by JE Gurley
I was relieved when I didn’t find Joria’s body in the apse. This didn’t mean she was alive, but it offered some small measure of hope that she was. The juvenile Chupacabras were gone also. I assumed forensics had taken both juveniles to the morgue. I wondered what the authorities would make of them. I recalled the black government SUV and realized the bodies were probably halfway to Area 51 by now. I continued down the steps into the basement, warily eyeing the corners for signs of movement. I opened the gas can and began to pour its contents liberally on the floor and over piles of junk, wooden crates and old furniture and soaked old timber support beams as I walked to the second entrance to the catacombs. If pursued, I would ignite one of the flares and touch off a conflagration large enough to bring the entire building down into the basement and onto the remaining creatures. I only hoped I would make it out ahead of the fire. I wasn’t eager to die, at least until I saw the dead creatures with my own eyes. The smell of gasoline was almost overpowering, but I still caught a whiff of ammonia drifting from down the left hand corridor.
The second corridor wound up and down through a series of small rooms and alcoves connected by short, haphazardly placed steps. Some rooms had several doors that led roundabout back to the winding, narrow passageway, creating a veritable maze. I took my pocketknife and scratched arrows on the walls to mark my passage. I passed through one doorway, stooping to avoid the low lintel, and entered a room piled high with stone coffins. The smell of fresh blood and strong odor of ammonia startled me. With a hard knot forming in my stomach, I looked around for Joria’s body. To my utter astonishment, I saw the body of a short black man, his throat slashed open to the bone. Nearby, lay a ripped steel mesh net. From the man’s suit, I assumed he was one of the government men run afoul of the creature. I knew he hadn’t come alone. I wondered if I would find more bodies.
The corridor sloped sharply downward. After a few more turns, I entered a large space that could not have been an original part of the monastery. It was, I soon realized, an old mill, complete with grindstone. I remembered the dry riverbed near the church and figured that in the past, maybe in Colonial days, the river had run with water and that a mill had stood on the site where the Jesuits later built their monastery. The flume and water wheel, which would have been outside the wall in the river, were missing, washed away by a flood or removed by the Jesuits when they bricked up the outside wall. I searched for another entrance but did not find one. There appeared to be only one way in and one way out.
I panned my flashlight around the room. Massive wooden beams stood in rows like solemn sentries supporting the roof some twenty feet above my head. An open loft at one end of the room remained in shadows. Stacks of bags of flour sat in one corner. I briefly wondered why the Jesuits had not used them.
I focused my attention on the shadows. The creature was present. I could smell it. The room bore the familiar odor of ammonia and the rank smell of death. My hopes of finding Joria still alive grew dimmer. I walked past stacks of decaying bags of flour, past dangling rusty chains, corroded iron machine parts until I stood beneath the loft. A wooden ladder appeared to be the loft’s only access. I used the cloth sling to secure the flashlight to the barrel of the Pfeifer and climbed the ladder using one hand, keeping the Pfeifer ready for action. At the top, I nervously peered over the edge and scanned the loft with the flashlight.
To my relief, Joria sat on a box by the wall. Her eyes followed the light across the room. Her face was streaked with dirt but she looked otherwise unharmed. When she recognized me, a mixture of relief and fear appeared in her eyes, but she made no motion to come to me. I detected movement nearby in the shadows, the creature guarding her.
Now, I knew where it was and it knew where I was. I saw no reason to hide. I climbed onto the platform, stood and walked slowly toward Joria. The adult landed between us. I didn’t see the third juvenile anywhere around.
“Tack!” Joria called out.
The creature turned and hissed at her. I raised the Pfeifer and it leaped behind a wooden beam.
“Are you okay?” I asked Joria, keeping my weapon pointed at the creature.
She nodded. “It brought me here to trap you.”
“I figured as much,” I said, slowing edging closer. “Have you seen the other juvenile?”
She shook her head. “No. Just the adult.”
“Get up slowly and walk toward me.”
She stood and moved slightly but the creature screamed at her. She froze.
