Cryptid Kingdom (Cryptid Zoo Book 6)

by Gerry Griffiths

  CRYPTID KINGDOM

  Cryptid Zoo Book 6

  Gerry Griffiths

  www.severedpress.com

  Copyright2020 by Gerry Griffiths

  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)

  STAND-ALONE NOVELS

  SILURID

  THE BEASTS OF STONECLAD MOUNTAIN

  DOWN FROM BEAST MOUNTAIN

  TERROR MOUNTAIN

  DEDICATION

  This is for Dr. Steve Amaro DVM

  and the fabulous staff at Evergreen Veterinary Clinic

  1

  MULCH

  Standing under his umbrella in the shadowy alleyway, Dr. Haun Zhang watched the diners through the windows in the crowded restaurant across the street. Normally he would have chosen the bustling market place with its multiple points of entry and escape routes but a late-afternoon torrential rain had deterred people from shopping and forced the merchants to close down their stands early.

  Wearing a prosthetic nose, a thin glue-on mustache, and horn-rimmed glasses, Zhang crossed the busy street, narrowly avoiding being struck by a passing yellow taxi and scurried onto the opposite sidewalk. Huddled under the eave in front of the restaurant, he closed his umbrella, shook off the rainwater, and stepped inside.

  A woman in a blue hat and uniform greeted him and asked that he follow her into a huge dining room with round tables occupied by large groups of people. Food platters were heaped onto bamboo turntables so each person could rotate the server and fill their plates with various dishes.

  The worker directed Zhang to an available chair at a table with eight young people who were already eating. As it was a sit-down buffet and the food was to be shared by everyone at the table, Zhang ordered plates of beef broccoli, eggplant, and two carved roasted ducks.

  A couple sitting to his left overheard his generous order and gave him appreciative smiles. He grinned back but didn’t say anything.

  He took a serving spoon and filled the bowl in front of him with steamed rice.

  Before he could remove his chopsticks from the wrapper, the man seated to his right put a chicken wing in Zhang’s bowl. Realizing that the gracious man was probably the one paying for the others, Zhang accepted his hospitality and bowed his head.

  For the next twenty minutes, Zhang enjoyed the selections, which included a spicy bowl of sliced ginger and spring onion soup, honey walnut prawns, and bok choy.

  Everyone ate heartedly with their mouths open and smacked their lips.

  Leaning back in his chair, a young man in a Star Wars T-shirt lit up a cigarette from across the table and blew smoke upward at the ceiling.

  Zhang learned during their meal that the young man to his right was a student at university and was considering a sabbatical so he could travel with a group of friends. His name was Rong Tran but he was Westernized and liked to go by ‘Joey’ as he was a big fan of Friends and thought he looked like the actor Matt LeBlanc who played Joey Tribbiani on the popular TV show.

  Even though the doctor didn’t see the resemblance, he was taken by the young man’s good looks. Joey’s black hair was short-cropped and spiky. His eyes were black marbles and elliptical. He had an oval-shaped face, wide cheekbones, and a small nose.

  He would be a perfect addition.

  After most of the empty platters had been cleared from the turntable, a worker came with a serving tray of coffees. A few of the people at the table poured cream into their cups as the brewed blend was very strong and molasses-thick.

  Zhang drank his black. He whispered to Joey that he would be honored to pay for the entire bill and the young man agreed.

  Soon it was time for the young people to leave. Everyone stood and gave each other hugs before filing out between the tables.

  Zhang paid 400 yauns at the cashier. He asked Joey if he had further plans for the evening. Joey wasn’t sure. Perhaps he would be interested in going to the bar in the next room and having a drink.

  Joey said yes and told his friends he would catch up to them later. He followed Zhang to the bar where they sat on red stools at the counter.

  Joey ordered a Mango Martini; Zhang a Singapore Sling.

  After four rounds of drinks discussing civil rights disparagement within the country, Joey excused himself and slipped off his stool, stumbling to the restroom.

  While Joey was away, Zhang made sure no one was watching and emptied a small envelope of Vecuronium bromide into Joey’s martini. Zhang picked up the stem glass and swirled the cocktail so the crystalline particles dissolved.

  He knew he had only five minutes once the neuromuscular-blocking drug was ingested and it took effect.

