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crossing. It was a silly feeling, and he would never have dared let his fears
be known amongst his fellow drivers but... well, he didn't trust the old
bridge. It was looked after regularly and the experts said it was good for
another century but that did not prevent him having nightmares about it. He
had lost count of the number of times that he'd woken up in the middle of the
night in a cold sweat shouting in abject terror. His wife was used to it and
it was she who always calmed his fears... almost!
The dream was always the same. High tide. The water muddy and deep in the
estuary below. Swirling like a whirlpool gone berserk. The train going at a
snail's pace in spite of the fact that he was giving it full throttle. Slowing
to a crawl for some unaccountable reason. Then the creaking of over laden
timbers as the engine finally came to a halt. A splintering and cracking
beneath. The bridge sagging and then snapping in the middle. A lurching. The
train hurtling down towards the estuary. The screaming, his loudest of all The
water closing over his head. That was when he usually woke up.
On a morning like this morning his dreams did not seem to be altogether the
figments of a fevered, slumbering brain. They could so easily become reality.
He hated the crossing. Less than five minutes on a clear morning. It might
have been five hours on one such as this. Five hours of bloody torture. He
eased the throttle right down. Ten miles an hour. He looked down. Through the
grey drifting vapour he could see the estuary below, grim and forbidding. He
shivered.
He forced his gaze on to the track ahead, the parapet of steel girders on
either side. They looked strong enough anyway. All the same he would be glad
when it was all over, and they drew into Barmouth station.
Suddenly a shape materialised out of the fog ahead of the train. Automatically
he started to brake. With an agonised shriek the wheels began slowing down.
Whatever it was, it was still on the line. Right in their path and refusing to
budge an inch. It looked as though somebody's cow had wandered on to the
bridge when nobody was looking. If it didn't move soon it was bound to be run
over. Stupid bloody animal. Trains can't just stop dead in their tracks!
He could see it more clearly now. Christ! That was no cow. It was too big.
Wrong shape.
'Fucking hell!' he cursed aloud. 'It's one of those bastard crabs!'
The train was nearly at a standstill. He could see the crab. Every detail. Its
face. Its eyes. The thing knew. Knew he would stop. Well, he'd show it. His
hand left the brake and returned to the throttle. Full speed ahead. More of
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them on the line up in front Bloody crowds of 'em. Show 'em all. Crush 'em to
pulp!
The engine had picked up to 20 mph when it made contact with King Crab.
Another screech of anguished metal. A jolt that threw all the passengers
forward. Dai Peters sprawled on the floor of his cab.
For a split second everything seemed to stop. Tune stood still. Then the
engine was rearing upwards, its wheels spinning uselessly in the air.
Carriages buckled into one another, overturning, rolling sideways against the
steel girders. People were screaming, Dai Peters tried to grab the controls.
Brake, throttle, anything. The engine was lurching at a crazy angle, almost as
if it was running on a model railway and the owner was picking his toys up.
The driver just clung on for his very life.
He could see the water below him again, the current swirling as though ready
to receive him. Another crash. Steel girders flying through the air. Hurtling,
spinning, still hanging on.
That same dream. He started to yell. 'Emma! Emma! Wake me up! The bridge . . .
the water ... for God's sake wake me up!'
Amid a pile of falling debris the train slid into the water like links of
sausage being carelessly tossed into a pan. A mighty splash, the murky waters
foaming, and then a sudden silence.
Nothing moved. Except the crabs. Scuttling down the bent and broken supports
they dropped back into the water, hastening to claim the prize that was
theirs. Tender human flesh.
'Fucking hell! It's getting thicker!' The man in the bows of the leading
lifeboat peered through the gloom. 'Can't see anything. Wait! There's the
bridge. Christ Almighty!'
The second boat drew alongside. Debris was floating everywhere. Not a sign of
the train or its occupants. It was impossible to see down into the muddy
depths.
'Can't see a bloody thing!' the second lifeboat skipper called. 'Hey, what's
rocking the boat?'
The lifeboat lurched to one side, its occupants being thrown together in an [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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