by JE Gurley
“Damn!” McNeil said upon seeing his dead friend. He didn’t have time to languish. Walmsley nudged him with his elbow.
“It’s coming back.”
They backed into a small niche in the wall, protected on two sides by sturdy wooden beams and solid rock. The creature attacked from the ceiling, scampering across the wooden boards upside down and diving at them. Both fired at the creature point-blank and this time did not miss, but their bullets did little more than enrage the creature. The creature, however, was intelligent enough to recognize that many such shots could harm it. It backed away and watched them from a distance. McNeil realized they were safe for the moment but trapped. He cursed silently. They had come to rescue Hardin and now they were in need of rescue.
The creature came at them once more, skirting their position, drawing their fire. It was fast and cunning. McNeil emptied his weapon in his eagerness to score a hit. Hearing the telltale click of an empty gun, the creature suddenly darted in closer. Walmsley fired and then held the empty Mauser before him as a club, striking at the creature while McNeil reloaded. McNeil, frightened and unfamiliar with the .357, fumbled reloading and dropped his bullets. As he went to his knees and sifted the dirt for them, he heard Walmsley’s sharp intake of breath as the creature’s razor talons raked along his forearm. Walmsley dropped the rifle and fell back bleeding. Now, they were weaponless, at the creature’s mercy.
Out of the corner of his eye, McNeil spotted someone running toward them, the lights behind him hiding his face. Hardin? No, it was a stranger, bigger than Hardin. The man crouched and began firing his pistol. Surprised by this newcomer, the creature retreated a short distance to analyze this new threat. The stranger removed a short rod from his belt and extended it into a long pole. The tip flashed with a blue electric arc and the smell of ozone filled the air. The creature lunged forward. The rod lashed out and brushed a wing with a bright blue flash. The creature shrieked and flew back down the tunnel.
“Who the hell are you?” McNeil asked.
“Simmons, Clad Simmons. I thought you could use some help.”
“Damned right,” Walmsley spoke up clasping a handkerchief to his arm. It was already blood-soaked. “What are you doing here?”
Simmons eyes followed the creature down the tunnel. “Seeing that this creature doesn’t do any more harm.”
“Have you seen Hardin?” McNeil asked, anxious for news.
Simmons shook his head. “Earlier, but I haven’t seen him since the cave-in.”
“We left Dr. Alvarez when we tried to save Sid. We had better go get her.”
“Alvarez is here,” Simmons growled, looking around. “I didn’t see her.”
“You know her?” McNeil asked. It was obvious Simmons’ dislike for Alvarez surpassed his own.
“I know her. She’s dangerous. If she’s here, she’s as likely to help the creature as us.”
McNeil lowered his head. Simmons had confirmed his own suspicions. “I’ve made a mess of this. Now poor Sid is dead and Hardin might be dead as well.”
“Sid panicked,” Walmsley reminded McNeil. “It’s his fault.” He couldn’t hide his anger at Johnson’s running like a coward. If he had remained with them…
McNeil grinned sheepishly. “So did I when I tried to reload.” He looked at Simmons. “If not for your timely arrival, I guess we would both be dead.”
“Three guns are better than two. Let’s go look for Hardin.”
McNeil cast one long look at Sid Johnson’s body, shook his head sadly and led the way.
****
The trio had traveled barely half a mile down the tunnel when Walmsley stumbled and fell to his knees. Instead of rising immediately, he stayed on his knees for several long moments, breathing hard.
“Are you okay?” McNeil asked, his face showing his concern for his friend.
Walmsley glanced up. His face was pale and covered in a fine sheen of dirty perspiration. While it was hot in the tunnel, the other two were barely sweating and McNeil was much older than Walmsley.
“I don’t feel good,” Walmsley admitted. “My arm burns and I feel weak in the knees.” He rubbed his forehead with the back of his good hand and looked up in surprise as his hand came away muddy. “I’m burning up.”
Simmons checked Walmsley’s forearm. The gash was red and already suppurating pus. “It’s the fever,” he pronounced.
