Tons of water shot out of the broken glass wall, splashing over all the boys in a tidal wave of soaking force. Dean went down, losing traction and his footing at once. His hand slipped across the wet carpet, but he managed to get a finger hold on a hole that had been worn through the material down to the concrete foundation.
As he tried to shove himself up to his feet, a sharp agony started in the side of his neck, lighting a flame in his brain. He reached up to just above his collarbone, searching for the source of the pain. His fingers slid over a small, scaly body that wiggled fiercely in his hand.
Dean’s stomach twisted in sudden sickness at the realization of what had him by the neck. He pulled, but the teeth were clamped on tight, making his flesh come with it. Blood spilled down the side of his neck, then tracked down onto his chest beneath the vest.
“Bastard biter’s got me, Louis!” Moxen yelled. “Help me!” One of the carnivorous fish had fastened onto his face. Scarlet lines trailed down his cheek and across his lips. His eyes were wide, filled with fear.
Holding on to the fish with one hand, Dean holstered his blaster and reached for the knife he’d been given. One swipe, and he hacked the fish apart just behind its oversize jaws. The teeth remained embedded and fixed.
Louis crossed over to Moxen and sliced the fish off, inserting a knife blade just behind the bulging eye and twisting it. The jaws popped open, releasing Moxen’s face. Louis tossed the dying fish away.
After removing the fish head from his neck, Dean surveyed the other boys. Many of them were screaming and cursing in fright. A chill ran through Dean as he realized how deadly the fish could have been if they’d remained in their own element.
Enrique Green shuddered on the floor as if he were having some kind of fit. The boy’s mouth gaped open in a silent scream. The wound in his leg released a spreading pink stain into the inch-deep water littered with flopping fish.
Dean crossed over to Green, intending to help the boy to his feet. When he rolled him over, a sucking noise caught his attention. He glanced down and saw three fish working at the boy’s side. They’d opened a large wound just below the rib cage.
Managing to grab one of the fish, Dean watched in horror as another one ate its way into Green’s insides. “Oh, shit,” Dean said, throwing the first fish away. He cut the second fish off, leaving the head and ignoring the sudden streams of blood squirting out that showed arterial flow.
He tightened his fingers and rammed them into Green’s side, tearing the flesh with the pressure he exerted. He touched the sharp fins of the fish’s tail, gained almost an inch on it as he watched the ridge of flesh that showed the fish’s passage inside Enrique, moving across the boy’s stomach. Another surge, and the fish was lost to him.
“Damn, Enrique,” Dean cried in frustration. He felt a scaly body slip next to his leg and drew away. Tears filled his eyes, brought on by the helpless rage he felt.
The fleshy ridge turned abruptly, crawling up to Enrique’s chest. It slowed when it reached his solar plexus.
“Dean,” Green stammered, blood gushing from his mouth, spraying with his words, “it hurts. Hurts bad.” Before he could utter another word, convulsions seized him. He died, choking and heaving, trying to get up. Then his head relaxed, and his eyes remained open wide.
“Fuck,” Perry said.
Dean looked up and found the youth standing only a few feet away. The rest of the boys appeared bloodied but intact. Conor looked the worst, bleeding down the side of his face from a large gash across his forehead. Moxen and Handley were stomping fish still flopping in the shallow water.
“Dean,” Louis said quietly, “he’s dead.”
“I know it,” Dean said. “Fish got him.”
“Got to go,” Louis said. “No place for us to stay here.”
Dean nodded. He picked up his strewed gear and arranged it for quick access, certain he was going to need it. He felt bad about leaving Green lying there, but it had to be done.