James Axler - Deathlands 43 - Dark Emblem

by Dark E

  "That flower is the Maltese cross, named because the petals of its flowers have the shape of the cross. You can see them if you look closely," the man noted.

  "Hot pipe! He's right, Dad! Check it out!" Dean said excitedly, pointing at the flower.

  "Thanks for the tip," Ryan said, turning to go. But the man wasn't to be put off so easily.

  "My name is Soto," he called out. "Might I ask who you are?"

  Ryan turned back and made quick introductions. "Ryan Cawdor. Krysty Wroth. My boy, Dean. We're staying at El Mono."

  Soto made a show of appearing impressed, whistling softly before speaking. "That explains much. We don't see newcomers around here very often...at least, not human newcomers."

  Ryan and Krysty both wondered what the man meant by such an odd statement, but didn't inquire further.

  "We get around a lot. We tend not to stay in one locale for very long."

  Soto nodded sagely. "Ah. That explains your weapons."

  Ryan had already dropped a hand to rest lightly on the butt of the SIG-Sauer. "Man has to be armed and ready to defend himself."

  Soto nodded enthusiastically. "Oh, I agree. It's just in Old San Juan, we rarely have need of such means of self-defense, at least, we had no need until recently."

  The one-eyed man frowned. "That's twice you've dropped some kind of hint. If something's on your mind, say it."

  Soto waved a hand, batting at the air in a submis- sive motion. "Please, don't get upset. I have no wish to cause trouble for you or your family. Why don't I come down where we can speak more privately?"

  "You alone?"

  "Yes."

  "Okay, we'll wait."

  Soto leaned out through the window and pointed with his left hand to the side of the building. "If you open the gate and go around the side, you'll see a garden. I'll be coming down the back stairs."

  The garden along the wall was overflowing with flowering plants and ornamental bushes-hibiscus, gardenia, bougainvillea, jasmine, oleander, golden trumpet, cup of gold, and the queen-of-the-night, so called because its pale fragrant blossoms open only after dark. Flaming red poinsettias sixteen feet tall were growing wild at the edge where the ground met the concrete of the partition.

  "Gaia, but this land is beautiful," Krysty said, sighing.

  "Thank you," Soto replied as he stepped gingerly down the steps. He wore a white shirt, sandals on wide, flat feet, and near-white blue jeans. A pair of binoculars dangled from his neck. There was no visible blaster on his hip, although a large knife hung from his belt in a leather sheath. The straw hat was perched at an angle on his head.

  "You wanted to talk?" Ryan asked, as blunt as always.

  "I did, Mr. Cawdor. There is a darkness here in Old San Juan an outsider such as yourself might be able to help eliminate. A man with blasters and experience."

  "Experience?" Krysty repeated.

  Soto clarified. "In dangerous affairs."

  "Guess you could say that," Ryan said. "Just so you know, I'm not a mercie or sec man. I don't kill for profit."

  "That is good since I have no currency to pay you with. What I can offer is food and drink and a story."

  Ryan glanced at his wristchron. He'd reset the timepiece for local time that morning before leaving El Morro. It was high noon. "Reckon we can spare a moment to hear you out and break your bread."

  ' 'Good! Now, come, come. A cafe is not far from here."

  THE CAFfi WAS SMALL and intimate, open at the front to allow natural lighting, yet still sheltered enough to provide shade from the blistering heat. When Ryan had spoken of "breaking bread," he hadn't realized how accurate his statement would prove to be, since lunch was indeed hunks of freshly baked bread with sweet-tasting sides of butter for flavoring. A bowl of fruit was placed next to the platter of bread, and all were given water to drink.

  They had been joined by another man whom Soto had introduced as Jorge, and the two made an interesting contrast. Where Soto was plump and compact, Jorge was tall and muscular. Where Soto's clothing was heavily worn and drenched in sweat, Jorge was bare-chested and wore a pair of clean nylon swimming trunks.

  The taller man didn't share in his friend's efforts to be friendly, and he gazed across the table with open distrust. When first introduced, there had been multiple exchanges of Spanish, some heated, before Soto had turned with his usual smile and asked them to sit.

  "There a problem?"

  "No," Jorge replied. "Not yet."

  "Your food, it's good?" Soto interjected.

  "Yeah," Ryan said, chewing on a piece of the blackened bread. "Good."

  "Probably not as fine as the fare you've been dining on in El Morro," Jorge said with a sneer.

  "No, it's not," Ryan answered. "But bread is bread."

  "You said something about a story?" Krysty asked in an attempt to clear the air.

  "I did," Soto said, wiping crumbs from his chin. "There is a creature who appeared here in Puerto Rico many years ago before the final war, the conflict that destroyed the world. First found with bloodstained teeth crouched at the side of a goat, the creature was quickly dubbed El Chupacabras-the goatsucker-since the poor animal the demon had killed was completely drained of blood."

  "You don't say," Ryan replied, breaking off another hunk of the bread.

  "The name of goatsucker soon proved to be misleading, since other carcasses began piling up in this region of the island. Sheep, cattle, horses, rabbits, cats, dogs, chickens, and many other recently killed animals were discovered daily for weeks afterward, and all of them shared the same symptoms of attack. Each dead animal had small wounds, punctures through which all of the blood had been sucked out.''

