Cryptid Frontier (Cryptid Zoo Book 7)

by Gerry Griffiths

  CRYPTID FRONTIER

  by

  GERRY GRIFFITHS

  Copyright 2021 by Gerry Griffiths

  www.severedpress.com

  ALSO BY GERRY GRIFFITHS

  DEATH CRAWLERS SERIES

  DEATH CRAWLERS (BOOK 1)

  DEEP IN THE JUNGLE (BOOK 2)

  THE NEXT WORLD (BOOK 3)

  BATTLEGROUND EARTH (BOOK 4)

  CRYPTID ZOO SERIES

  CRYPTID ZOO (BOOK 1)

  CRYPTID COUNTRY (BOOK 2)

  CRYPTID ISLAND (BOOK 3)

  CRYPTID CIRCUS (BOOK 4)

  CRYPTID NATION (BOOK 5)

  CRYPTID KINGDOM (BOOK 6)

  STAND-ALONE NOVELS

  SILURID

  THE BEASTS OF STONECLAD MOUNTAIN

  DOWN FROM BEAST MOUNTAIN

  TERROR MOUNTAIN

  CRYPTID FRONTIER

  (Cryptid Zoo Book 7)

  DEDICATION

  You endured the orphanage,

  Survived the blitz, and came to America

  We miss you Mom

  PART ONE

  BLOOD IN THE SAND

  1

  BROWN BLIZZARD

  Dan Willard watched the low-hanging storm clouds roil across the desert like a billowing prairie fire. He dreaded having to drive in the rain. The rubber on the windshield wiper on the passenger side had become so brittle it had split apart and fallen off leaving only the metal part, which when turned on, scratched the hell out of the glass.

  Mae had been on him to have a new one put on, but like always, Dan chose to procrastinate, always thinking there was plenty of time.

  His neck and back ached from the three-hour drive and there was still another hour before they would reach the Ramada. The first thing he planned on doing once they checked into the motel was to strip out of his sweaty clothes and hop in a cold shower, or if Mae was willing, slip into their bathing suits and jump into the pool to cool down.

  Dan heard Mae clear her throat from the front passenger seat. He turned and saw her eyes flick open.

  “Where are we?” she asked, stretching out her arms and touching the dashboard with her fingertips.

  “Somewhere between here and the middle of nowhere,” Dan replied.

  “You know what I mean.”

  “We’ve got another fifty miles.”

  Mae let out a loud yawn like a waking lioness. She sat forward in her seat to stare out the windshield. “That looks pretty nasty,” she said, referring to the steadily approaching storm front.

  “Hope we get there before it starts,” Dan replied, praying he was right; vowing to get that damn wiper replaced at the first service station they happened upon.

  A bright jag of light shot down from the belly of the dark clouds.

  “Did you see that?” Mae said.

  A boom of thunder followed a few seconds later and the sun was blocked by the clouds. Even though it was late afternoon, it had suddenly turned dark as if they had just driven into a tunnel.

  Dan hit the button on the armrest and lowered his window a couple of inches. He could hear static electricity crackling in the howling wind. Too bad, he was looking forward to that swim in the pool. He put the window back up.

  “Sounds like a thunderstorm. Jesus, it better not be a deluge,” Dan said. “It rains too hard we could get caught in a flash flood.”

  “Better not.” Mae plucked her harness strap away from her chest so she could lean forward and look out her side of the windshield. “I don’t believe it. You never fixed that wiper.”

  “Hey, I said I would. Next chance we—” but Dan never finished his sentence when a fat raindrop plopped on the glass directly in front of him. Then another raindrop struck the windshield, and then within the blink of an eye, the sky unleashed barrelfuls of metal-pounding rain, the steady barrage ricocheting off the car’s hood and roof.

  “Oh my God,” Mae shouted. “It’s really coming down.”

  Dan switched on the wipers. The rubber blade cleared a crescent path in front of his face while the other wiper on Mae’s side scraped the glass annoyingly like Freddie Kruger dragging his gloved knife-like fingers along the basement pipes.

