Cryptid Frontier (Cryptid Zoo Book 7)

by Gerry Griffiths

  Another flying chupacabra flung its body at the side panel of the Jeep. Soon there was a flock of them, battering the outside of the vehicle like a mass of lost migratory birds flying blindly into a cliff wall.

  Vera put her hands over her head, expecting at any moment for the creatures to break through the glass. “What do we do?”

  Ben kept flashing his light into their faces; each time getting the same reaction. They were definitely creatures of the night and hated bright light. “Did you bring a flashlight?”

  “Yeah.”

  “They must be nocturnal. Probably don’t like sunlight. We could use our flashlights to scare them back while we make it to the Tahoe.”

  “You really think that’s going to work?”

  Ben figured there had to be twenty or more out there. Surely they wouldn’t be able to blind all of them. They needed something really bright. He looked over his shoulder at the back seat and saw Vera’s paint supplies. “What if we can make a torch?”

  While Vera grabbed her sweatshirt, Ben reached back and snapped a leg off the easel. He used the sleeves and tied the sweatshirt around the shank of wood. “Did you bring any paint thinner?”

  “Yes, right here.” Vera found a pint can of solvent.

  “Good. Now pour some on. Try not to breathe it in,” Ben instructed.

  Vera saturated the sweatshirt with the mineral spirits. The cab began to smell like the interior of an automotive paint shop. She reached in the glove compartment and took out a box of survivor matches.

  “These matches are the kind that don’t go out even if you dunk them in water,” Ben said. “Which gives me an idea.”

  He took a match out of the box. It was storm-proof and thicker than a no. 2 pencil. Once lit, the flame was impossible to put out and would burn for 15 seconds. “Grab me a paint tube and we’ll insert the match, make our own version of a Molotov cocktail.”

  Vera reached behind the seat and handed Ben a tube of paint.

  Ben removed the cap, and inserted the long match into the tube. He ran the striker across the head of the match, rolled down the glass, and lobbed the fiery tube out the window.

  The improvised Molotov cocktail landed on the ground and burned ineffectively like a road flare about to go out.

  “That was a dud,” Vera said.

  “The hell with it. Let’s go!” Ben opened the door and lit the torch. The sweatshirt made a poof when it ignited. He jumped out, waited for Vera, and they climbed up the loose rock, Ben holding the torch up high like a primitive explorer.

  When they got to the Tahoe, Ben threw the torch on the ground and they got safely inside. He started the engine and looked over at Vera. “You okay?”

  “I am now.” She reached over and squeezed his hand.

  “Wait a second,” Ben said, suddenly realizing something. “Weren’t you out here to paint something? What happened to it?”

  “I’m afraid my golden opportunity upped and flew away,” Vera said.

  35

  THE HEALING ROOM

  Camilla rushed up the porch steps and opened the front door for Miguel so he could carry Maria inside the house.

  “Where to?” Miguel asked, stepping into the living room.

  “In the back,” Camilla said. She led the way down the hall. She opened a door and switched on a hanging glass lamp to a backroom that once was a bedroom but was now converted to a parlor. Camilla pointed to a divan covered with Navajo blankets. “Put her there.”

  Miguel stepped over and lay Maria on the couch. His wife was unconscious and wore a bandage that Camilla had ripped from her skirt and wrapped around the top of Maria’s head. He turned and saw Sophia weeping in the doorway.

  “Papa, is Momma going to wake up?”

  Miguel came over and hugged Sophia. “Everything’s going to be fine.” He watched his mother go about the room, lighting candles and sticks of incense.

  A round table and four wooden chairs were set up in the middle of the room like one would expect to see used by a fortuneteller or for a small gathering for a séance.

  The walls were covered with dreamcatchers made of feathers and beads, a few oil paintings of warrior braves on horseback, leather tack, some Native American arrows and bows, and wooden masks painted with scary faces. Next to the burning candles on the shelves were pottery bowls used for grinding herbs and an assortment of Pueblo flageolets and rawhide drums.