  "Wow!" Dean interjected. "Sounds like a horror vid I once saw."

  "So, your goatsucker was some kind of predator. That was dozens of years ago. What's it got to do with the here and now?"

  "El Chupacabras was no ordinary predator, Sefior Cawdor. Here, I have a drawing."

  Soto stood and took a leather pouch from one of his pockets. Unfastening the pouch, he removed a folded sheet of paper and handed it to Ryan. The one-eyed man unfolded the sheet, revealing a detailed drawing of a frightening-looking beast standing on a pair of muscular hind legs. Covered in coarse black hair, the chupacabras had a series of sharp spines running up its back. Clawed "hands" were at the ends of stubby arms, and under the arms were bat wings.

  In the drawing the creature faced outward, showing an oval-shaped head with a long jaw and pointed chin. Huge eyes stretching across the upper half of its forehead rested above two tiny nasal slits. A mouth of jagged fangs was hissing a silent warning.

  "Damn, looks like some kind of mutie," Ryan said in a soft tone, speaking more to Krysty and Dean than the two Puerto Ricans at the table.

  "No such animal has ever existed in nature, my friend," Soto said.

  "So, what's the problem?" Dean asked. "If this thing was running around more than a hundred years ago, how can Dad help you out?"

  ' 'Got a triple-bad feeling El Chupacabras is back, Dean," Ryan told his son, before turning to Soto and Jorge.

  "That's why you're telling me all this, right?"

  "Yes," Jorge said. "El Chupacabras is back, only he is no longer content to kill our animals. Now, he kills our women, our men and our children."

  "You called it a 'mutie.' I know of mutants. Do you think El Chupacabras was created by man, Senor Cawdor?" Soto asked.

  Ryan nodded, sipping at the mug of cool water. "I do."

  "Why? You have now seen a picture of the beast. Do you not agree it looks as though it is the spawn of hell?"

  Ryan scratched the stubble on his chin while pondering an answer. "First, all I've seen is a drawing. And yeah, it's butt-ugly, but I think we can leave the red-faced bastard with the pitchfork and pointed ears out of the game, Soto. I've seen this kind of shit before. Screamwings. Stickies. Dwellers. Swampies. All kinds of muties, some of them humanoid and others throwbacks to a world before man ever came crawling out of the
muck. Back in Deathlands, we brought hell down on ourselves. From what I've learned in recent years, we're the ones responsible for most of the horrors that now walk, crawl and slither on the surface of this mudball."

  Soto looked at Ryan with a thoughtful expression. "The world has always been a most dangerous place, Senor."

  "Mebbe," Ryan agreed, wiping the sweat from under his chin. "Wish Mildred was here, she'd probably be doing a better job of explaining about mutations."

  "Is there more than one?" Krysty asked.

  "Oh yes," Jorge answered, and then shrugged. "Ten? Twenty? One hundred? I have no way of knowing for sure how many. I would say the number is low due to the rarity of earlier sightings here, but now it must be growing, since the attacks have increased. Little is left in the way of livestock, so they have gone the extra step of killing men for the needed blood. Seventeen of us are dead so far. A little girl was attacked and drained just a few days ago."

  "I would hope the number of El Chupacabras is low. A few of us here have seen them, but I must wonder at the truth of what witnesses have said," Soto mused.

  "You think they're lying?" Ryan asked.

  "No, they have indeed seen something, but stories conflict. The truths do not match. One young boy said the two chupacabras he saw were floating in the air in total silence. The spines along their backs were vibrating at incredible speeds, and all of the colors of the rainbow were generated in an aura around their bodies, which in turn caused him to blank and fall unconscious."

  "Triple crazy," Dean commented.

  "So why haven't your men gone and killed the things? Don't you have a group of sec men to enforce the peace?"

  "There is no government or police force here. People are trying to survive the best way they know how, and we do so together. All is shared," Soto said.

  "But there are few willing to fight what many think to be a creature from hell, Sefior Cawdor. I and Soto are the only two who will take up weapons," Jorge said. "But we have little experience in such affairs."

  "And you think I do?"

  "Yes."

  "And all I have to base my decision on to help out is a yarn about a blood-sucking demon and a pencil drawing of an overgrown bat. Not much to go on."

  "Lover," Krysty interjected, "can I talk to you alone?"

  Ryan stood and Krysty followed. "We'll be right back," he said.

  Dean sat alone at the table with the two Puerto Rican men. "You guys ever hear of a game called Cootie?" he asked.

  Outside the cafe, in the blinding hot sun, Krysty took Ryan's hand and squeezed it, pulling him along to a patch of shade beside the brick exterior.

  "Sounds wild, doesn't it?" she said.

  "Not really. Compared to the shit we're used to wading into back in Deathlands, a vampire goat demon is tame," Ryan replied. "They could be wrong, you know. Old folktales dreamed up to explain a rash of deaths."

  "Yeah, but there's something in the telling. I don't think these guys are lying. Whatever this chupaca-bras is, it has them scared," she said.

