The Charnel Caves Page 3

  ‘It’s wrecked the systems somehow,’ there was panic in Petrov’s voice. ‘The submarine is grounded!’

  ‘Impossible!’

  ‘Try it yourself!’ He would not have spoken to his commander in that tone in any other situation.

  Boshirov pushed his companion aside, crouched over the controls. The engine screen was black, he could not bring it back to life. An eerie silence except for the ear-splitting screech made by their attacker.

  ‘No way can it get into us,’ Boshirov voiced his hope. ‘Nothing can.’

  ‘But we’re stuck at the bottom of the Mawddach Estuary!’ Vladimirovich groaned. ‘We can’t go anywhere!’

  ‘Then we have to call Moscow for help. They will have to contact the British authorities to dispatch a rescue. It could be worse, just a political row over our trespass in these waters. It has happened before.’

  ‘Contact them. At once!’ There was now rare panic in Boshirov’s tone.

  ‘How.. how long will it take to get help to us?’ There was no mistaking the fear in Petrov’s reply.

  ‘In theory we can survive up to forty-five days in here. That’s always supposing that the in-built atmospheric meter works throughout. But, of course, we don’t have sufficient supplies of food and drinking water. This was only supposed to be a trial mission to discover whether or not we could sneak in and out without being detected by British patrols.’

  Petrov turned back to the array of instruments. The starting mechanism was still dead; he had not expected it to reinstate itself. He moved on to the communications section, pressed a button. Once. Twice. There was no response.

  It was as dead as the other instruments

  The three occupants of the submarine stared at one another in dismay.

  ‘We’re stranded!’ Boshirov voiced their worst fears. ‘We can’t start the motors and we have no way of summoning help. Somehow that crab has wrecked our only lifelines!’

  A silence except for the continued battering of that mighty crustacean claw at their rear.

  Then came another sound, a steady drip… drip.

  ‘What’s that?’ All three of them stumbled their way back to the rear, fearful of that which they might see.

  They stood in horror at the scene which greeted them. The sizeable porthole, reputedly strong enough to withstand anything against which it might come into contact, had a crack from top to bottom through which a steady trickle of seawater flowed.

  ‘It’s cracked the glass!’ Petrov shouted aloud. ‘We’re all going to drown.’

  Outside the giant crab continued to hammer with its huge claw.

  6

  ‘You’re surely not going back out there tonight!’ Pat Davenport stared aghast across the hotel dinner table at her husband.

  ‘I need to take a look by night, darling,’ Cliff tried to speak reassuringly. ‘After all, there’s a full moon and there will be ample vision. Rest assured, I shall not be taking any risks, just a look up and down the shoreline to see if anything is about.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘I’ve no idea until I see something.’ He had considered it wise not to mention those crabs’ marks to her. After all, he could not be absolutely certain that the giant crustaceans had not returned to their 40-year-old territory. He just needed to satisfy himself…. from a distance. Unless he went back on a look-around he would never know for sure. In all probability he would not see anything at all.

  ‘Well, I won’t be able to sleep until you are safely back here,’ she stated in a sulky tone and poured herself a second cup of coffee.

  It should have been a magical night down there on the shoreline where the tide had receded and would shortly be turning. A full moon shone brightly, and a myriad of stars glittered in the cloudless sky. Yet for Cliff Davenport it was a sinister scene, bringing back too many memories of those distant years. Could it be that the monster crustaceans had really returned? Those claw scrapes up by the cliffs indicated that they had. He shivered. No, surely not.

  He passed along by Shell Island. There was still plenty of activity from the camping site, fires burning, holiday makers cooking late suppers on barbeques. Children laughed and shrieked. Everything seemed so normal, just as it should have been. Apart from the litter, mostly plastic waste, which had not blighted the scene in the old days.

  Up ahead the cliffs towered. Almost there. He would take a quick look around, see if there were any visible signs of… well, anything on the stony tide-washed beach.

  Notices were displayed at intervals, recently erected to warn bathers of the presence of giant jellyfish. The authorities had not wasted any time in putting them up.

