by Desiree Holt
“They were both taken in Texas,” he added, “so again, it seems to be the center of activity.”
“I can take care of sending out the request for missing women who fit the description,” Garth told them. “We’re tapped into nearly every database except for the smaller places.”
“Great idea.” Ric nodded his approval.
“Won’t your chief get pissed off?” Dante asked.
Garth gave a humorless chuckle. “He’s got the governor crawling up his ass on this one. He authorized me to work with you all, if I do it discreetly and it helps get the monkeys off his back. That means as long as the media doesn’t get hold of it, he’s good with whatever we do.”
“No guarantees,” Ric warned.
“We’ll have to take some chances,” Garth replied.
“Okay. Randi, give me a few minutes here and I’ll get the photos for you. Meanwhile, everyone else, go over again the information Garth has brought to the table as well as Regan’s notes on her brother’s research. Everything’s plugged into the system so get to it. Somewhere, there has to be a clue we can follow. I hope.”
“Is there any way to put people on their guard, like we tried to do in Maine?” Sophia asked.
Garth shook his head. “We’ve got signs and flyers out, warning people to be on the lookout for any wild game. But if we tried to tell people to be on the lookout for a legendary beast, they’d either laugh or send us to the loony bin.”
“And people are unlikely to listen,” Ric pointed out. “I grew up in an area similar to this. You’ve got everything from coyotes to wild hogs running around so they’re used to weird animals.”
“But this is more than just a ‘weird animal’,” Rebecca put in. “It’s…” She threw up her hands. “It’s a nightmare!”
You got that right, Dante thought. One they all lived every day.
“Most ranchers keep a rifle handy and shoot anything that looks dangerous,” Garth said. “They’re confident they can handle whatever comes along. At least they’ll be armed. I can also post on the Rangers Facebook page. People have gotten in the habit of checking it for news updates. We also send out warnings of danger in any area. Every farm and ranch has someone who checks it daily. We know because we did a labor-intensive survey.”
“It’s been five days since Reed Fortune was killed,” Dante reminded him. “We’ve already lost more time than we can afford. If we’re going to do something, we should do it pretty damn soon.”
“Let’s see if Garth can flex his Texas Ranger muscle and call some of the sheriffs’ departments. Ask them if there have been reports of small animal carcasses discovered. The beast feeds on them in between human kills.”
“I can do that,” Garth said. “In fact, I can start on that tonight. Let me pull up my list from my tablet and get going on it. I’ll post on the Facebook page too.”
Ric played with one of his special keyboards and in a moment, more maps appeared on the screen. Dante studied them then pushed himself out of his chair and walked to the front of the room.
“Let’s all take a look at this map.” He pointed to one that showed the ranches and population centers of Gillespie and Kendall counties. “I know I’m not a native here, just a city boy, but I’ve been running a lot, as you all know. And driving around. I’ve gotten a pretty good visual on the topography of the area.” He began tracing a line across the map.
“We know from past experience it hunts within a defined area,” Ric reminded them.
“It will avoid the population centers,” Dante agreed. “We know that. And I don’t think it will show up in an area like the state park again. So how about Ric and I assign some of you to check the outskirts of the few towns in the counties? See if there are outlying places that would be targets? Isolated farms and ranches too. They’d be excellent hunting grounds.”
“Good idea,” Ric agreed. “We can start on towns and ranches at dawn, then figure out how to cover the rest of the area.”
“We used snowmobiles to cover a lot of the area in northern Maine,” Rebecca reminded them. “But I guess there’s too much space to cover here.”
“And the landscape is divided by pasture fences so we wouldn’t have clear paths,” Ric pointed out.
“Not that people would listen to us anyway,” Sophia said with bitterness. “You remember all the trouble we had in Maine getting people to pay attention.”
“At the moment,” Dante said, “it’s all about identifying hunting grounds and hopefully spotting a trace of the beast. Then we can figure out how to alert people in a way they’ll listen.” He turned to Ric. “How about doing some runs with the helicopter? Maybe we can catch it out in the daylight like we’ve done a couple times before.”
