Twenty-Three

It happens suddenly, in an instant. We have been driving for half an hour more, getting closer and closer to our destination. I am just beginning to relax about having the headlights on when I see the shadow flicking up out of the beam, all wings and teeth and I crank the wheel, stamp down hard on the brake. Something jolts into the car and Lisa screams. Claws puncture the roof, wrench through the metal skin, letting in a cold rush of air.

Adrenaline shocks through me, my blood thudding in my brain. The car swerves across the road, the wheel going loose in my hands. I can see the claws, great curved blades scrabbling at the jagged rents in the roof. I could reach out and touch them. They are a foot away from tearing off my head. The windscreen shivers with cracks, then breaks in a shower of glass. The car jolts again.

Above us, the metal peels away. A tearing screech. It is right there, the Creature, its teeth, its scent and skin and wings like black sails flailing in front of the sky. This is it. It is happening, exactly the way I feared. All my nightmares of the last few months made real and visceral.

Finally, the car comes to a shuddering halt. It feels like it rocks onto two wheels before it settles, and in that instant I don't have time to think about what I'm doing. I grab the gun from the dash, flick the safety, point it upwards and for the first time I actually pull the trigger. Twelve shots, wild and desperate into the night.

In the echoing aftermath there is silence. My arms shake and the gun clatters onto the floor of the car. I can hear the shushing breath of the sea, Lisa's panicked gasps, my own pulse strident in my ears. And then, overwhelming that all, the croaking hiss of the wounded Creature.