  He approached the flooded cave with caution. As he had expected the entrance resembled a sizeable pool that never drained. It was dark and foreboding.

  Out on the litter strewn tideline something moved. He stared, tensed. A huge shape with elongated tentacles struggling to free itself from a mass of plastic bags and other similar waste.

  It was a huge jellyfish that had become caught up. Briefly he pitied the creature, hoped that it would manage to free itself. No marine life deserved such a fate.

  Then he came upon some of those gigantic scrapes amidst the tide-washed stony beach, huge gouges heading seawards and then returning towards that dark pool. He used his torch to examine them at close quarters. They were three- or four-feet long indentations and a shiver ran up and down his spine. There was no doubt in his mind what had made them, a huge crab! Just a single crustacean.

  It had emerged from that sunken cave, headed seaward and then returned to its hidden refuge at the foot of the cliffs. In all probability it had emerged after darkness had fallen, gone on a hunt for food and then returned.

  There was no doubt in Cliff’s mind and the sooner he returned to the safety of the hotel the better. Tomorrow morning, he would call on Professor Danielson, try and convince him that there was at least one giant crab living in that flooded cave. How far the cave extended beneath the cliff was another matter. There could be a network of them, a hideout for a number of crabs. Danielson had informed him that as far as he knew nobody had ever explored the interior of the base of the cliffs. A deadly secret could well lurk in there; a threat to the holidaymakers in the area. If so, then action of some kind was needed sooner rather than later.

  He found himself hurrying on the return walk, instinctively glancing behind him every so often. All was relatively quiet on Shell Island; the majority of campers having retired for the night.

  ‘Well?’ Pat was still fully dressed, sitting in the small lounge of the hotel. There was no mistaking the expression of sheer relief on her face when he entered.

  ‘I just don’t know’, he decided that a non-committal answer was the best course at this time of night. ‘I guess I’ll have another chat with Danielson in the morning. The only sign of life I saw out there was one of those damned jelly fish caught up in a heap of plastic waste. Poor bugger!’

  ‘Like yourself, I really don’t know what to think,’ Professor Danielson was seated behind his desk and there was no mistaking the concern on his face. ‘We don’t have anything concrete to go on but one thing’s for certain, those caves have to be explored by a competent sea diver and the only one I know locally is a guy name Adrian Thomas. He’s recently been in the national press with some stunning photos he took of jellyfish deep down in the bay.’

  ‘It would be a very dangerous exploration,’ Cliff’s expression was grim. ‘In the light of what I’ve seen there’s at least one crab in there. There could be more.’

  ‘Agreed, but somebody will have to go in. We’ll have the coastguards in attendance also on the entrance just in case. I’ll give Adrian a ring; test his reaction.’

  He picked up the phone, dialled a number. A woman’s voice answered.

  ‘Oh, I see, well thank you. I’ll call again.’

  ‘He’s away today’, he replaced the receiver. ‘I’ll ring him this evening and see if we can arrange something. I
n the meantime, I’ll have a word with the coastguard. I rather think, Cliff, that at this stage nobody’s going to believe us. We need concrete evidence before anything positive will take place. Strange, on his last diving exploration Adrian told me he thought he saw a big crab in the distance on the sea bed. I must admit I took it with a pinch of salt, you can’t always be sure of what you see down there in the murky depths but what you’ve told me casts a different light on the matter. First, though, I need to talk to Adrian. Then we’ll go from there.’

  7

  Frank Walters had farmed a small acreage in the Midlands all his life, taking over the land after his father’s death around ten years ago and managing it up until his recent retirement, growing an annual crop of potatoes, carrots and other vegetables. Six mornings every week he had made a trip to Birmingham market to deliver fresh produce, all very tiring and boring.

  Now he had sold the land and was enjoying a peaceful retirement in their small cottage on the edge of a hamlet with the wife, Fran. For the first time in their married life they took three or four short holidays every year, two of which were sea fishing trips to the Welsh coast.