“Sure. Why don’t you figure out which teams you want to send where come morning, Garth can get busy on his calls and emails, and I’ll start plotting some flight paths. I want to get close enough to see if the creature’s hiding in any of the trees or underbrush but not enough to scare the cattle. The ranchers would shoot me.”
“Good. We’ll get started.”
As Dante settled in for a long night of checking maps, he tried to suppress the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach that by morning, they’d be too late.
* * * * *
Harley Shaw was damn glad to see the line shack come into sight. He’d been riding fences all day, stopping when he needed to in order to mend breaks in the barbed wire. They’d be moving some of the cattle into this pasture tomorrow and they couldn’t afford for any of them to get loose. Or worse, get caught on torn wire and injure themselves. Cattle weren’t as smart as some people thought.
He’d stopped earlier near a tiny stream, giving his horse a chance to rest and drink, while he sat beneath a tree and ate his lunch. Most of the hands didn’t like riding fences by themselves but Harley had learned long ago to be comfortable with his own company. He didn’t need to make conversation or laugh at anyone’s bad jokes. He could eat where and when he wanted and work at his own pace. After twenty-five years of ranching, he pretty much had his patterns set.
Now, with the sun getting ready to dip below the horizon, he reached the line shack, where he planned to spend the night. Tina Hammond had packed food for him, the cabin was kept supplied with staples and while the bunk provided wasn’t hotel grade, he’d slept on it before and it more than served his purpose.
He unsaddled his horse and led him into the single-stall structure built specifically to stable one horse overnight. To protect the animal from marauders, it was completely enclosed once the door was shut. Tiny slits near the roof let in fresh air but could be closed in winter.
Harley pulled hay from one of the bales stacked to the side and scattered it on the floor. After filling a bucket with oats and a pan with water, he closed the gate on the stall and was closing the door of the structure when the gelding stamped his feet nervously and whinnied, tossing his head.
“What’s the matter, boy?” Harley asked, opening the door again. “We’ve had a long day. Settle down and rest.”
He started to back out again but the horse continued to move around uneasily. Harley stepped into the single stall and spent a few minutes scratching the animal’s forehead and rubbing his flanks. Finally settled, the horse was quiet when Harley once more closed the stall gate, then the door of the small building.
He made his way to the porch of the shack and stretched—before suddenly pausing to look around. Whatever the hell was making his horse uneasy suddenly tickled his own nerve endings.
Walking the length of the porch, he looked off across the meadow then checked again from the other direction.
Nothing.
Even the breeze had died down.
Doing his best to ignore the sudden itching between his shoulder blades, he entered the cabin and went about preparing supper for himself. He ate it while sitting on the porch, watching the last rays of the day fade away. The gelding once more stamped his hooves in the stall, so Harley spent a few more minutes soothi
ng him before going inside for the night.
Tossing his shirt and jeans onto a chair, he made sure his rifle was loaded and propped it against the wall next to the bed. Crawling beneath the covers, he closed his eyes and within seconds was asleep.
He wasn’t sure what woke him sometime later, but Harley was abruptly jerked into wakefulness.
Then the gelding’s terrified cries split the air, his hooves pounding so hard against the wood of the stable, Harley could hear it inside the shack with the door closed.
And over that sound was an unearthly screech that made the hair on the nape of his neck stand up.
What the fuck?
Nothing could get in there. Harley had made sure of it when he’d stabled the gelding for the night. So what in god’s name was making the horse cause such a commotion? Grabbing his rifle and cocking it, he eased open the front door.
At first all he saw was the pitch-black night, illuminated by a three-quarter moon and diamond-like stars.
Then, before he could even move, a creature leaped onto the porch, an abomination that looked like the spawn of the devil, freezing him in place. In that moment, as he stared at it, Harley knew what real terror was.
