“Well?” Alcouffe whispered when Taine had eased back into the tunnel.
“It’s a nursery of those crab things.”
“How many? Are they moving?”
“Millions of them. They’re moving – but not scuttling about – just waving their spines in the air like seaweed. And there’s—”
Alcouffe cut him off. “The dragon, McKenna. Did you see it?”
Taine shook his head, but even as he did a low hiss came from inside the cavern. Taine’s blood ran cold. It was in there? How had he not seen it? Putting a finger to his lips, he slipped into the cavern again. Careful not to disturb the crabs, he took cover behind a boulder and peered out.
He didn’t know what he’d expected the dragon to look like. More story-bookish. Or like a dinosaur. Something bigger anyway. Instead, the peluda resembled a large shaggy goat, but with a long muscular neck, and a smooth snake-like head and tail. It looked like some kind of bizarre genetic experiment gone wrong. Bent over a bone, it was gnawing at a piece of gristle still clinging to the shaft. It must have been hidden in the crags at the back of the cave. The dragon hissed, and even from a distance the stench was nauseating.
Behind Taine, a safety clicked off. There was a crunch of gravel.
The dragon dropped the bone, snapping its snake-head around to follow the sound. Taine checked the crabs, expecting them to be surging from the walls. They remained where they were, apparently disinterested.
“Merde!” someone cursed.
Taine risked a glance back. Alcouffe hadn’t waited. Tatou was now on the other side of the entrance, but, just inside the cavern, Rossi was sprawled on the ground – tripped over a bone. Why hadn’t Alcouffe waited for Taine’s intel? Did he already know what they were up against?
The peluda hissed again, and Taine swung to face it. His throat tightened. The dragon’s shaggy hair had stiffened into needle-like spines, almost doubling the creature’s size, like a cat with its hackles raised. The black barbs glinted, Taine’s night vision goggles capturing every speck of light.
Taine raised his rifle. He sighted a spot low on the creature’s chest. But Alcouffe was dashing across the gap to cover the downed man. Taine cursed. As Rossi scrambled to his feet, Alcouffe raised his Sig pistol and fired.
The bullet glanced off the creature, ricocheting into the walls and sending a shower of crabs to the ground. The crabs scurried back to the walls. The peluda remained unharmed.
Taine could have cried. What was that saying? Déjà vu all over again. The dragon’s spines had deflected the bullet. They would’ve been better off bringing the gendarmes’ riot shields.
The highly pissed peluda thundered towards Alcouffe, its clawed lizard feet crushing bones as it hurtled across the cavern. It opened its snake jaw wide and hissed. Taine gagged at the smell.
“Tirez, tirez,” Alcouffe commanded as a volley of spines rained around him. “Shoot!” The gendarmes opened fire. Rossi sprinted for cover.
Taine fired, and fired again. Tatou did the same from his side. For all the good it did. The FAMAS wasn’t any more effective than the Sig. Bullets pinged everywhere, but nothing was penetrating those spines. They were like a palisade surrounding a Māori pā site.
Unperturbed by their barrage of fire, the peluda swung its hairless tail over its head, thrusting a tail spike as thick as a table leg, and driving it deep into Rossi’s jugular. Upright, the gendarme jerked to a stop. The peluda wrenched its spike out. Rossi fell face down and didn’t get up, black blood pumping from his neck.
Advancing into the cavern using the rocks for cover, Alcouffe and his men were firing again: Alcouffe and Tatou on the far side, Thierry and Bruno at Taine’s back, Le Cannu, with the grenade launcher, out wide. Lompech was running deep, taking advantage of the distraction to skirt the edge of the cavern, dodging the rain of crabs and rock.
“Lompech, you have a plan?” Taine yelled over the firing.
“The legends say the tail is vulnerable.” Lompech ducked behind some rocks as a bullet skimmed by his head. “I thought I’d see if there was any truth to it.”
Taine jumped up. Sometimes there was truth in legends. “Coming with you. And watch out – vulnerable or not, that tail is deadly.”
Taine was scrambling across the bones when Le Cannu dropped to one knee and grabbed Rossi by the jacket, intending to pull his body out of the cavern. But Rossi was built like a rugby prop, and Le Cannu like a halfback, so he only managed to drag the body a few metres when the dragon spat a jet of black saliva, hitting him square in the chest and throwing him backwards. The gendarme yelped. His uniform was sizzling, smoke rising as the fabric disintegrated.
What the hell? Was the monster was spitting Napalm now?
Leaving Rossi, Le Cannu was scrambling backwards, trying to get out of range of that spitting, steaming maw.
Seeing the danger, Lompech hooted and threw stones that plinked into the rubble. It worked: the peluda swung to face the threat at the rear of the cavern.
Taine leaped then, sliding towards Le Cannu like a batter in one-day cricket match, ducking his head to avoid the swing of that tail. He drew his knife and lowered his arm. Le Cannu’s eyes went wide as Taine sliced upwards, laying open Le Cannu’s clothing from waist to neck. A blackened wound covered his chest and stomach.
“Take it off!” Taine shouted. He mimed taking off the jacket. There was no need for charades: Le Cannu had dropped the grenade launcher and was already shrugging off his coat. Taine grabbed his free arm and dragged him to the cavern entrance.
Alcouffe and his men had also retreated to the tunnels. Realising their firepower was a waste of time, they were hurriedly fitting bayonets to their FAMAS assault rifles.
“Lompech!”
“I am okay!”
Like bread in a toaster, the butcher’s son had wedged himself between two large rocks at the back of the cave, sheltering from the hail of spines. The dragon twisted and thrashed, whipping its tail to get at him.
“Alcouffe!” Taine shouted across the cavern entrance. “Lompech is going to get himself jabbed.”
“Yes, but he can wait: the beast’s tail is free.”
Alcouffe signalled to the Frenchmen, who charged at the creature, their bayonets raised. Taine noted that Alcouffe hadn’t bothered to include him in his orders. Or to tell him about the tail’s supposed weakness. With no time to fix his bayonet, Taine drew his knife and followed.
Alcouffe’s men moved forward, spread out in a semi-circle behind the creature. Suddenly, Bruno darted in and took a jab at the hairless tail. As soon as he drew back, Tatou stabbed at it. The dragon spat acid. Thierry leapt out of the way.
So, that was the plan. They were a wolf pack, worrying their prey. Le Cannu had stepped in to take his turn, when the dragon snapped its muscular hairless tail sideways, picking up Bruno in the sweeping movement. Like a cow flicking away flies, the creature slapped the gendarme against its flank, the erect spines shooting through his body. Impaling him.
Eyes wide, Bruno grunted. He looked down at his torso, the spines tethering him to the peluda’s side, like a fly to sticky paper. Before anyone could react, the tail whipped back, this time picking up Tatou and flinging him across the cavern. Stunned, Tatou hit the wall, grated down its crabbed surface, the skin on his neck dripping like redcurrant jam.
There was no time to mourn. The tail was whipping around again, and this time Alcouffe was its target. But Alcouffe’s eyes were still fixed on Tatou. In a second, the lieutenant would be sleeping on a bed of nails.