  So when Joey returned and sat on his stool, Zhang lied that he needed to get home to his family and insisted they drink up.

  Joey looked disappointed and gulped down his martini in two swallows.

  Once outside, Zhang opened his umbrella for the two of them as it was still raining. He continued their conversation from the bar to engage Joey while they crossed the street. Zhang had to hold up the inebriated young man when he stumbled onto the curb.

  Insisting he knew a shortcut, Zhang led Joey into the alleyway, where his vehicle was parked. When Joey complained he was having trouble breathing and his muscles began to lock up, the doctor leaned him against the back bumper of his car and opened the trunk. Zhang was able to lift the gasping man into the trunk, fold up his legs, and shut the lid.

  The twenty-seven-kilometer drive took Zhang 45 minutes. He pulled up to the twenty-foot wide solid metal security gate cantilevered in the stonewall that stretched upward of 30 feet. He pushed the button on a remote in the sedan’s console and waited for the hinged barrier to swing open. He drove in and the gate closed behind him.

  Driving between strings of lights on the ground resembling an airport landing strip, Zhang turned down a ramp into an underground parking lot. He saw about thirty vehicles, some privately owned, the others used by the employees.

  Zhang pulled up in the stall behind a wide column marked with diagonal yellow and black stripes so motorists wouldn’t crash into it. An electric cart with a cargo cover was parked in the next stall. He had picked this particular spot, as the armature on the closest surveillance camera was unable to point the lens in the direction of the parking spaces.

  He got out of the car and popped the trunk. He stepped to the rear of the electric cart and opened the rear door. By then, Joey’s body had turned into an awkward stiff bundle, making it difficult for Zhang to carry. After stuffing the still breathing young man into the electric cart’s cargo hold, Zhang closed the door and the car trunk.

  Zhang got behind the wheel of the electric cart and stepped on the accelerator.

  The cart’s motor hummed as he sped down the brightly lit tunnel at a brisk 5 miles per hour. He soon entered a labyrinth of more tunnels branching off the main thoroughfare and kept going.

  He spotted a few employees in tan uniforms working the graveyard shift and made sure to turn his head as he passed by so they wouldn’t see his face, even though he doubted they would recognize him in his disguise.

  He heard a commotion of loud squeals and glanced to his left at the massive caged-in area filled with more than a hundred Chinese bamboo rats: each rodent larger than a beaver with long buck teeth.
/>   He went down a passage that led to the center of the underground structure.

  Zhang approached a huge block of concrete in the shape of a cylinder and came to a stop. He turned around and backed the cart up to a metal door. He got out of the cart, walked up to the door, and slid a keycard—which only he possessed—into the reader mounted on the wall.

  The door slid open, revealing a small room with a table, a chest-high glass window, and what looked like a laundry chute.

  He opened the back of the cargo bed, pulled Joey out by the arms, and dragged him into the room. Zhang swiped the keycard on the reader inside the room and the door closed.

  The young man could not protest as his vocal cords were paralyzed and could only stare as Zhang knelt and stripped him naked.

  The doctor took Joey’s clothes and folded them neatly on the table. He placed the shoes on top. He took a moment and glanced through Joey’s billfold but didn’t remove anything. He put the wallet back in Joey’s pants pocket.

  Reaching under the table, he pulled a heavy-duty burn bag out of a cardboard box. He slipped the stack of garments and the pair of shoes inside, pulled the protective strip off the adhesive, and permanently sealed the bag.

  He walked over and lowered the mouth of the chute. Lifting Joey up in his arms, Zhang stepped over and dropped the naked man down the metal duct. He could hear the thud on the other side of the wall.

  Zhang looked through the window. The silo-shaped room was filled to the ceiling with rich, organic soil tapering off against the wall. He could see Joey lying on the dirt floor.

  It took only a few seconds for the first tentacle to poke out of the loam, and like an eyeless thing, it began to feel its way along the floor.

  A second root slithered out, followed by another.

  They moved like a trio of serpents and wrapped around Joey’s ankles.

  The roots retreated slowly, pulling Joey’s feet into the compost, then his legs, and continued to draw the still breathing man into the dirt until his entire body was gone.

  Zhang grabbed the sealed burn bag from the table and left the room. He climbed into the electric cart and drove to another underground section.

  Again, he used his keycard and gained access to the incinerator room.