  Another bright flash of lightning and Mae let out a surprised yelp.

  Dan turned the end of the turn signal lever to increase the speed on the wipers.

  It did little to improve his visibility. The road ahead was still a blur, and if that wasn’t discouraging enough, he had to deal with the maddening screech of the bare wiper blade repeatedly gouging the windshield.

  A loud horn sounded behind them and Dan nearly jumped out of his seat. “What the hell!” He glanced at the review mirror. All he could see was a massive front grill and bumper. “Get off my ass!” Dan screamed.

  Mae turned in her seat and looked out the rear window of their RAV4. “Oh my God, Dan, he’s going to run us off the road. Pull over, pull over,” Mae yelled.

  “How? I can’t see a thing!” Dan could hear the rumbling of the monstrous diesel engine bearing down on them. It reminded him of the Steven Spielberg movie Duel when the oil tanker truck was trying to run the Dennis Weaver character off the road.

  The driver behind them sounded his horn again, giving it a couple of sharp blasts.

  Dan glanced over his shoulder. “Back off, you son of a bitch!” He turned and gazed out over the top of the steering wheel and couldn’t see shit. It was like driving through heavy sprinklers in a carwash. He looked over and saw Mae hunkered down in her seat with her hands clapped over her ears. He had never seen her so scared.

  Dan heard the powerful roar of the engine. He looked at his side mirror and saw the front of the big rig in the opposing lane, coming up alongside. He could feel their car being buffeted by the humongous vehicle. He gripped the steering wheel so hard to steady the RAV4 he was afraid he might rip it clear off the column.

  As the tractor cab and the trailer in tow passed, the eighteen-wheeler’s tires splashed water onto the front of the RAV4 making it impossible for Dan to see.

  Dan eased his foot off the accelerator when the big rig’s trailer whipped into the lane in front of them. To his relief, the rain let up and seconds later, ceased all together.

  “Thank God,” Mae said.

  Even though the rain had stopped, the dark clouds were still present but they seemed to be moving in a westerly direction away from where Dan and Mae were headed.

  Dan watched the rear of the big rig get smaller and smaller as it raced down the road. “Did you get the number off the back of his truck?”

  “What number?”

  “The one that says ‘How’s my driving?’”

  “No, but I wish I had. He sure was in a damn hurry,” Mae said. “I wonder why?”

  Dan turned off the wipers. An inverted U-shape was carved permanently in the windshield on Mae’s side. Not only was he going to have to replace the stupid wiper blade but now he was going to have to fork out a couple hundred bucks to replace the glass before it cracked from the heat or some trooper pulled them over and gave him a fix-it ticket. He had to admit this vacation was slowly eating away at his wallet.

  He glanced in his side mirror to make sure no other big trucks were sneaking up on them and saw a bronze curtain looming behind them. “What is that?”

  Mae turned around in her seat to look at the road behind them. “Oh my God, Dan. It that a dust storm?”

  It looked like a giant coffee-colored tidal wave and it was moving fast. It had to be almost a mile high and as wide as the eye could see.

  “Shit!” Dan said. He thought he might be able to outrun the brown blizzard and stomped on the gas pedal. He watched the needle on the speedometer creep up to
65 then 70. He pushed the speed up to 80. The steering wheel shook in his grip and he could feel the front end of the utility vehicle begin to shimmy, so he reduced his speed back down to 70 but it wasn’t fast enough to stay ahead of the swirling storm.

  He heard what sounded like light hail hitting the back window then quickly realized it was sandblasting dust striking the car. Dan could see the tiny grains pitting the glass. He could only imagine what the devastating grit was doing to the RAV4’s paintjob.

  “Dan, stop, get off the road! You can’t see a thing!” Mae shouted.

  “I would if I knew where ‘off the road’ was,” Dan yelled back. He knew she was right and slowed down. He edged gradually over to where he believed was the shoulder and slowed to a near stop.

  The front of the RAV4 took a sudden dip. Dan knew he had screwed up and put the car into a ditch. Thankfully the impact wasn’t enough to trigger the airbags.