“Fever?” McNeil asked. “What fever?”
“The creature’s talons are poisoned with bacteria that infect wounds within minutes. It’s supposed to weaken its prey.”
McNeil was aghast. “My God! What kind of demon is this thing?”
“Demon is right,” Simmons said in agreement, “But it’s not from hell. We have to find Hardin and get Walmsley out of here. He needs medical attention soon.”
Walmsley forced himself to his feet and leaned against the wall holding his injured right arm. His legs were wobbly. “I’ll never make it. Leave me here and find Hardin.”
“We leave nobody,” McNeil snapped. “We go together.”
Simmons glanced at Walmsley and judged their chances at making it as poor if they had to carry him far. He pulled McNeil aside and spoke quietly. “Look, there’s a storage room not far from here with a steel mesh gate. There’s also a breaker box. We can run a line and electrify the door. We know the creature doesn’t like electricity. You and Walmsley stay there while I find Hardin. And Dr. Alvarez,” he added.
McNeil shook his head. “I don’t like it.”
Simmons grabbed McNeil’s wrist and applied pressure. “Walmsley needs to rest. He could die.”
McNeil looked at his friend and relented. “All right.”
They picked up Walmsley in a firefighter’s carry, linking arms to support his considerable weight. Simmons hoped the creature didn’t choose this inopportune time to attack. They reached the storage room safely and laid Walmsley on the table. While McNeil fussed over his friend, Simmons closed the gate, stripped the wiring from a dead light fixture and ran it from the breaker box to the wire mesh gate. He connected one end of the wire to a closed circuit breaker. He attracted McNeil’s attention. Walmsley was barely conscious, breathing heavily. He feared the man would not last many hours longer.
“All you need to do is throw this switch,” he informed McNeil. “It will probably trip all the other breakers, leaving you in the dark, so keep a flashlight handy, but it should work long enough to keep the creature out.”
“If it doesn’t?”
“You have the rifle and the .357. Don’t be afraid to use them.”
McNeil smiled and grabbed Simmons’ hand and grasped it vigorously. “I won’t. You be careful, son.”
Simmons smiled back, deeply touched by the engineer’s concern. “I intend to.”
He left the storeroom, closing the gate behind him, praying he had made the right decision. Walmsley was done in and couldn’t move on his own. Even McNeil, though he blustered and put on a good front, was showing signs of fatigue. He might have once been physically active but too many years behind a desk had taken its toll on him. Simmons briefly considered leaving the stun stick with them as well, but decided he might have more need of it than McNeil. So far, the .357 had proven almost useless. The damn creature was harder to hit than a swinging piñata with a spitball.
****
McNeil gently wiped Walmsley’s burning hot forehead. The fever had progressed more rapidly than he could have imagined. Walmsley’s breath now came in ragged bursts with a sickly wet sound, as if his lungs were filling with fluid. McNeil was afraid his friend could not hold on much longer without medical attention. He hoped Simmons found Hardin soon. He pulled out the bottle of aspirin he always carried in case his weak heart gave out and forced two down Walmsley’s throat to try to reduce the fever.
Clad Simmons was a mystery. He had offered no explanation for his appearance other than his desire to kill the creature. He moved and took command of a situation as if he was used to giving orders.
Was he another cop, like Hardin? That didn’t seem likely. He knew Dr. Alvarez, acted as though they had a history. Perhaps there were other people, other agencies involved in the hunt for the creature. If they killed the creature and managed to survive, he imagined the authorities would force them to sign some Secrecies Act and the story buried in some government archives along with the truth behind the Kennedy assassination and the Japanese sneak attack on Pearl Harbor.
He eyed the electrified mesh gate with some trepidation. The wiring connections were good but the mesh was old and rusty, likely to burst into flames under a heavy amp load. The wooden frame of the gate was as dry and brittle as kindling. Even if the gate held the creature at bay, they could still roast to death in an inferno. He stood by the breaker box, ready to throw the switch at the first sign of trouble.
