The Montauk Monster by Hunter Shea Page B

bludgeoned in its history.
    “Sorry to have to do this,” he said.
    As he went to deliver a stunning, if not killing, blow, the boat rocked to the side. Dan stumbled, trying to retain his balance.
    The water exploded as if something launched from a canon below. It sailed onto the boat, a dark, writhing shape, snarling like a rabid animal. Dan screamed, falling back into the hard plastic seat.
    When he looked at its face, he felt an immediate pain in his chest, radiating down his left arm.
    The animal sank its large, pointed teeth into the bluefish, popping it like a water balloon filled with entrails.
    It hunched on all fours. Its massive head jerked from side to side, spraying fish guts everywhere. Dan stared in horror, each breath a struggle through the heaviness in his chest. It had the body of a dog or a wolf, even, but its head looked like something out of the mythology class he took in college. That face, that horrid, physically impossible face, was a cross between a large bird, like an eagle, and a pig. Its snout was long but ended in a rounded wet nose dark as charcoal. Tiny feathers intermingled with fur around the collar of its neck. Its body was as round and solid as a wine barrel. Its small, round eyes glowed a hazy blue, like a husky.
    Those eyes fixed on Dan’s.
    “Dan, what’s all that noise? What’s going on?”
    He desperately wanted to answer her, but his arms had locked up. The grotesque animal peered down at the phone. It sniffed the air. Its lips curled back, revealing purple gums. It thrust its elongated muzzle into the bucket, clamping down on the plastic phone. It shattered into small shards under the weight of the creature’s jaws.
    Dan’s eyes went wide as a jolt of fire ripped through his chest. His heart fluttered out of rhythm, a deaf drummer in a black parade. The pain was excruciating. When it subsided, he looked on with mute horror as the animal bit into his knee, tearing the cap free with a twitch of its demonic head.
    For some reason, he couldn’t feel his legs at all. Not even when it went for his other knee, hobbling him in seconds. Was it shock? Or had his nervous system already shut down, part of a domino drop of total system failure?
    Dan prayed his heart would stop before the beast came at him again.

CHAPTER 13
    Dalton and Anita’s conversation was interrupted by a red-eyed Sergeant Campos. The Sullivan house was a crawling, buzzing hive of activity. When an officer was down, everyone was on duty.
    “Anita, we just got a call that’s close by. Something about a dogfight,” Campos said. “I’ll send you over with one of my officers.”
    Dalton volunteered to go. He needed to do something to take his mind off Henderson’s face just before he was dragged away. That and his dire need to find out what the hell was going on in his adopted town.
    “You’ve already given your statement?” Campos asked.
    “Many times over.”
    Campos ran a beefy hand over his face and grunted. “It’s only four blocks away. Come right back when you’re done. You’re not finished here.”
    He nodded, motioning with his head for Anita to follow him out to his car. He got the address from dispatch. Apparently, someone’s German shepherd was going at it viciously with a stray.
    As they drove to the house, Dalton asked, “You think there’s any chance it’s the same animal that took Henderson?”
    She stared out the window, her hands gripping her tranquilizer rifle. “I honestly don’t know.”
    They both heard the desperate growls, yelps and yips as he pulled into the driveway of the gold-and-black-trimmed Tudor house. An anxious woman, her hair in rollers, poked her head out of the front window. “They’re in the yard!” she shouted, pointing. “Please, save my Bruce!”
    Like every neighborhood he’d been in so far, the lights were on in every house. No one was getting any sleep tonight. Whatever had invaded Montauk brought an ugly tide of fear that was steadily sweeping from one