  “Are you okay?” Dan asked.

  “Yeah,” Mae replied, the fingers of her right hand clutching her shoulder strap.

  Dan put the gearshift in reverse and tried to back up but the tires couldn’t get traction in the loose sand so he turned off the engine.

  The wind howled like a freight train barreling through a tunnel.

  “It’s no use,” Dan said, slamming the top of the steering wheel.

  “What are we going to do?” Mae said.

  “Guess we’ll have to wait it out.” Dan unsnapped his seatbelt. He slid forward slightly due to the angle and grabbed the steering wheel to stop himself. The gale shook the car and rattled the side windows. Dan reached up and turned on the dome light. He looked outside and could see sand drifts building up all around the car.

  “Oh my God, Dan. What if we’re buried alive? Who’s going to find us?”

  “There’s a shovel in the back with our camping stuff. I can always dig us out.”

  “Not if we suffocate first,” Mae said.

  “Will you quit with the doom and gloom? We’ll be fine.”

  Mae began to cry.

  “Hey,” Dan said, and put his hand on her shoulder. “The storm will be over before you know it. Relax. We’ll be okay. Of course the car’s a total mess,” he said with a laugh which put a sheepish grin on Mae’s face.

  Dan checked his digital wristwatch. It was 8:19. “It should be getting dark by now.”

  “Please don’t tell me we’re going to have to stay cooped up in the car all night.”

  “Once the storm passes, I’ll get us out and we can try calling someone.”

  The sandstorm raged for another twenty minutes.

  Everything went dead quiet.

  “What now?” Mae asked.

  Dan took a moment to assess the situation. The sand had piled up on both sides of the car. There was no telling how deep it was. He didn’t want to risk lowering his window and the car filling up with sand.

  He glanced over his shoulder and saw a patch of night sky through the rear window. “We can crawl out the back.” He pushed the Start button and ran the engine long enough to lower the rear window then shut it down.

  A layer of sand maybe six inches thick had poured in, covering some of their gear in the cargo hold.

  Dan looked at Mae. “Do you want to go first?”

  “Yes. I’m getting claustrophobic. I feel like I’m trapped in a coffin.”

  “All right,” Dan said. “Go ahead.”

  Mae undid her seatbelt. She turned her body, stretched her leg over the console, and squeezed between the front bucket seats. Kneeling on the rear seat, she pulled herself over and sprawled on top of the sand-covered luggage and camping equipment.

  “Careful when you climb out,” Dan said. “You don’t know what might be out there.”

  Mae glanced back. “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. Predators that come out at night.”

  “Maybe you should go out first.”

  “Fine. Move over and make room so I can get by you.” Dan was struggling to turn around and fit between the bucket seats when Mae screamed.

  Something had reached in, grabbed her by the hair, and dragged her out the rear window. Dan had never heard her scream so loud in his life.

  “Mae!” Dan lunged across the rear seat. He heard a menacing growl and the sharp clack of teeth snapping together. A sudden wave of fear chilled him to the bone when a spurt of warm blood splashed in his face and Mae stopped screaming.

  Before he could call out to his wife, a monstrous beast burst into the car, and with one savage swipe of its razor-sharp claws, slashed open Dan’s throat.

  2

  DESERT VIEW

  Ben Lobo put on his short sleeve khaki shirt with the black flaps over the breast pockets. He did up all the buttons except for the top one to reveal the neck of his white tee, and tucked his shirt into his dark brown trousers. He sat in the chair by the foot of the bed and pulled on a pair of black cowboy boots.

  He stood and went over to the bureau where he had his gear laid out on the dresser top. After clipping his microphone to his shoulder lapel that was attached to a two-way radio, Ben strapped on the duty belt that also held a pair of heavy duty double lock handcuffs, a dozen tensile strength zip ties, a small canister of police grade pepper spray, a Maglite flashlight, an expandable carbon steel baton, his holstered 10-millimeter Glock 29 and two 10-round capacity magazine clips.

