rat-a-tap-tap, then a protracted scratching sound, like sharp fingernails dragged across the metal. He remembered the creatures he had seen in the water. Not an easy man to scare, Brad was surprised to find he was holding his breath, and that goose bumps mottled his arms. He scanned the sides of the boat, trying to trace the sound, but it seemed to be moving, first one side and then the other. That’s when he realised the sound originated in more than one place at once.

The engine seemed to cough and wheeze, bringing Brad’s attention back to the task of keeping the boat running. He adjusted a couple of valves and the engine sputtered and then continued chugging smoothly.

He kept a small cassette player in the engine room, and he turned it on. The sound of Robert Wyatt’s haunting voice drifted out with the Sea Song : You look different every time you come from the foam-crested brine.

He had always thought the song was about a mermaid, but listening to it now, he heard it in a new light.

Down in the engine room, Brad turned the music up loud to drown out the sound of scratching on the hull.

Now alone in the wheelhouse with Zander, McKenzie glanced at the knife. Zander had put it on a shelf where it was clearly visible and accessible. McKenzie wasn’t stupid. He knew Zander wouldn’t have put it within reach if it wasn’t for a reason, and that reason was probably to let him know that out here, if he did anything stupid, there was no way he could pilot the boat himself. But as soon as they reached land…

He stared out of the window at the nets descending into the deep. In the beam of the lights, the nets seemed to glisten. Flecks of foam coated the buoys and clogged some of the holes in the net itself. He heard the heavy clang of metal as something banged against the side of the boat. This was nothing like the fishing he used to do in the river with his dad when he was a lad. He remembered the day they caught an eel. The thing hadn’t been that long, but it had wrapped itself around his arm and refused to budge, which made him understand where the term slippery as an eel came from. The hook was wedged firmly in its mouth, and his dad had struggled for ages to unhook it without being able to get a good grip. Eventually fed up of watching his dad try to unfasten it, McKenzie sliced the eel with a knife – the same knife Zander had put on the shelf – and the fish unwrapped itself and flopped aside. Yes, that knife had a history, and that was the first blood it had shed, but it certainly wasn’t the last. While many of the local gangsters used guns, McKenzie preferred the personal touch associated with a knife. There was nothing like standing next to your victim and being able to see the look of horror and pain on their face as the blade penetrated their flesh.

He had been questioned about various crimes, but there was never enough evidence to make a conviction stick, so he wasn’t about to let some fish-stinking fisherman call the shots when the police had never been able to.

He had plans and dreams. One day, he was going to take over from Monty. And then there wasn’t going to be any of this pussy-footing around with small—

A high-pitched squeal cut into his thoughts. McKenzie narrowed his eyes and turned to look at Zander to ask what the hell that fuckin’ noise was, but when he saw Zander’s nervous expression, he decided against it. He had never seen the skipper appear anything other than stony, and the realisation that something had rattled the man made him feel anxious too.

McKenzie glanced at the knife, wanted the comforting feel of its handle within his grasp, but it was out of reach at the moment. He chewed his top lip and looked out at the net.

The high-pitched noise caused Zander to flinch. He stared out, saw something hauling itself up the outside of the net, clawing its way along the mesh.

“Here they come,” he said.

McKenzie stared at him. “What the fuck’s going on?”

Zander pointed outside, saw McKenzie’s expression turn to shock as the first of the creatures flopped onto the deck.

A large wave washed across the starboard bow. The boat listed precariously.

McKenzie jumped up and grabbed his knife. A small grin altered his expression as he opened the blade. “What are those things?”

“I told you, they’re what took your drugs.”

McKenzie narrowed his eyes. “If this is some fuckin’ sort of joke… if you’re fuckin’ with me…Right, let’s go see how they like the taste of cold steel.” Then he turned, ran towards the door and disappeared outside.

Although not a religious man, Zander said a prayer then picked up his shotgun and followed McKenzie outside.

The wind roared around him, sea spray stinging his face. McKenzie ran on in front, slipping across the deck. He reached the nearest Fangtooth and started stabbing it with the knife. The blade pierced its body and the creature slashed out in retaliation, raking its wicked claws across McKenzie’s arm, tearing cloth and parting flesh.