  Frank’s weather-beaten features spoke of a life outdoors, greying hair and powerful shoulders. A keen gardener he kept his half acre immaculate and grew most of their own produce.

  ‘Well, everywhere’s nice and tidy and Bill will check the greenhouse daily,’ he swilled his hands in the kitchen sink, ‘so we can be off nice and early in the morning.’

  ‘I’ve already packed,’ Fran placed two steaming plates on the table. ‘I’m really looking forward to a week away. I’ve just heard the weather forecast, there’s one of those tornados moving across from the east coast of the states but with luck it won’t be hitting the UK until later in the week so hopefully you’ll be able to get a couple of hours fishing trips in before it arrives. By the way, Martin Rees phoned earlier just to confirm that he’s all set to take you out fishing the day after tomorrow.’

  ‘Excellent,’ Frank lowered himself into the vacant chair. ‘Fingers crossed we’ll enjoy the best of this weather whilst it lasts and come home with a few mackerel.’

  Martin Rees had had second thoughts about another fishing trip after that episode with the giant jellyfish when he had taken Adrian Thomas out with him. Phew! That had been a scary experience, the pair of them chopping the creature’s tentacles off as it attempted to climb aboard. They had been mighty close to capsizing.

  Yet he was in no position to abandon his livelihood, he was a few years off retirement yet. He relied upon paying fishermen and supplying two or three shops in the area. It was just bad luck, it probably would not happen again. Just as a precaution he sorted out two really heavy knives and razor sharpened them in readiness. I’ll really cut up the next bugger, if there is one, he reminded himself! All the same he had to get used to going out to sea.

  Why the hell didn’t the coastguards make some effort to cull the bastards? Because in this stupid day and age conservation was uppermost in the minds of the public.

  ‘Good to see you, Frank.’ Martin’s confidence had returned by the time his client arrived the following morning. ‘Weather looks good, ideal for our trip.’ He indicated the moored 20ft fishing boat. ‘I’ve got plenty of bait, worms, small crabs, slices of mackerel so we’re well prepared. Let’s get aboard and see what we can do.’

  About half a mile from shore Martin dropped anchor and handed his companion a baited line. ‘We’ll give it half an hour here and see how we get on. If there’s nothing doing we’ll move a little further on towards Harlech.’

  All seemed unusually quiet; their lines remained slack.

  ‘I’d’ve thought we’d’ve had a bite by now.’ Rees had a puzzled expression on his rugged features. ‘I’ve never known it so quiet, just like every fish around here has buggered off.’

  His thoughts returned to that jellyfish. Maybe the buggers had been hunting in the vicinity and all marine life had scarpered. He glanced towards the array of heavy knives which he had placed in readiness for an emergency. He was tense, worried also that he might have brought his client out on a blank day.

  ‘We’ll find ‘em.’ He moved to restart the engine and that was when something struck the bottom of the craft, a shuddering blow, rocking it from side to side.

  ‘What the fuck!’ It was no jellyfish, no slithering tentacles creeping over the side to secure a grip. Somewhat unsteadily he rose and peered down into the water.

  ‘What the hell’s going on?’ Frank grabbed for a hold and was almost unseated.

  ‘Jesus Christ!’ Martin could scarcely believe what he saw, a gigantic crustacean reaching up from the rocky bottom and waving a huge pincer. Woodwork cracked, the hull began to split, water gushing into the small craft.

  ‘It’s one of those bloody gigantic crabs! It’s smashing the boat to get at us!’

  Fishing rods were dropped as the occupants of the boat sprawled headlong.

  ‘The boat’s sinking. Swim for the shore!’

  Both men splashed into the water, sank, surfaced. Swimming was virtually impossible with their heavy waders impeding them.

  The creature turned its attention away from the damaged boat, seeing human prey within easy reach. Pincers wavered, then struck with unerring aim and force. An instant amputation of the Welshman’s right leg. A snap at the left, the water around the injured fisherman swirled and turned scarlet.

  Frank wallowed, it was a struggle to keep his head above the surface. Panicking, threshing and then the huge crab was upon him, slashing and tearing, a maelstrom of crustacean fury.