  After a quick inspection in the dresser mirror, Ben slipped his green ball cap with the word Sheriff in bold yellow letters over his buzz cut and tucked his sunglasses into his breast pocket.

  Stepping out of the bedroom, he strolled down the long corridor that was almost blinding from the morning sun shining through the floor-to-ceiling windows that extended around most of the house offering breathtaking views from high atop the bluff looking down at the desert vistas below. Even though it was miles to the nearest neighbor, Ben often felt like he was on display in an aquarium, especially at night when the house was brightly lit up.

  He peeked inside Vera’s studio, most of the floor covered with paint-splattered canvas tarps, but she wasn’t in the room. Her camera equipment was on a table by the window, next to a business office copy machine.

  Five easels were set up with partially completed canvases, his wife often working on more than one painting at a time, her process of channeling her creativity, but mostly a way to multitask and speed up production. Eight-by-ten photographs were propped on the trays at the base of four canvases for her to use as her medium source though she preferred going on location and painting real landscapes. A blank canvas was in the corner of the room, no doubt for one of Vera’s special projects.

  His favorite coffee mug was waiting for him on the Keurig; New Mexico’s motto, “Grows as it goes” stenciled on the porcelain along with the red sun symbol of old Spain on a field of yellow. He pushed the blue button and waited for the strong brew to fill up his cup.

  Leaving the kitchen, Ben strolled through the open living room with decorative pots of Native American Navajo pottery placed about the perimeter. Handcrafted tapestry rugs covered portions of the mahogany hardwood flooring and maize designs gave the place an authentic ambiance. A round hearth fireplace was situated in the center of the room. On a single wall that ran the width of the house were over twenty of Vera’s paintings of picturesque desert landscapes.

  Ben strolled past the large sectional couch and matching leather chairs facing the glass panel windows. He opened the sliding glass door, stepped out on the deck cantilevered out from the rocky cliff, and went over to stand by the railing. The morning sun was an orange beacon radiating over the sprawling desert basin below.

  He turned and saw his wife sitting on a stool behind a tall easel with a new canvas she was beginning to work on. A small table was beside her with cans of brushes and tubes of various colors of paint. She held an artist palette in one hand and mixed some blue, red, and white together with the tip of her brush, applying them to the canvas in broad strokes for the sky.


  “Quite the million dollar view,” Vera said.

  “You think?” Ben took his sunglasses out of his shirt pocket and slipped them on so as not to burn out his retinas, which made the dawn sky look even more majestic. He glanced over at Vera. In the time he had been standing there, she had nearly completed the top of the canvas. She was nothing short of amazing and would have delighted Bob Ross. Once Ben had watched her complete a 30- by 40-inch canvas of a mountain lake scene in less than twenty minutes.

  Vera’s artwork was in every major New Mexico gallery throughout the state and she had put on numerous exhibits in New York City. Chances are whenever a person walked into a bank or a business lobby in New Mexico one of Vera’s paintings would be hanging on the wall or be displayed on a TV monitor slideshow.

  Even though he knew he should be proud of her, it was sometimes difficult knowing that the house they were living in had been bought and paid for, not by Ben’s meager salary as sheriff of Yucca Basin, but by what he often referred to in a joking fashion as her ‘trifling little hobby.’

  “I think I’ll take my time with this one,” Vera said, though she was almost halfway done.

  “Yeah? How much do you plan to get for it?”

  “Bernie already has buyers lined up. We can sell this for five thousand easy with my brand,” Vera said, speaking of her popularity and her agent that peddled all of her work for a nice fat commission. Personally, Ben thought the guy was a sleaze and was taking advantage of her.

  “Sheriff? Are you there?” a female voice crackled on Ben’s mike strapped on his shoulder. It was Ben’s deputy, Roxy Nez.

  Ben reached up and pressed the talk button. “Ben here.”

  “I have an 11-24 twenty miles out of town on highway 9.”

  Ben noticed Vera still staring at him. “She found an abandoned car,” Ben said, then pushed his talk button. “Go ahead dispatch 11-85,” telling Roxy to call for a tow truck.

  “You need to come and see this,” Roxy said.