"No Trespassing" by Andy Holberry

No Trespassing.

by Andy Holberry.

Wide, dark as night.

Death waiting at the other end.

I had never had a gun pointed at my face before, and didn't like the feeling.

But, more than feeling fear - I was angry.

“Can I help you gentlemen?”

I tried to keep my tone civil, calm. When all my body wanted was to see if I could rest the gun away from the man before he pulled the trigger.

“Where is he?”

Commanding voice, used to being obeyed.

The others stood behind him, letting him ask the questions.

I looked down the side of the barrel. Probably not the brightest of moves. But, I figured that he wouldn't just shoot me in cold blood.

Hoped he wouldn't.

“As I've already said. I saw a figure fall from the cliff and hit the water.”

I turned and pointed. “Over there. If you hurry, you might still find him.”

I saw the stranger's eyes narrowing, his finger turning white on the contoured trigger.

Shit, he was going to shoot.

The moment stretched and I waited for the flash that would end my life.

Waited.

The barrel of the weapon lowered, the hammer de-cocked. 

“Thank you. Have a good day.”

The asshole even managed to sound magnanimous.

I should warn them; tell them it isn't safe. But, all I wanted to do was punch him in the face.

One look at the others, I changed my mind. They looked like they could handle themselves.

He asked if I would accompany them? Show them the exact spot?

There was no way in hell I was going with a group of strangers armed to the teeth. 

Especially on the sand.

They stalked off down the beach towards the spot I had pointed out to them.

I watched them go.

They passed the signs I had put up at the very edge of the property's boundary. 

Must have ignored the others on the way in too, I assumed.

I sat back down in the old rocking chair that had belonged to my father, and picked up the half-empty beer that had grown warm in the sun.

My eyes narrowed and I found myself wondering who they had been.

They didn't look like police - military.

Private security then?

I thought back to any details I may have overlooked while being presented with the business end of the gun.

The man had some sort of patch on his arm.

I wracked my brain, knowing I had seen the emblem somewhere before.

Then it came to me.

About a month ago, I took a tour around the Mason complex. A huge building dealing with ways to help mankind expand into the future.

From seeds that would grow anywhere with minimal water, even minimal light. To an enzyme that would soak up oil spills.

It seemed like science fiction was catching up with science fact. 

The whole thing always seemed sketchy to me.

I had no idea their security was so, well, involved.

Must have been chasing an intruder, I thought.

I saw how it played out in my head.

The man had broken in; destroying property, stealing shit - something like that.

He had been seen and someone had pushed the panic button sending the goon squad after them.

The man, whoever he had been, had aimed for the coast but had gotten too close to the edge and had fallen.

But, the way the lead man had acted?

Had he fallen or had something more nefarious happened to him?

I finished the beer and cracked open another cold one from the nearby cooler.

Picking up my binoculars, I followed them as they went further down the beach.

They almost made it to the water's edge.

I raised my eyebrows behind the lenses, surprised they had made it that far.

There was a man at the back. ‘Tail-end charlie’ they used to call it in old Vietnam war films. 

He went first.

The sand started to shift, circling slowly under his feet.

He was pulled under with a yell, his mouth forming a wide ‘O' of shock and then pain.

He was dragged down almost to his waist before any of the others could reach him.

One of his colleagues had a grip on his hand as he was pulled under.

He snatched his hand free, rolled over and got back to his feet.

Pulling the rifle from his back, he emptied an entire magazine where the man had been, doing nothing more than puncturing the bed of soft sand.

The one in charge shouted and it grew quiet again.

They stood still, barrels pointed down.

Time stretched.

Then one of them moved a foot.

All hell broke loose.

A long, slim tentacle erupted with a spray of sand. It whipped through the air and wrapped around the waist of the man who had moved.

It lifted him with ease, the limb squeezing as it did so. The man went pale, then his skin flushed purple as bones bent and cracked with the pressure. Blood vessels and organs burst with the pressure, and he too was dragged under the sand.

He was still alive; the thing liked live meat.

The remaining men opened up with automatic weapons, and a few choice words.

It took less than three minutes for the last of them to be grabbed and yanked under the surface; a meal for whatever lurked there. Something of a record; it must have been hungry.

Not even blood marked their passing.

I lowered the binoculars and crumpled the can, throwing it past the closest sign.

A whip-thin tentacle slid up and pulled it down.

Nothing went to waste.

I knew the beach was dangerous, and knew too that I was safe here. It didn't stretch this far.

Or hadn't yet.

This is our land, our home.

Everybody, and everything else, was fair game.

I remembered my wife's screams as she ran towards me. Remembered too, at least I didn't have to hide the body.

No-one leaves the beach.