“Okay,” I told her, quickly changing my plans. “I’ll kill the bastard first and then get you out.”
Joria’s eyes followed me as I moved away from her and farther across the loft, trying to coax the creature to a spot where I could get a clear shot at it. I heard a slight scraping and the sound of moving air behind me and immediately dropped to the floor, my sixth sense kicking in.
“Watch out!”
Joria’s warning was a fraction of a second too late. I glanced up to see talons rake empty air just above my head, the third juvenile. The bastards were tag teaming me. It glided into the shadows above me. I had just glimpsed it but even so, I could tell it was now as large as the adult. The situation had just grown more intense. I needed more light if I was to keep track of both of them. I removed a flare from my packet and struck it against the wooden floor. I held the flare away from me but it still blinded me as it ignited. I only hoped it blinded the creatures as well. They could see perfectly in the dark but perhaps they had poorer vision in the daylight. I knew they preferred to operate during darkness. I tossed the flare into the middle of the floor. Through half-closed lids I spotted the juvenile perched on a cross beam above the adult. I stood and raised the Pfeifer, but before I could fire, Joria rushed toward me, blocking my shot.
I cursed silently as I lowered my weapon. Joria clung to my left arm, sobbing.
“Oh, Tack. I was so frightened.”
I didn’t have time for a reunion. I roughly shoved her behind me and advanced on the juvenile. I had taken only a few steps when the platform began to shudder and the floor went into spasms beneath me. I heard Joria’s scream as I stumbled and grabbed onto a rusty chain for support. Dirt, pigeon crap and rancid flour cascaded from the ceiling, filling the air with a choking cloud of dust. I heard a low rumble below the floor of the mill. The subway!
The East-West line of the subway ran directly beneath the monastery. I waited for the train to pass to take aim but the shaking continued, grew worse. Suddenly, with a loud snap, the dry rotted planks beneath me gave way. Decades of constant shaking had taken their toll on the centuries old structure. My weight, with Joria’s and the creatures’ weight had tipped the scales. The rusty chain slipped from my grasp and I plunged into darkness. I hit the floor below hard, gasping for breath amid a cloud of dust and flour. The Pfeifer landed on the other side of a stack of bags of flour.
Joria’s startled scream above me pushed me to action. As I stood, my left leg gave way. I quickly assessed my condition. My leg wasn’t broken but I had twisted my ankle in the fall. In desperation, I began to crawl over the flour bags on all fours to retrieve the Pfeifer. I didn’t make it. The juvenile landed on top of the stack and stared down at me, illuminated from behind by the glow of the flare, which had fallen behind the stack of bags as well. The juvenile was almost a duplicate of the adult. It had the same evil red eyes as the adult but was lighter in color. I reached for my .45 but too late. With a motion almost too quick to follow, it shot out a taloned leg and yanked me up by my right shoulder. The pain was excruciating. I dropped the .45 as we faced each other only inches apart. Our eyes locked. A thin membrane slid over its eyes. A nictitating membrane, like a frog, I recalled from high school biology. That was what allowed the creatures to see in full light as well as full darkness. I could feel its hot fetid breath on my brow. Its two-inch long canines dripped white mucous onto my arm. I knew that my death was imminent. With my left hand, I slowly reached into my pocket and pulled out the stun grenade
. I had no hope of saving Joria or myself now but I could at least take one more of the bastards with me.
I pulled the pin on the stun grenade. The click as I released the handle startled the creature. It must have guessed the grenade was a weapon and opened its muzzle wide to scream. Before it could react, I shoved the grenade into its mouth and down its gullet. It released its grip on me. I fell and tumbled head over heels down the mountain of bags of flour. The juvenile shook its head vigorously in a futile attempt to dislodge the grenade but it had caught in its throat. I rolled onto my face and covered my head with my arms.
The M84 stun grenade was not a fragmentary device like a hand grenade, not designed to explode with shrapnel, but to burn fiercely and brightly after producing a loud initial bang. The grenade ignited. The juvenile screamed shrilly as the magnesium based pyrotechnic flared inside its mouth, searing its throat and lungs with white-hot fire. The initial bang had been loud enough to rupture its eardrums. The creature was now blind and deaf and in considerable pain, but not dead. It could still kill me. I had to move quickly.
