Part 68 (1/2)

”Excusez-moi.” Jacques' tone laid urgency over the polite form of the interruption. ”Something happens in the water.”

About twenty feet from sh.o.r.e, the waves had taken on a lumpy appearance. Bits of them seemed to be moving in ways contrary to the nature of water, rolling from side to side as they headed for the sh.o.r.e. Then the center hump of a wave kept rising past the crest, the mottled surface lifting up, up, until it became obvious, even staring into the sunset, that what they were watching wasn't water.

”If I didn't know better,” Dean murmured, one hand shading his eyes, ”I'd swear that was an octopus.”

”Octopi do not come so big,” Jacques protested weakly.

”Well, it's not a squid.”

A tentacle, as thick as Dean's arm, broke through the surf no more than four feet from where they were standing.

”Octopi, regardless of size, don't come up on the sh.o.r.e,” Claire announced as though daring the waving appendage to contradict her.

The twenty feet had become fifteen. Fourteen. Twelve. Ten.

”On the other hand,” she added as a suckered arm fell short and gouged a trench in the sand at her feet, ”I don't think this is an octopus either. RUN!”

Stumbling and falling in the loose sand, they raced for the elevator.

A tentacle slammed into Claire's hip, throwing her sideways into Dean. He caught her and held on, dragging her forward with him, her feet barely touching down.

From the water's edge came the sound of a large, wet, leather sack being smacked against the sh.o.r.e.

Unaffected by the footing, Jacques reached safety first, turned, and went nearly transparent. ”Depeche toil”

Gesture made his meaning plain.

Dean shoved Claire forward, over the threshold and bent to roll away the rock. A tentacle wrapped around his right leg but before it could tighten, he pulled free and stomped down hard. It might've been a more effective blow had he not been in bare feet, but it bought him enough time. He leaped inside, dragging the door closed with him.

Claire slammed the gate shut.

The deep blue/gray tip of a tentacle poked through the grill-work in the small window.

Wrapping sweaty hands around the lever, Dean yanked it right.

The floor joists nipped off an inch of rubbery flesh. When it dropped to the floor, Claire kicked it into the back corner and turned on Dean. ”Why up?” she demanded, loudly enough to make herself heard over the pounding of her heart. ”We came into this through the bas.e.m.e.nt and that's very likely the only way we'll get out. The bas.e.m.e.nt is down!”

The floor of the elevator level with the second floor of the guest house. Dean locked the lever into its upright position. ”I guess up just seemed more natural,” he said. Grinning broadly, he sank down and reached for his shoes and socks. ”Besides, we haven't seen what's on two or three.”

Claire stared down at him in silence.

After a moment, one sock on, the other in his hand, he lifted his head. ”What?”

”We haven't seen what's on two or three?”

The grin slipped. ”Well, yeah.”

She could see her reflection in his gla.s.ses. ”Are you out of your mind?”

His brow furrowed. ”We have to see what's on two and three. We can't quit now.”