  Bleeding limbs sank, surfaced, drifted. A severed head with trailing flesh, an unexpected feast gifted to this devil from the deep.

  To the rear of the carnage the damaged fishing boat slowly sank, disappearing from view.

  Unhurriedly the crab fed and then shambled on in the direction of the towering cliffs.

  Hidden from view it would await the coming of darkness before returning to its lair. It had long learned how to outwit humans.

  Dusk was already deepening, and Fran was becoming increasingly concerned when there was no sign of her husband. She was expecting him back by their traditional five o’clock teatime.

  Maybe he and Rees were having a bumper day, a couple of baskets filled with mackerel and still catching them. She attempted to console herself with this thought but, with still no sound of footsteps on the narrow path leading up to their holiday accommodation, she decided to take a walk down to the quayside. If they had not already landed, then she might well be able to see them out in the bay.

  She found herself hurrying. The sun had already set out in the west and darkness was closing in. In all probability she would not be able to spot them out there.

  They’re surely okay, she kept telling herself. Frank was that type of bloke, he was always fine in any situation.

  The quay was deserted. A couple of fishing boats were moored there, their occupants probably back in their homes sitting down to a well-earned meal.

  But where the hell was Frank and Martin?

  With a shaking finger she dialled her husband’s mobile. There was no response, it was unobtainable. It might be due to atmospherics, she tried to console herself, there were mountains all-around the coast.

  She was starting to panic and that was when she heard footsteps approaching. Oh, please let it be Rees and Frank. It wasn’t, instead a courting couple heading down towards the beach.

  ‘Oh, please,’ she blurted out as they approached her. ‘I can’t find my husband. He went fishing with Martin Rees…’

  The tall youth cast a glance across the harbour, then shaded his eyes and scanned the darkening bay. ‘No sign of his boat,’ he muttered, ‘and that’s strange. He’s usually back long before dark.’

  ‘Where can he be?’ There was a note of desperation in her voice. ‘My husband’s gone on a fishing trip with him. He said they would be back by late afternoon.’

  ‘Could be
they’ve popped to Harlech. Can’t say for sure.’

  ‘There’s something wrong,’ Fran wrung her hands together. ‘I know there is.’

  ‘Tell you what,’ the youth produced his mobile. ‘I’ll call the coastguard at Barmouth, see if they can shed any light on it.’

  ‘Oh, thank you.’

  The other made the promised call which was answered almost immediately. He explained, a brief conversation followed.

  ‘They’re putting a boat out right now. They’ll do a tour of the bay. You couldn’t have better help. Rest assured, if Rees is in trouble with his boat, engine failure or whatever, they’ll tow him back here.’

  The coast guard boat arrived within twenty minutes, manned by a crew of two, eased up to the jetty and helped Fran aboard.

  ‘Don’t you worry, love,’ a tall man wearing a woollen hat, smiled reassuringly. ‘We’re always getting routine call-outs like this, rarely anything serious. We’ll circle and then check Harlech. We’ll find ‘em for sure.’

  The craft chugged out steadily, embarking upon a wide sweep of the bay. There were no other boats in sight, most of the local fishermen and pleasure cruisers had packed up for the day.

  ‘Well, they aren’t stuck out here,’ the coastguard scanned the bay with his binoculars. ‘I guess we’ll take a quick look at the boats moored at Harlech and then head back. Bet you we find ’em back at Llanbedr.’

  ‘I sincerely hope so.’

  ‘Hey, just a second,’ the coastguard at the controls called out. ‘There’s something over there, can’t make out what it is. I’ll move in closer.’

  The three of them strained their eyes, peering through the gathering dusk. Something floated on the surface, bobbed on the incoming tide, disappeared then showed itself again.

  ‘What the bloody hell is it, Steve? It looks like some sort of dead marine life.’

  ‘Move in closer,’ the other produced a long rake which had been lying on the deck. ‘I’ll fish it out so we can have a look. It’s probably nothing to concern us but we’d better check.’