I recovered my .45, clawed my way back up the flour bags and jammed the barrel of the .45 against the underside of the creature’s head, beside its throat. The fine tracery veins and capillaries in its throat stood out starkly, illuminated from within by the flare’s light. The creature immediately began slashing at me with its beak and talons. I dodged its frantic assault, wrapped my good left arm around its neck to hold on and pulled the trigger. At such a close range, even the .45 had enough power to penetrate the juvenile’s damaged flesh. I emptied the clip, pleased to see bullets exiting through the top of its head. In its death throes, it leaped into the air, carrying me with it. We fell together on the far side of the flour sacks. My side burned where a talon had managed to find me, my right shoulder was bleeding profusely and my left ankle throbbed, but I was alive and the juvenile was not.
Three juveniles down. One adult to go.
By now, the fire around the fallen flare had grown into a conflagration, feeding on the tinder of centuries’ old dry timbers and rotten flour sacks. It was spreading rapidly. Wood smoke and a fine mist of flour kicked up by the heat permeated the air. I couldn’t see Joria through the smoke and hoped she had come down from the loft.
“Joria!” I yelled, coughing as I inhaled the bitter mixture.
I got no answer. I groped around the floor until I found the Pfeifer .60 caliber. I had to eliminate the adult before the room became a blazing inferno. I ignored the pain in my ankle and stood. Walking was an agony but I hobbled around searching for Joria and the adult creature. Suddenly, through the dense smoke I saw it with its back turned to me as it stood over its dead offspring keening. The creature raised its head to the ceiling and screamed. It was a blood curdling sound, momentarily freezing my muscles. Fighting panic, I raised the Pfeifer with my good left hand as the adult turned to face me. I could barely lift its thirteen pounds.
“Now I will kill you, human. Child slayer!” the creature screamed at me.
The recognizable words coming from the creature’s throat startled me. Joria had told me it was capable of speech but I had not believed her. It had seemed too incredible. She had been right.
“Why are you doing this?” I yelled to engage it in conversation as I forced the index finger of my left hand to squeeze the trigger.
“To survive,” it barked. “Offspring are rare and you have murdered them. Your death will be painful.”
“Not as painful as this,” I snapped. I applied more pressure on the trigger.
The back of my head suddenly exploded as something hit me. I fell forward and hit the floor. I rolled over and saw Joria standing a few feet away. At first, in my confusion, I thought she had hit me, but smoldering debris fell from the roof, dropping around me. The ceiling was ablaze and in danger of collapsing. The roar of the fire mounted. I had to act soon before the creature or the fire got me. I ignored Joria, lunged for the dropped Pfeifer and fired at the creature but I was too slow. The bullet missed and struck the far wall. The wall exploded and a section of masonry collapsed, revealing an opening to the outside, above the old riverbed. I kneeled and aimed at the creature again. It flapped its wings, creating a smoke screen that hid it from my view and disappeared. I caught a quick flash of it flying through the opening I had created. I limped after it but stopped short as the remainder of the loft and part of the roof collapsed behind it, sealing the exit.
I turned to Joria half hidden by the smoke, looking dazed. One wall slowly crumbled. The entire mill was collapsing around us. The floor began shaking again as another subway train passed through. I knew the roof would not last much longer. I grabbed Joria and pulled her behind me, limping as fast as I could. We barely made it out of the room, the flames licking at our backs. Ignoring the pain in my ankle, we raced down the maze of corridors to the basement with the flames close behind. I worried that the gasoline trail I had left would already be ablaze. I did not want to die by fire, especially with the creature still alive. Luckily, the flames had not preceded me, but just as we reached the basement, the flour dust in the mill room exploded, shaking the entire basement. I suppose we had been lucky to make it out alive. The corridors began to collapse, sealing in the fire. As we ascended the steps from the basement, I pulled out my last flare and struck it on the gate.
