“What do I do?” she asked.
“Hop on the trailer here,” he told her. “You can come with Ramón and me.”
««—»»
The gas station was a godsend. The pumps were unattended and easily accessed. And in the back of the station they found a stack of fifty-gallon drums, some of which were full of used motor oil. Joe insisted they grab two of them. Singer found a hand truck to assist in getting the drums up on the trailer. The trouble was that the trailer could only hold six drums at a time. They filled the first four and placed them with the two oil drums.
“It’s going to take at least thirty minutes to make it to the gym,” Joe calculated. “I wanna get more of these drums filled up.” He scratched his head. “Tell you what,” he said to Ramón. “You take these to the school and unload them. Take the hand truck. While you’re gone, me and Singer can fill six more. We can move them easy when they’re empty, and we’ll just leave them here by the pumps when they’re full. You unload and then come back for the next batch.”
Ramón agreed that it was a good division of labor. They got busy.
««—»»
Across town, Colgate froze when Lupita held up her hand and gave the wait signal. They were creeping through a backyard on the west side. Most of the houses had been abandoned long ago. So far, they had discovered no survivors, and nothing worth salvaging. They did find two houses where it looked like people had once lived. But there were no people in them, and bloodstains in the entranceway and front hallway of both places.
“What is it?” he hissed.
Johnson stood with him, hefting his trusty axe. He had learned to keep his eyes on his two partners at all times, since he relied solely on his sight to guide him. His ears were never going to stop ringing.
Lupita pointed to the house in front of them. “I thought I saw someone peeking from the window there.”
Colgate glanced at Duke. The dog was wary, but not showing any signs that a chupacabra was near. Colgate relaxed.
“Hello!” he called out. “Anybody in there?”
“Hey, shut the fuck up!” Lupita growled.
“Oh, come on,” Colgate chided her. “It’s still the middle of the day. No googly mooglies are out yet.”
The words were hardly out of his mouth when the back door of the garage swung open. The creak of its hinges made Lupita whip around with her shotgun aimed. Tennis Shoe Pete shuffled out and blinked at them.
“You peoples make more noise than a gang of limping dinosaurs, my lordy. I could hear you tromping through the yard from a mile away.”
Everyone exhaled a sigh of relief. “What the hell are you doing in there?” demanded Lupita.
“I was hiding from the Grunches.”
“I thought you said they didn’t bother you,” Colgate pointed out.
“They don’t want my blood ’cuz it’s bad,” Pete replied. “But I knew you’d made them mad. They was all pissed off. I seen them get that way before. They can get in real bad moods, all of ’em squawkin’ and carryin’ on. Then they just break wild and go nuts. It’s like a woman when she get the menstrual cramps. When they get like that, I hide. I ain’t stupid, sonny boy.”
“What do you mean your blood is bad?” asked Karl.
“I got the sickle cell.”
Colgate wondered about that. Most people with sickle cell disease didn’t live past the age of fifty, and Pete had said goodbye to fifty almost twenty years ago.
“What are y’all doing?” Pete asked suspiciously. “You ain’t here to take the copper pipes are you? ’Cuz I got first dibs.”
Lupita waved at him impatiently. “We are not here to steal the fixtures, viejo loco.”
“I got your crazy old man hanging right here,” Pete retorted, cupping his groin.
Lupita was surprised that he knew what viejo loco meant. “Can you speak Spanish?” she asked.
He fixed her with a lop-sided grin. “Hablo un poco de Español.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “I first come out here in 1939 with my partner, Juan Ramirez. He was a Mexican. We picked oranges for a living, worked the groves till the war. Then we moved to Chicago and worked in the shipyards, yessir. They didn’t mind hirin’ a nigga durin’ the war.”
She smiled and said, “Come with us and see what we have planned for your friends, the Grunches.”