  Miguel felt something brush by his leg. He looked down and saw Astuto scamper into the room. He was carrying a mug, the contents sloshing over the rim.

  “Careful there,” Camilla said.

  Astuto handed her the cup.

  “What is that?” Sophia asked. “A magic potion?”

  “No, child. It’s water.” Camilla knelt beside Maria and raised her head. She poured a little water over Maria’s lips.

  “What can we do?” Miguel asked.

  “Right now? It is best you wait outside. Let me heal her.”

  “Please don’t let her...” but then Miguel clammed up, not wanting to further upset Sophia or insult his mother by suggesting her shaman powers might fail. He placed his hand on Sophia’s shoulder. “Let’s do as Abuela says. We should check on the animals.”

  “Okay,” Sophia replied in a low voice.

  As they walked toward the living room, Miguel glanced over his shoulder and saw the small troll push the door closed.

  Passing through the house, Miguel could hear his mother chanting in the back room. He opened the front door and let Sophia go out first.

  That’s when they heard the goats cry out.

  “Papa, what is it?”

  “I don’t believe it. They must have followed us.”

  36

  SKINWALKER

  Ben dimmed the headlights and switched off the rooftop halogens when he saw their driveway up ahead. He glanced over at Vera. She seemed less frazzled since their terrifying ordeal with the chupacabras.

  “Tomorrow I’ll see about getting the Jeep towed,” Ben said, turning down the driveway.

  “You really think they’ll be able—BEN, LOOK OUT!”

  A large animal darted out in front of the Tahoe.

  Ben slammed on the brakes. He turned to see where it went but it vanished into the dark. “What was it? A mule deer?”

  “I don’t think so. It was running on two legs,” Vera said.

  “Are you sure?”

  “I know what I saw.”

  Ben stared out the window expecting whatever it was to reappear but it didn’t. He put his foot back on the accelerator and drove slowly to the front of the garage. He pressed the remote on the visor, raising the garage door.

  They got out of the Tahoe, entered through the garage, and went inside the house.

  “I could use a drink,” Vera said as they came into the living room.

  “I’ll make us both one,” Ben said. “Let me check if there are any messages on the machine. I was supposed to meet Monroe at his office.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Macy Brown was murdered.”

  “My God,” Vera said. “That’s terrible. What happened?”

  “She was attacked at work. We think it might have been a large predator. I should give him a call and reschedule for tomorrow.” Ben walked over to the kitchen counter. He picked up the phone and punched in the coroner’s number.

  Vera walked over and opened the sliding glass door.

  “What are you doing?” Ben asked.

  “I left some things out on the deck.”

  “Maybe you should wait,” Ben warned, but she had already stepped out on to the deck, triggering the automatic security lights. Monroe’s voicemail came on asking the caller to leave a message. Ben made it short.

  Vera came back inside carrying a can of paintbrushes and a half-finished canvas of a sunrise in progress. She put everything on the coffee table.

  “Better close the door,” Ben said, placing the phone back on the dock.

  Just then a bright lig
ht shined into the room.

  “Looks like we have a visitor,” Vera said, stepping into the kitchen and looking out the window at the headlights coming down the driveway.

  “Who is it?” Ben asked.

  “It’s your deputy. What’s she doing here?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Vera turned.

  A wolf-like creature covered in dark fur was in the open doorway. It stood upright and was six feet tall, the lower parts of the hind legs reversed like the stifle and hock on a canine. Black marble eyes, ears perked high on the sides of its enormous head, staring at them with a permanent sneer so as to show off its long pointy fangs and a mouthful of savage teeth on its protruded snout. It had broad shoulders, a massive chest, and muscular arms. Sharp claws extended from the front paws like menacing kitchen knives.

  And that’s when Vera screamed.

  * * *

  Roxy pulled up to the Lobo’s home. She shut off the Mustang’s engine and turned off the lights. After her blowout with Ethan, she had swung by the Coroner’s Office thinking Ben was going to meet her there but he never showed up. Monroe had done a visual evaluation of Macy Brown’s body with the actual autopsy planned for tomorrow morning but wanted to share his notes with Ben and had asked Roxy if she would give Ben a copy.