As the odor of turpentine overwhelmed him, the creature pounced. Pain worse than anything Harley had ever felt stabbed his throat, and then in seconds he was dead.
Chapter Nine
Dante studied the map of Gillespie and Kendall counties that Ric had enlarged the night before, throwing in the edge of Blanco County for good measure. They had blocked out the dense population centers, concentrating on open ranch spaces and the outskirts of the few towns. Then Dante had marked the open areas into sectors, and this morning, he and Ric were doing their best to prioritize them.
“This won’t be that easy,” he warned. “I don’t think I’ve really taken a good look at the total geography of this area before. Crap, Ric. This state is a feeding trough for the beast. There are ten million places for it to hide and hunt.”
Garth snorted. “Texas is the second largest state in area. Almost two hundred and seventy square miles. That means lots of wide open acreage. Or, as we used to say in poker, aces and spaces. So yeah, a playhouse and feeding ground for the Chupacabra.”
Dante tried to ignore the chill that crept up his spine. The possibilities for devastation were endless. Somehow, someway, they had to make a dent in this.
“Okay.” He turned to Ric. “You’re the pilot. Where do you suggest starting?”
“I think here.” Ric stabbed his finger on the map where Pedernales State Park was, then drew it from Blanco County into Gillespie. “Then across the ranches. I’m calling up a diagram that shows where every single ranch is in these counties, so I’ll fly from the park into Gillespie County to here.” He pointed on the map again. “That’s for a first pass.”
“Okay.” Dante looked at the others. “Let’s divide into teams.”
Mark Guitron spoke up. “I know Chloe will want to go with me, and Dakota with Jonah.”
“Good point. Okay, the rest of you, choose your partners.” He looked at Ben and Randi. “Ric will be up in the helo and will need someone with him using binoculars. How about one of you man command central here and the other fly with Ric?”
“I’ll stay here,” Randi volunteered.
“Good enough. Ben, you’re with Ric then.”
“You don’t want to ride with me?” Ric asked.
Dante shook his head. “I’m going to stick with Regan. We’ll go back toward Wolf Mountain and scout around Johnson City then back this way.” He looked at Regan. “I’m going to assume you know the area pretty well since your brother and Lisa hiked there.”
“I do. He left a detailed map he’d been studying before they left on their hike.”
“That works, then. Ben, you ride copilot with Ric. And take the Hannibal. Are you up for it?”
“I can handle it,” Ben assured him.
“So.” He looked at the others again. “Blanco has two centers of population—the town of Blanco itself and Johnson City, which, as I said, Regan and I will take. Gillespie has Fredericksburg and Harper. Blanco and Harper are barely dots on the map so lots of hunting ground. As always, look for places at the edge of civilization with cover for the beast.”
“Everyone take satellite phones,” Ric reminded them. “You know how bad cell coverage is around here. The ranch number is already programmed in.”
“Let’s do it, folks,” Dante told them. “Pick your spot to check out and get moving.”
* * * * *
Russ Hammond walked into his parents’ kitchen and helped himself to coffee. He pulled out a chair at the table where Dan was just finishing breakfast.
“Harley not back from riding fence?” he asked.
Dan shook his head. “No, come to think of it. He probably stayed at the line shack last night. We keep the place stocked, so it’s comfortable.”
Russ rubbed the back of his neck. “Call me crazy but I’ve got this niggling feeling that something’s wrong.”
“What could be wrong? He’s on the ranch and he’s ridden fence a number of times.”
“I said it’s crazy. And we shouldn’t even be looking for him until later today. But I think I might take a ride up there. It won’t take that long. I may be seeing goblins where there aren’t any but something’s biting my ass.”
“Probably that yappy little dog we haven’t been able to get rid of.” Dan laughed. “By the way, did you see it out there just now?”
“Nope. Not a sight or sound of it.”
“Maybe it found its way home.”
“If it has a home.” Russ sipped from his mug. “Do me a favor. Try to raise him on the radio, will you?”