He didn’t have to wait long. He heard the creature’s shrill call before he saw it. It grabbed the gate and began to shake it furiously. The hinges, rusty with age, began to pull loose from the wall. McNeil silently prayed and pulled the switch. The lights immediately flickered and dimmed as 200 volts shot down the frayed wire. Sparks flew from both the circuit box and the gate. The creature screamed and butted the gate with its head, unable to break free, held fast by the current passing through its body. Wood smoldered; then burst into flames as rusty wire became red hot. He fired the rifle at the creature, hitting it in square the chest. He was astonished to see a hole open up and a yellow ichor run out. Flames danced along the edge of the wound. At that moment, the tunnel plunged into darkness as the circuit breakers overloaded. Only the flames flickering along the wooden gate provided any illumination.
He had left the flashlight on the table beside Walmsley. He stumbled across the room to find it. The sound of metal ripping and wood shattering disconcerted him. The creature was tearing down the gate. He fumbled for the light in the darkness but could not locate it. Suddenly, it flashed on, briefly blinding him. He shielded his eyes and saw that Walmsley, roused by the ruckus, held the light in a trembling hand, outlining the creature in light. The .357 lay beside him. McNeil grabbed the pistol and strode toward the creature, cursing it while firing. From a distance of five yards, each bullet struck home. He forced the screaming creature backwards from the storage room, following it out into the tunnel.
The creature, wounded, had had enough. It took to wing and flew down the tunnel toward Simmons and Hardin. His adrenaline surge burned out, McNeil collapsed against the wall of the tunnel, his heart beating staccato against his rib cage. His left arm ached. He knew the signs of a heart attack after having survived a mild one three years earlier. He reached in his pocket for the bottle of aspirin and downed two, wishing for a drink of water to wash down the bitter tablets. It took him a few minutes to realize the fans were slowing. With the breakers blown, they, too, were out of commission. Soon, with no circulation, the tunnel would be intolerably hot and the already stale air would be almost too deadly to breathe. He used his shirt to beat out the flickering flames of the gate. He took a few minutes to collect his wits and still his runaway heart before returning to Walmsley’s side.
“It’s okay, my friend. They’ll be back soon.”
The rifle was empty and he had only four rounds for the .357. He hoped Simmons and Hardin returned quickly.
28
Joria Alvarez watched McNeil and his friend chase off after their frightened companion and smiled. The Chupacabra could smell fear as easily as a human could smell body odor. The fleeing man’s blood would strengthen the creature for the coming fight, though she had no doubts as to the outcome. Hardin was determined but outclassed. She regretted that he must die but his single-minded resolve to kill his enemy could only end in his death.
She was amazed at how easily she had manipulated him. Even his obvious doubts about her had not dissuaded him from her sexual favors. She had honed her skills over the years with many lovers, most of whom she had used in one way or another. Hardin would have been appalled to learn that she had killed her father, not the Chupacabra, because of his insistence on destroying the last clutch of eggs the creature had produced.
She rubbed the scar on her shoulder, grimly remembering the pain of its origin, smiling as she thought of what she had in turn received. She had revealed only part of the truth about it. The Chupacabra had made it, as she had said, but the scar was its mark, placed there with her approval when she had deliberately sought it out and conceived a pact with it. In return for studying it, learning from it, she would in turn teach it the ways of man and help find its victims. It was a covenant she had no regrets in making. What were a few human lives out of the billions against the millions of years of evolution that had produced a creature of such intelligence and longevity? The Chupacabra had risen shortly after the demise of the dinosaurs and had been sentient long before the first ape-like creatures that would become man walked erect. The future belonged to it and its kind.
Though they bred infrequently and only one juvenile survives each hatching, she had lied about their numbers. Not all of the deaths over the years were attributable to a single creature. Scores of Chupacabra scattered throughout the Americas and across Eastern Europe and Asia preyed upon their human cattle under cover of darkness. With her help, they would come to dominate.