  She grabbed the one-page preliminary report and got out of the cruiser. She went up to the front door and was about to ring the bell when she heard a woman scream inside like she was auditioning for a horror film.

  Instead of trying to kick in the front door, Roxy drew her weapon and dashed down the wraparound deck to the back.

  She stepped into the house and saw Vera standing in the kitchen, her back against the refrigerator; Ben with his service revolver drawn, in the middle of the living room, five feet away from a wolf-like beast standing on its hind legs.

  “What the hell is it?” Vera gasped.

  “I don’t know.” Ben cocked his weapon.

  “Don’t shoot,” Roxy said.

  The creature turned when it heard her voice.

  “What do you mean don’t shoot?” Ben said.

  “You can’t kill it,” Roxy replied.

  “Are you serious?” Vera said.

  The beast looked back at Ben. It flashed its fangs, a guttural growl rumbling in its chest.

  “Not with lead bullets,” Roxy said.

  “What?” Vera asked.

  “It’s a Nagual,” Roxy said, further clarifying by saying, “a shapeshifter.”

  The skinwalker snarled and lurched across the floor.

  Ben fired a single shot. The bullet grazed the side of the creature’s head, severing its left ear and sending bloody bits of fur flying in the air.

  The Nagual roared, and with one powerful swipe, raked Ben’s forearm and wrist with its sharp claws, propelling the gun out of the sheriff’s hand.

  Ben fell back into the kitchen, eyes locked on his ravaged arm, blood dripping onto the floor in big splats.

  Vera grabbed a dishtowel off the oven door handle and rushed over to Ben, wrapping the cloth around the gaping wounds.

  The skinwalker came at Ben and Vera.

  “Stop!” Roxy yelled at the creature. “One more step and I swear I’ll...”

  The beast halted and stared back at Roxy. Their eyes locked. Roxy knew that a skinwalker’s greatest fear was to have its human name said aloud whenever it was residing in its animal-self because it meant sure death.

  As if summoned suddenly by an audible command that only it could hear, the creature bolted across the room, leaped out onto the deck, and ran off into the night.

  Ben and Vera stared at Roxy.

  “You knew about that thing?” Vera asked.

  “I can explain,” Roxy said.

  “Okay,” Vera said. “Then start by explaining what just happened.”

  Ben’s legs gave out and he slipped to the floor. The heels of his boots skidded on the blood-soaked tiles.

  Vera grabbed another dishtowel and wrapped it tightly around his forearm.

  “Before we get into it, Ben needs that arm patched up,” Roxy said, hoisting Ben to his feet. Vera put her arm round Ben’s waist and they staggered out of the house to the Mustang.

  37

  BLOODSUCKING BASTARDS

  “Go back in the house,” Miguel told Sophia.

  “But Papa.”

  “Now!” Miguel nudged his daughter inside and made sure the front door was closed. He could hear the chupacabras screeching and the animals’ fearful cries as they scampered about in their pens behind the house. He had been in such a hurry to get Sophia back in the house that he hadn’t thought to grab a gun.

  He jumped down off the porch and ran around to the side of the house where his mother’s old truck had been left abandoned. All four tires were flat and the bed was full of junk. Miguel reached in and grabbed a four-foot long section of water pipe. He wielded the crude weapon in his hand and took a swing at the truck’s already dented fender. The blow split the rusted metal.

  Miguel dashed over to the pens. Two chupacabras had the donkey cornered in the corral while four other creatures hunched over the two goats lying on the ground, their mouths clamped on the goats’ necks, sucking their blood. Miguel stepped up on a railing and vaulted over the fence. “HEY!” he yelled.

  The chupacabras assaulting the donkey turned when they heard Miguel shout.

  Using the pipe like a spear, Miguel thrust the pipe into the nearest creature’s belly and all the way out its back. The abomination opened its bowl-shaped mouth and shrieked. Miguel yanked the pipe out of its body. Blood and gore dripped out the end of the pipe. He watched the creature drop dead.