“Why? Harley’s a big boy. He’s been doing this a long time. He’ll get pissed at me for treating him like a kid.”
“Humor me. If everything’s okay I’ll take the heat from him.”
Dan sighed but picked up the small radio lying near him on the table and thumbed the transmit button. They’d taken to the small handhelds a long time ago, what with cell reception as spotty as it was in the grazing pastures.
“Harley? One of my kids here thinks you can’t wipe your nose by yourself. You need to holler back and get him off my ass.”
He released the button so he could receive and stared at the little piece of equipment, waiting.
After a moment, he tried again. “Harley?” His voice was louder. “Don’t play games with me, you old fool. Come on.”
More silence.
Dan frowned. “This isn’t like him. Harley doesn’t mess around. Let me try him one more time.”
But the third time didn’t prove to be the charm.
Russ pushed away from the table. “I’m telling you, something’s wrong.” He pulled his own radio from his belt. “I’ll give Ron a shout. See where he is and ask if he wants to ride up with me. And I think we’ll take the off-road if it’s okay with you.”
“Have at it,” he said. “Just don’t traumatize the cattle.”
“I’m not sure that’s possible,” Russ joked. Then he sobered. “I’d take my horse but the off-road will get me there faster. And I’ve got an itch that’s telling me it needs scratching right away.”
“Okay. Get your brother then. Radio me when you find Harley. Tell him he needs to do a better job of keeping in contact.”
“Will do.”
As he walked out of the house, Russ was already talking to his brother on the radio, telling him to get his ass to the house right away.
* * * * *
Ever since Night Seekers was established, Craig Stafford had made it a priority to ensure they had the very best equipment in every area. Whatever they needed, he made it available. The latest addition was a two-seater Robinson R22 helicopter that was perfect for what Ric had on his plate today. They still had the Bell 407 but it turned out to be too large for hunting the Chupacabra. For that ride, they needed only the pilot and a spotter with a rifle.
>
He was glad to have Ben Crater in the copilot seat today. The former Marine had seen the devil beast close up, had been through hellfire in Afghanistan, was more than proficient on a number of firearms and kept a cool head. Resting between his knees was a fully loaded A-Square Hannibal .577, a Tyrannosaur that could stop charging rhinos and rogue elephants. Certainly enough stopping power for the Chupacabra. Craig had added it to their arsenal recently. Today would be a good time to try it out.
As Ric flew his first pattern, Ben sat with a pair of Nikon StabilEyes VR binoculars glued to his eyes, scanning the landscape below. Typical Texas scrub formed dense clusters here and there on the open range, the surface broken by hills and by forestation that included oak of many varieties mixed with other species only found in this area. They grew thickly together, providing shade for the cattle as well as the indigenous animals. But they also provided multiple hiding places for the devil beast.
“Nothing yet,” Ben said when they’d completed the first pass from Wolf Mountain into Gillespie County.
Ric banked the helo. “I’ll fly a grid until we cover every inch of this sector, then move to another one.”
“Sounds good to me.”
Ric lined the copter up and began moving over a parallel area, Ben studying the ground below them.
“I’ve got something.”
The words startled Ric. He hadn’t actually expected they’d find anything. Other times they’d gotten lucky, but only after long searches.
“Is it the creature?” he asked. “Where is it?”
“No. But see that line shack down there?” He pointed through the windshield.
Ric shifted his gaze. The log cabin came into view. Next to it was a single-stall stable.
“There’s a body on the porch,” Ben added. “Wait. Holy fuck, Ric! The devil beast got it. Whoever the poor bastard was, he’s torn from stem to stern. Jesus Christ!”
Ric banked the helicopter slightly and moved in, looking for a place to land. To the right, beyond the barbed wire fence that came into view, a massive herd of cattle was moving in a rolling sea of dark brown. And on the porch, just as Ben said, the body of a man who knew what the meaning of hell was.