««—»»
Doppler was covered in sweat. It ran in rivulets down her face and dripped onto her chest, soaking her shirt. The sun was beating through the clouds with a vengeance now, and the temperature was steadily climbing. Her all-black attire was baking her alive. She dug in her purse and found the bottled water. It was almost empty. She unscrewed the cap and took a sip. The water evaporated as soon as it hit her tongue.
She came around a bend in the road and found her way blocked by a fallen pine tree. When she cleared the tree there was a police car sitting in the road. Rushing to it with prayers on her lips, she ripped open the driver’s door and jumped behind the wheel. What luck! The keys were still in the ignition. She did not think to wonder what had become of the driver.
She turned the key and the engine roared to life. A wild laugh burst from her lips. She was going to make it with plenty of time. She could drive straight to Delmore Beach and get help.
She pulled the gear handle to put the car in drive, and then realized the tree was blocking her way. Twisting around to look out the back window, she estimated she had enough room to make a U-turn. She turned back around and shoved the gear shift into reverse.
She hit the gas. The car moved backward slowly. As she began her turn, she tapped the brake pedal and the patrol car exploded; a blossoming burst of flames that scattered pieces of the burning wreckage and chunks of Doppler’s dismembered body across the road. The blast wave shook the nearby trees.
««—»»
Joe and Ramón paused from loading a petrol drum onto the trailer and shared a puzzled look. The sound of the detonation in the distance still echoed through town. “What the hell was that?” Joe asked.
“I don’t know.” Ramón cast his eyes to the horizon, where smoke curled into the sky in a shape that resembled a giant question mark. It was about ten miles up the road, in the direction the chunky chick in the black had been walking. “It doesn’t look good from here.”
“Come on,” Joe said, turning back to the drum of gas. “Let’s get this next batch loaded.”
They continued to work, sweating in the heat. It was now three in the afternoon. It was taking too long to simply move from one area of operation to the next, from the gas station to the school and then back again—and it wasn’t even a very big town. Joe had never realized how much he took automobile transport for granted.
««—»»
By five o’clock there were twenty barrels stacked in a semi-circle on the gymnasium floor. Joe had placed the two drums full of oil in the center. He now began attaching bricks of C-4 to the barrels. Two small ones went on the oil drums. Singer watched him as he toiled.
“Why do you have it laid out like this?” she asked.
Joe spoke over his shoulder while he worked. “A fuel air bomb has two charges. The first charge disperses the fuel. The second charge ignites it. We are making something closer to napalm. What I am gonna do is place these drums of oil here in the center. The first charge will blow the oil drums, and hopefully scatter that sticky shit everywhere. A split-second later, the gasoline drums go up, and the whole place is a gigantic firestorm. Goodbye chupacabras.”
“You think it will work?”
“If I didn’t think so, I wouldn’t have spent all day messing around with it. I would have hauled ass for the highway instead.”
She couldn’t argue with his logic.
««—»»
At five-thirty, they all stood across from the abandoned school, thinking about how they were going to get all those monsters into the booby-trapped gymnasium. Everyone assumed Joe would be the one to do it. No one had a clue how.
“What time does the sun go down?” asked Colgate, looking at the sky. It had clouded up again. The atmosphere was steamy, sultry even, but filled with heavy foreboding.
“Another hour or two,” said Joe. “It’s time to start getting ready.”
Everyone hopped on the trailer as Ramón fired up the tractor and then began chugging toward town. The plan was for everyone to hole up inside the jail while Ramón and Joe lured the creatures to the gymnasium.
When they reached the jail, Colgate and Johnson covered the broken front windows with plywood and hammered them shut. Singer had salvaged Jet Ryder’s bow and several arrows from the wreckage of the tour bus. Now she was sitting on the edge of the desk and using duct tape to secure sticks of dynamite to the shafts. Joe watched her.
“What are you doing there, Red Ryder?”
Her mouth turned up at the corners. “Adding a little extra punch to these arrows.”
He gave her a friendly pat on her back. “Give ’em hell, ranger.”
