Crimson Shore

The boat moved parallel to shore, slipping closer. The dogs, still frenziedly pulling at their leashes, did not look like they knew what to do. Kenney reined the leashes in tight and ordered: “Jump in! Jump in!” For a moment, it looked like both animals were going to leap over the rubber gunnels at the same time, but then — at the last instant — one pulled back. With a shout, Kenney and the dog were thrown into the boiling water.

“Life ring!” Rivera cried. “Throw him the life ring!” By the harsh light of the beacon, Rivera could see Kenney’s pale face sweeping along with the current. Not far away, the coonhound was paddling furiously and aimlessly, eyes bulging, screeching in terror, paws thumping the water. The dog, dragging its leash, was being spun around in a powerful eddy, its dangling tongue whipsawing, while Kenney tried to swim toward it. The dog’s screech turned into a hideous gargle as the Zodiac pilot gunned the engine and headed toward Kenney, the other dog still in the boat, barking frantically and looking as if it would jump out at any moment. In seconds the Zodiac had closed in on Kenney and the life ring was tossed; Kenney seized it and was pulled close, then bodily hauled over the gunnel by the pilot and mate together.

“Get the dog!” he screamed.

The pilot swung the boat around, aiming for the churning, eddying white water. But even before they reached it the dog went under; the last thing Rivera saw were floppy ears and a lolling tongue, glistening in the beacon’s brilliance; then, finally, two rotating paws that were quickly sucked beneath the gray, roiling surface.

Kenney let out a wail of despair and had to be restrained from jumping into the water after it; the boat circled and circled, but the dog did not reappear.

Rivera got on the radio. “Bring them to the other side,” he told the pilot. “We’ve got to keep going, even with the one dog.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Bring the second boat in.”

The second Zodiac, which had been too far away to assist, came in now and turned upcurrent, easing into shore. The men jumped in, Rivera last, and they set out across the channel. A moment later they buried their nose in the mud of the far embankment, next to the first Zodiac, and in another moment were back on land.

“My dog!” Kenney was screaming. “We’ve got to go back out and look for my dog!”

Rivera grabbed him by the arm and shook him. “Your dog’s gone. We’ve got a job to do.”

The man, his cap dripping wet, his clothes sodden, stared back at him uncomprehendingly. No way was he in any shape to continue. Rivera turned to one of the men. “Okay, take Mr. Kenney back to the command center. We’re keeping the dog.”

“No, no!” Kenney protested. “Only I handle the dogs!”

“Take Kenney back!” Rivera seized the leash. “Let’s go.”

They set off through the salt grass, Rivera leaving Kenney behind, protesting loudly. Silas, swift and silent, continued at his side. The remaining dog had picked up the trail again and was surging forward with a fresh frenzy of baying, his powerful stride practically eating up the ground as they moved along.

“Looks like he’s definitely headed for the southern end of Crow Island,” Silas said.

“Yeah, but what the hell is out there for him?” asked Rivera.

“Well, if we keep to this bearing, we’ll end up in the ruins of Oldham.”

“Oldham?”

“An ancient fishing village that washed away in a hurricane back in the ’30s. Nothing there now but cellar holes and… ”

“And what?”

Silas gave a snort of derision. “That depends on whether or not you believe the legends.”

59

Constance struggled only momentarily, as she felt a warm breath in her ear and the whispered word: “Aloysius.”

She relaxed and he released her.

“We must get out,” he whispered into her ear. “We’re no match for the killer on his own ground.”

“I quite agree,” she said, feeling awkward despite the intense danger of the situation. “However, I’m lost.”

“As am I, unfortunately.”

This struck Constance as surprising. “You’re lost?”

“I was… distracted. Do you know where the killer is?”

“He went past a few moments ago. Perhaps I can hear him. One moment.” She fell silent. At the very edge of audibility she could hear the faint sounds of the creature, breathing hard and moving about. He was most certainly wounded. The sounds moved back and forth as the thing searched for them. “Do you hear that?” she asked.

“I’m afraid not. Your ears are keener than mine.”

More silence as she listened. The sounds were distorted by the tunnels, and eventually they faded away. She waited, but they did not reappear.

“He seems to have moved away from us.”

“As I feared.”

She didn’t ask what he feared; it was exactly the kind of question he would refuse to answer. He finally spoke, his voice remaining a whisper in her ear. “You have more experience in dark tunnels than I. Do you have any ideas on a way out?”