"Guy N. Smith - Night Of The Crabs 2 - Crabs Moon" - читать интересную книгу автора (Smith Guy N)

obscured his vision, left him gasping for breath.

He trod water, looking for her, not seeing her. Christ, suppose she had had a
sudden attack of cramp! What bloody fools they were to come this far out.

'Julie!' he yelled, a note of panic creeping into his voice. 'Julie, where are
you?'

For the first time in his life he felt completely helpless. How the hell was
he going to find her out here?

Suddenly he realised just how shallow the water was even this far out from the
shore. As he trod water he was aware that he could just touch the bottom with
his feet. He was above some sort of sandbank. Now where the hell had Julie got
to?

He stared, looked again. Between the ever-increasing waves he spied a large
ripple heading towards him. It just had to be Julie Coles. What a bloody
stupid adolescent trick! She had screamed to frighten him and now she was
trying to sneak up on him under water!

He rested his feet on the sandy bottom, found he could stand in this
particular place. He laughed, an hysterical sound. Julie was OK, it really
didn't matter . . .

Then he was staggering back, his own scream of pain and fear muffled suddenly
as his head went under. He doubled up in agony, instinctively fighting to free
himself from whatever it was that had a hold on his left leg that could only
be compared with a pair of garden shears with serrated blades, biting deeper
into the bone with every second. He fell full length on to the sea-bed,
gulping down mouthfuls of murky, sandy water. He panicked, kicking wildly with
his free leg. But there was no escape, that much was quite clear to him.
Furthermore, he knew that he was going to die. He guessed, too, that whatever
it was that was attacking him had also claimed the life of Julie Coles!

There was a red mist before his eyes. No, it wasn't a mist ... he could taste
it ... like that time in his boyhood when he had fallen on the beach and cut
his lip. It was blood!

Then he almost felt that he was free. That agonising grip had lessened. He
made one last desperate effort to break free, almost made it to the surface
before being pulled back instantly by his right leg.

Consciousness began to slip from his fear-crazed mind. He realised only too
well what had been the fate of his left leg - it had been amputated! Now his
right leg was being severed. Mercifully at that moment he lost consciousness.

The killings had begun.