Ramón ambled over. “How are we going to get the chupacabras to follow us out to the school?”
“Maybe we won’t have to.”
‘What do you mean?”
“My guess is they’re holed up in the tunnels under the school. The trick will be to get them all into the gym.” He tapped Singer on the shoulder and she stopped her work to look at him.
“Save me three sticks of that dynamite, will you?”
“Sure.” Singer nodded.
“What have you got in mind?” asked Ramón.
“We can toss dynamite down the tunnels in each wing of the school,” Joe explained. “Hopefully that will seal up those holes and drive them to the tunnel in the gymnasium.”
“What if they’re someplace else?” asked Ramón.
“Then we will have to lure them to the school,” Joe snapped. “This was your plan, remember?”
Ramón rubbed his eyes. “Let’s say they attack the jail here while we are out messing around at the school. Then what? We can’t show up on the tractor and have them chase us. The Kubota is not fast enough to outrun them.”
“How many farmhouses on the north side did you check?”
“Just two.” Ramón looked to the grove of cottonwood trees across the fields that delineated the boundary of the north side. “We didn’t have time to look at any more.”
Joe slung his Winchester over his shoulder. “Let’s me and you take the tractor over and see if we can check out a few more farms before it gets too late. There’s gotta be an old dirt bike or some damn thing we can find.”
Ramón sighed. “Okay. It is worth a try.”
When they explained to the others what they were going to do, Singer stepped forward. “I’ll go with you.” She wanted to stay busy and keep her mind off of what was coming. Ramón and Joe shared a glance, mulling it over, and then both men nodded to her curtly.
Joe turned to Lupita. “Stay here with Duke and Panocha. Watch over things on this end.”
“Don’t you want one of the dogs to go with you?”
“No.” His voice was gruff. “I want them to be safe with you.”
Her eyes alighted with warmth. Joe was always so careful with Duke and Panocha. He took more chances with his own life than he did with the dogs. She reached out and gave his arm a squeeze.
“You are the best.” She gave him and Ramón quick hugs, knowing what was at stake, knowing she might never see either of them again; her partners. They were closer to her than her real family. “Be careful.”
It was like telling someone going out in a storm not to get wet.
“Oh, wait.” Joe paused in the doorway at the last minute. Ramón was already on the tractor, starting it up. Singer had climbed on the trailer.
Joe reached into his pocket and pulled out the remote detonator for the improvised bomb. It was a black metal box with switches and buttons on it. “Here. Hang on to this until we get back.” He showed her the device. “But in case we don’t come back…”
He held it up. “Red activates it. Then push the buttons in the order I have them marked. One, two, three. Got it? It’s as simple as pie.”
“The red switch activates it. Then one, two, three,” she recited.
“That’s right. The radio signal is good for about a mile, so you don’t have to be right on top of this crap when it blows, okay?”
“Okay.” She watched him walk out and close the door behind him. It swung shut with a solid click. Duke and Panocha, at her side, watched with their heads cocked.
— | — | —
Chapter 11
With a top speed of twenty miles per hour, the tractor wasn’t going to set any land speed records, but it was at least faster than walking. Ramón, Joe, and Singer drove past the two farms that Ramón had already searched and pulled up to a dairy farm on the outskirts of town.
There was a large farmhouse in front, and in the vast acreage behind, a big covered barn with stalls for hundreds of cows. To the side of the barn sat a milking parlor and a half-acre shit pond, where all of the cow shit was put and then mixed with water so it could be sprayed over the fields as fertilizer.
Ramón angled the tractor into the front yard and drove past the house. The windows were shattered, and the front door hung from a hinge. Behind the house, angled off to the side, there was a garage or maintenance shop of some sort.
“Where are all the cattle?” Ramón wondered as he shut off the tractor’s engine and climbed from the seat.
“Chupacabras probably ate them,” Joe said, scanning the area. He turned to Singer. “Stay close.”