  He heard another squeal. The other chupacabra was on the ground and was flailing in the dirt, the donkey kicking it repeatedly with its hind hooves. Happy to see the donkey doling out its own brand of punishment, Miguel darted into the goats’ pen.

  Seeing the vile bloodsuckers feasting on the defenseless goats, and having attacked Maria and nearly abducted Sophia, Miguel went into a rage.

  He came at the chupacabras swinging.

  The lead pipe cracked open a skull, then bashed in a hideous face. A third swing smashed one in the back, breaking its spine. Before the last chupacabra knew what was happening, Miguel brought the heavy pipe down on its head like an axe striking a wedge in a log, splitting its cranium in half.

  He heard a noise behind him and spun around.

  Astuto stood on the top railing of the fence. He was poised, ready to fight with his knife in his tiny hand. He looked from one dead chupacabra to another lying on the ground, each time his wrinkled face showing more disappointment.

  “Sorry,” Miguel said to the troll. “Next time I’ll leave you some. Come on and I’ll show you how to change a tire.”

  38

  SILVER BULLETS

  Roxy and Vera were asked to wait in the lobby while an ER doctor and a nurse wheeled Ben back to the trauma center. Roxy took a seat in a chair while Vera paced the room. It was close to midnight and there were no other people in the lobby.

  “Okay, let’s hear it,” Vera said.

  Roxy looked up at Vera with a blank expression.

  “That thing! What was it again?”

  “I told you,” Roxy said. “It was a Nagual.”

  “What, like a werewolf?”

  “Not exactly, but close. It’s a person that can take on an animal form.”

  “How is that even possible? That only happens in the movies.”

  “Believe me; it’s real.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I just know,” Roxy said.

  “So you know who that creature is?”

  Roxy didn’t answer.

  “Well? Do you?”

  “I have to go,” Roxy said and stood up.

  “Where’re you going?” Vera asked venomously.

  “There’s something I have to do. I’ll call later to see how Ben’s doing.”

  “What is it you’r
e not telling me?” Vera said raising her voice but by then Roxy was already running out the open automatic doors to her cruiser parked at the curb.

  * * *

  When Roxy got to the housing complex, she found the door to Ethan and Kane’s apartment left ajar. Which meant Ethan had gone out as she was certain she had closed it when she had last been there. She peered through the narrow opening. The front room was dark.

  “Ethan?” She could hear rustling inside. She stepped back away from the door.

  Drawing her service weapon, Roxy ejected the clip filled with lead rounds and substituted it with a clip from her belt that contained silver bullets. She ratcheted a bullet in the chamber. She used the toe of her boot to edge the door open and stepped inside.

  Even though the room was dark as a cave, she could see the silhouette of someone sitting on the couch.

  Roxy felt along the wall. She found a light switch and turned it on. A lamp on top of an end table came on, shining on Ethan.

  “Why, Ethan?” She pointed her gun at her brother.

  “Why what?” Ethan said.

  “Why couldn’t you just stay here like I told you?”

  “I did. I guess I made a mess of things.”

  “Quit lying to me.” Roxy took another step and her boot crunched on something made of glass.

  “I’m not. I’ve been here the whole time.”

  “Liar.”

  “You know what, Roxy? Screw you! I’m sick and tired of your bullshit. Thinking you’re so much better than me because you work for the sheriff. The hell with you! Just leave me alone!”

  “Ethan, you have to stop!” She could hear his breathing becoming raspy and knew he was about to change.

  “Yeah? Then stop me!” Ethan lunged from the couch and came at Roxy.

  “Ethan, no!” Roxy yelled, firing a quick succession of shots. Ethan howled and collapsed facedown on the carpet at her feet.

  “Jesus, Roxy, what did you do?”

  Roxy spun around and saw a figure standing in the front doorway.

  It was Kane, dressed in a dark T-shirt and jeans, the Colt revolver on his hip, the left side of his face caked in blood, missing an ear.