Her fascination with Chupacabra was not limited to her desire to study them. Its gift, secreted from a special gland, delivered at the time of her marking, endowed her with a small portion of the creature’s regenerative powers. To all outward appearances, she looked a very attractive thirty-five, but she was pushing fifty. If only a few drops of such enzyme could do that, she was certain her promised reward of youth, longevity and vitality was no myth.
The sound of footsteps alerted her to the presence of someone else in the tunnel with her. Hardin? No, the shadowy figure was larger. She melted into the shadows until he had passed. She recognized him as one of the men from Section One. Their persistence in capturing one of the Chupacabra made her wonder if they had discovered the secret of its glandular secretions. She frowned as gunfire erupted in the direction McNeil and the federal agent had gone. She doubted they could kill the creature but still feared for it.
A short time later, the agent returned, passing within a few feet of her, and headed the direction she knew Hardin to be, if he was still alive. She retraced her steps until she spotted the room in which McNeil and his injured friend cowered as the Chupacabra attempted to get at them. She watched with amusement as the creature tore at the chain link fence eager to kill the men, then scowled as McNeil sent a high voltage current into the fence. To her horror, the creature could not release its grip. McNeil shot it in the chest, wounding it. She had to do something to save it. Spotting the heavy electrical line running along the wall, she jerked it with both hands, using her weight to rip the wire from its brackets. The aged wire was brittle and broke easily. Sparks cascaded around her, singing her hair, but the Chupacabra was free.
McNeil ran at it, firing blindly with a pistol, but the creature flew away toward her. She raced away as well, fearing that one of McNeil’s wild shots might hit her. She almost ran right into the Chupacabra ass it waited for her. It glared at her.
“I can help you,” she told it. “I’m the one who cut the electricity.”
As she watched, the wound in its chest slowly closed until only a slight pucker remained. Once more, she realized how much she had to gain by allying herself with the creature.
“Our bargain is still in effect if you aide me,” the creature replied.
“You know I will. The others want to kill you.”
The creature coughed. She interpreted it as amusement. “Mere annoyances, but they have trapped me here. You must free me.”
“I will, I will, but first you have to kill Hardin and the others or they will stop me.”
“Their deaths will please me greatly, especially your detective friend’s.”
She would have preferred Hardin to live, not because she loved him but because
he had risked his life when he had thought hers was in danger. However, she knew she was in no position to bargain for his life. As long as he drew a breath, she knew he would try to kill the Chupacabra. That was his nature. The others, she did not care.
“We must use one of the doors at either end of the tunnel and before any help can arrive.”
It looked down the tunnel toward Hardin and the federal agent. “I choose to kill them first. The old man and his companion are no longer a threat. Come.”
Joria fell into step behind the creature, trusting its ability to see in the dark. She stumbled a few times but hurried after it. She had thrown her lot in with its kind over her fellow man. Now, her life depended on it.
29
The echoing sound of gunshots brought me out of my trance. The shots originated far down the tunnel. Had McNeil and his men decided to follow me? Was Joria with them? I hoped not. Only she was aware of the creature’s abilities. The others would be at its mercy. A few minutes later, a horrific scream drifted to me, an almost inhuman sound wrenched in pain from a human throat. Someone had just died. I couldn’t let them all die trying to help me. I began to trot toward them.
More shots followed. At least they were well armed. I almost had a heart attack when the walkie-talkie I had been carrying in my back pocket began to shriek with static. I yanked it out. I could barely hear a voice through the static but couldn’t make out the words. I keyed the mic.
“This is Hardin. Is anyone there?”
I released the key to a flood of static and tried again.
“This is Hardin. Over.”
More static, only stronger this time.
“Damn!” I turned off the useless walkie-talkie and shoved it back in my pocket. For all I knew, I might have damaged it when I fell into the underground river. I kept moving. A sound, like the scuffing of gravel came from somewhere ahead of me. I stopped moving and hugged the shadows. I aimed carefully at a slight movement beyond the lights and slowly squeezed the trigger. I released the trigger gently as I saw the movement was a man, a man I recognized.