She had the bow in her hands and an arrow already seated. “I am ready to make the bastards extinct.”
Joe grinned. “What would your bosses at Fish and Game think about that?”
“Self-defense,” she whispered.
Joe approached the milking parlor and poked his head in the doorway. The place was empty, cobwebbed and shadowed. He turned and moved toward the barn and the maintenance shed. Singer and Ramón followed, their eyes scanning the barnyard.
They moved under the cover of the cattle shed and crept down the aisles of the big barn, past the empty cow stalls. Joe crossed to the maintenance hut and grabbed the handle to the rolling door. With a heave, he hauled it up. Inside sat a green pick-up truck. The windows were smashed, tires flat, hood askew.
“Shit,” Joe muttered.
“These fuckers are sure thorough,” complained Ramón.
They moved into the shed and examined the truck more closely. It had been completely destroyed. Even the steering wheel was bent. Joe moved to see what was behind the vehicle.
A snorting noise from the depths of the shed froze them all in their tracks. Joe’s shotgun came up. He slowly crept forward, edging around to the rear of the truck. Another noise, a thumping, sliding sound. Something was moving around back there.
Holding his breath, Joe peeked around the rear bumper—and found a frightened quarter horse. It was a beautiful sorrel gelding with a small, refined head, and a strong, well-muscled body. It snorted and pawed the ground, backing away nervously.
“Holy crap!” Joe exclaimed, motioning for the others to join him. “It’s a horse. Check it out.”
As soon as she saw the frightened animal, Singer slung the bow over her shoulder, and slowly approached the beast. It whinnied and moved in a small circle, bobbing its head in fright.
Singer spoke soothingly. “It’s okay, you poor thing. We are not going to hurt you.”
Ramón scrutinized the maintenance shed. There was a workbench against the far wall with tools hanging on a pegboard, and a horse trailer tucked in a gloomy corner. Ramón wandered over to the workbenches. Rummaging around, he found a bridle and lifted it up to show the others.
“Are you thinking what I am thinking?” he asked.
Joe nodded. “Hi-ho fucking Silver.”
Singer reached out and gently stroked the horse’s neck. It snorted, pawed the ground again, and nickered at her. She kept spe
aking to it softly, calming the anxious animal.
After a few minutes of soothing, she was able to slip the bridle over the horse’s head and slide the bit between its teeth. The animal calmed when she adjusted the throatlatch.
Singer walked a few steps, leading the horse by the reins. The beast responded easily, following her past the truck and out into the barnyard. Ramón and Joe followed, admiring the animal. Ramón approached it slowly and reached out to stroke its neck.
“What a beautiful animal,” he cooed.
“I didn’t know you were such a cowboy, Ramón,” teased Joe. “Can you ride?”
“Can you?” Ramón asked pointedly.
Joe scoffed. “Of course, I can. I’m from Texas. All Texans can ride.” To prove his point, he walked over, grasped the horse by the mane, swung his leg over, and mounted it.
Ramón put his hand out, and the horse nuzzled his palm with its velvety lips. “Do you think it can outrun a chupacabra?”
“I think we will have to find out.” Joe glanced up at the darkening sky. “We are out of time. It’s the horse or nothing.”
He had just finished speaking when the cellar door on the back of the farmhouse slammed open, and a great horde of chupacabras stormed out. Joe instantly reached down to Singer and pulled her up on the horse behind him. The animal whinnied in alarm. Joe’s eyes flashed to Ramón. “Come on!”
“Too many tacos.” Ramón patted his belly. “I am too heavy for that horse. It can’t take three.” He grinned and pulled his shotgun into his hands. “No sense in all of us dying. Get to the school and blow them to hell. Go now!”
Before they could argue, he turned, fired a shot that knocked down the first charging monster, and then sprinted away. They watched him disappear around the side of the milking parlor, yelling like a maniac.
Fury of the Chupacabras Page 21