“Go find a new place to roost!” I yelled uselessly.
Joria stared at me uncomprehending. She watched as I tossed the flare into the opening. Then, realizing what I was doing, jerked from my grip and retreated from the opening, her eyes wide with fright. The basement exploded into flame. I backed away from the opening, tripping over a body. I looked down into the eyes of another young girl, victim number six, her throat gaping. If the adult was with Joria, the girl had to be the work of the juvenile. I had killed it just in time. I looked back at the spreading flames and knew that with my game leg I could never drag her body out before the fire engulfed the entire building. I mumbled a quick regret to her corpse, grabbed Joria and hobbled across the nave. I wanted all traces of the juvenile destroyed and prayed that if there had been more than three, the flames would consume them. The adult had escaped. I cursed my luck. If not for the falling debris hitting me in the head, I would have killed it as well.
By the time I managed to limp to the exit, dragging a strangely silent Joria with me, flames leaped skyward from the tower and out of the gaping holes in the roof, lighting the night sky. Stained glass windows exploded from the heat, tongues of flames licking the eaves of the roof. I dragged myself away from the collapsing structure, out the gaping gate and fell to the gravel, exhausted, unable to go any farther. My lungs ached from breathing smoke, my shoulder burned from the juvenile’s talons and my ankle was swollen and useless, but I would live. I would find the creature and kill it if I had to chase it all the way back to South America.
From my position, I could see the dry riverbed running alongside the church. Flames erupted from a hole in the riverbank. The mill wall was collapsing, bringing part of the compound wall down with it. There was no sign of the adult.
I regretted leaving the girl’s body behind. She deserved a proper burial, not cremation. I sat up, reeling. My mind was beginning a slow dive into oblivion. I knew the fever from the juvenile’s talons was once again wracking my body. I stared at the growing destruction and wondered what the captain would have to say. I might not have to worry about a defense. I could die right there in the dirt.
I glanced at Joria, the flames reflected in her eyes as she stared at the burning monastery. She seemed in shock. I reached out to touch her but she drew back. I knew her ordeal had been traumatic but I didn’t see any signs of physical wounds, except the three parallel scars on her shoulder I had noticed before. They were oddly similar to my own scars. As I considered their origin, my muddled mind finally grasped the fact that she had no wounds. How had the Chupacabra carried her to the monastery if not how he had transported its other victims, with its talons?<
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Looking at her, I decided any questions would wait for later. Neither of us was in any condition for conversation.
14
I awoke with a start. I opened my eyes and did not recognize my surroundings. I lay flat on my back staring up at a water-stained white acoustic-tile ceiling rather than a starry sky. The light was dim, masking my surroundings in gloom. The room, wherever I was, was eerily silent. I resisted the urge to call out in panic. The squeak of rubber sole shoes sounded from the shadows and the lights brightened slowly. I groaned. I lay in yet another hospital bed with a dour faced nurse riding shotgun on me. Outside the window was pitch black indicating it was night, but was it the same night. My throbbing right arm nested in a sling. I pulled back the sheets with my left hand to assess the extent of the damage to my aching body.
A plaster cast enveloped my left ankle. I looked over at the nurse dutifully studying my chart and coughed to get her attention. She eyed me warily over the rims of wire-rimmed glasses. I took that as a bad sign, especially when I saw the uniformed officer outside my door. Evidently, Captain Bledsoe was taking no chances with me.
“How long have I been out?” I asked. This sent me into a coughing jag from the smoke and dust I had inhaled. I noticed a coating of salve on my arms and saw that the flames had singed the hair. I reeked of toasted flour.
The nurse waited patiently until I had finished my self-examination. “They brought you in two days ago in bad shape,” she replied.
Flashes of the fight with the two creatures and the ensuing fire rushed to the front of my mind. “Yeah, I guess.” I pointed to the uniform. “Is he for me?”
“One of the men in suits said something about arson. Aren’t you a cop?”
I nodded. “I was two days ago. Now, I don’t know.”
“You were moaning in your sleep about someone called Jory and a body.”