  "Guess Puerto Rico isn't such an island paradise after all."

  "Guess not. You going to help them?"

  "Mebbe. I want to get J.B.'s and Mildred's input on this. Doc's and Jak's too."

  ' 'I say we should try and do what we can, within reason," Krysty said.

  "Why? Nothing in it for us. Could be an easy way of getting chilled, chasing around an angry bloodsucker."

  "He mentioned children, Ryan," Krysty said firmly. "I won't have dead children on my conscience."

  Chapter Ten

  By the time Ryan, Krysty and Dean returned to the fortress, night had fallen. Retiring to their quarters after yet another spectacular meal courtesy of Ja-maisvous, Ryan explained to the others about the encounter with Soto and Jorge. All agreed to return to the streets of Old San Juan the next day, even Doc, who had been told earlier by Jamaisvous that his assistance in the mat-trans chamber wouldn't be needed for the next twenty-four hours.

  They had arrived to find Soto and Jorge at the site of their first meeting in the two-story building with the beautiful back garden, where the story of El Chu-pacabras was told again. Now, even more questions were being asked, not only about murderous mutants that struck in the night, but also regarding Dr. Silas Jamaisvous.

  "When Jamaisvous showed up, how did he end up staying in the fortress?"

  "Us locals, we had no interest in staying there. A cold and drafty fort made of stone held little or no appeal. Only after the doctor arrived and figured out how to reactivate the electricity did El Morro live again. It is said he has unlimited power at his fin- gertips. One would wish him to share his bounty, but he keeps all electrical energy within his own walls."

  "It's a wonder he hasn't been chilled."

  "A few hold grudges. This is why he employs guards. One or the other of them is always at his side. Some men and women who have grown close to the doctor have entered the fortress and never been seen in San Juan again."

  "Almost like he's some kind of slave owner or overseer. Surprised you put up with it."

  "Puerto Rico has a history of being...overseen, Senor Ryan."

  "Going back to these chupacabras. Why the need for blood?" Mildred mused.

  "Mebbe they're some kind of offshoot of the Cornelius family," Ryan suggested, referring to a bizarre sect of scientifically created "vampires" the group had encountered in the Bayou country south of Lafayette. "They supposedly needed the specific DNA in human blood to survive, at least, that's what they told us. I never did quite get a good understanding of what drove their engines."

  "The concept of ingesting DNA through human blood to survive is ridiculous," Mildred said. "And I agree with you, Ryan, there was more going on with those poor bastards than met the eye. If I'd had more time and inclination, I might have figured out what drove them after human blood so relentlessly. I don't think it was just biological. I think they got some sick thrill out of playing vampire."

  ' 'While I scoff at the notion, one can find an his- torical precedent within a supernatural context," Doc said in a tone of authority, his voice strong even as he wiped at his overheated brow with his kerchief.

  Mildred rolled her eyes. "This I got to hear."

  Doc frowned, hefting his swordstick and pointing the tip at the dubious Mildred. "You should cease and desist with the eye-popping and lip-smacking. Such overblown exaggerated movements, Dr. Wyeth, make you look foolish, not I. Right now, you put me in the mind of a poor pickaninny forced to perform in the confines of an old minstrel show. I half expect you to break into an arm-swinging tap dance in hopes of being thrown a penny."

  J.B. snickered before reassuming his usual poker face. "That tears it! I like you better when you're a moron," Mildred said tiredly. "I'm amazed to hear myself saying this, but you're less annoying when you don't have a brain in your head!"

  "Come on, now, what's got into you, Millie?" J.B. said, reaching out a hand to lightly brush the back of Mildred's plaited hair. "Ease up."

  The physician was having no soothing from her man, and she spun on one heel to make an exit away from the men and into the house. "Supposedly people are dying while we talk about evil spirits and freaks in vampire capes. I don't have to stand around listening to this garbage. If I want to hear this crap, I can pull out an endless supply of moldy old Stephen King novels."

  "Go ahead, Doc," Ryan said, sitting on one of the deep windowsills in the outer wall of the home.

  The older man stuck a hand in one of the pockets of his coat and held the left lapel with his other, assuming a more formal stance before picking up the threads of his tale. "Blood, Ryan Cawdor, is the crimson elixir of the gods and their followers. The mortal blood of man has always been a liquid offering of significant value and importance to those who watch us from above...or below."

  "The gods have abandoned us, Doc Tanner," Jorge whispered. "That is one answer."

  "I don't believe that, and neither should you," Krysty said.

  Jorg
e drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. "Six months ago, a man riding a bicycle came upon a single chupacabras at the side of a road. Fearing for his life, he pulled a blaster-a 6-shot revolver- and fired at the monster. Six shots were unleashed, and the monster was not harmed."

  "Mebbe he missed," Ryan suggested.

  Jorge gave him an annoyed look, then refigured his handsome face into a wan smile. "At a distance of less than twenty feet, I can assure you I did not miss, Senor Cawdor."

  "Okay, fair enough. What I don't understand is why you haven't done anything about these muties sooner?" J.B. asked.