  Four laundry-style carts were parked against the wall, all completely filled with burn bags and sealed plastic pouches tagged with red hazardous waste stickers waiting to be incinerated.

  Zhang dug down to the middle of the bags in the cart closest to the furnace and hid the burn bag with Joey’s belongings.

  Leaving the room and closing the door behind him, he hopped back in the electric cart.

  He drove down the passageway to his subterranean living quarters where he planned to curl up on his bunk for a good night’s sleep, unencumbered at having sacrificed the young student.

  2

  STONEWALLED

  As they came down the mountain road, Nora Howard caught glimpses of Rocklin Falls through the windshield with every turn, the prominent church steeple at first and then gradually the slanted rooftops of the small rural town.

  She glanced over at Jack Tremens who was behind the wheel. “You know, we could have just called.”

  “And stay cooped up in the house on such a beautiful day? I don’t think so,” Jack replied as he navigated another tight bend in the road.

  “Have I been that bad?”

  Jack shot her a quick glance. “I know it hasn’t been easy the past three weeks.” He turned his attention back to the road. “But something is bound to break.”

  “I wish I could believe that.”

  “Trust me. It will. He’ll show up.”

  Reaching town, Jack headed down the main street and parked diagonally at the curb. They got out of the Ford Expedition and walked up to a glass door.

  Sheriff Abraham “Abe” Stone was standing outside his office waiting to greet them as they came in. “Thought I saw you two pull up.”

  “Morning, Sheriff,” Jack said.

  “Any news?” Nora asked.

  “Well...” Abe let the word drag out. “Nothing so far but I have some promising contacts,” Abe said. “Care for some coffee?”

  “Uh, no thanks,” Jack replied. Nora declined with a headshake.

  Abe stared down at the mug in his hand. “Can’t say I blame you.” He placed his half-filled mug on the counter.

  “So no luck from the airports?” Nora asked.

  “Nope. Airport security has been instructed to search all freight planes leaving the state but so far nothing.”

  “What about the shipping docks?” Jack asked.

  “I’ve notified the Port Authority though they said it would be like finding a ping pong ball on Mt. Everest.”

  “In other words they wouldn’t help.”

  “You have to realize the amount of freight that goes out of these ports is staggering,” Abe said. “Oakland alone ships over 9 million cargo containers a year not to mention the other 10 major ports in California.”

  “Who says he wasn’t transported across the country?” Jack said.

  “Which would make that analogy more like finding a grain of rice in the Artic.”

  “What about Border Patrol?” Nora asked.

  Abe shook his head.

  “Certainly you’ve heard something from the FBI?”

  “I have. A Special Agent Jennings.”

  “That name sounds familiar,” Jack said. He looked over at Nora. “Wasn’t he the lead investigator at Cryptid Zoo?”

  “I think so,” Nora replied and turned to the sheriff. “So what did Jennings have to say?”

  “That he would look into it but he couldn’t promise anything. To tell you the truth he didn’t sound very optimistic.”

  “Unbelievable!” Nora shouted. “It’s kidnapping for Christ sakes!”

  “Technically, it’s not,” Abe said. “Lennie’s not a person. His abduction is considered grand theft, and that is only if he has a state-issued license, which he doesn’t. You know what would have helped?”

  “What’s that?” Jack asked.

  “If they had passed that ridiculous bill putting all cryptids on the Endangered Species List. That would have made it a federal crime and the FBI would be all over it.”

  “That’s crazy,” Jack said.

  Nora turned and gazed at the bulletin board outside Abe’s office. She walked over and examined the photograph of her and her twelve-foot tall pet taken in front of the jungle foliage inside Cryptid Zoo’s Biped Habitat. She was wearing her white lab coat and looked so small beside the giant Yeren covered in orange hair with a black skinned face and chest.

  She placed a finger on the picture. “Lenny, where in the world are you?”

  3

  THE ARK

  Lyle Mason stepped into the ship’s galley. Being it was their last day onboard, he figured he would skip breakfast and poured himself a cup of coffee from the large urn at the end of the serving counter. He glanced around at the empty tables then spotted Todd Ramsey seated in the corner. Ramsey always reminded Mason of Mick Hucknall, the lead singer of the British pop band Simply Red, as he had a mop head of unruly red hair. He went over and sat down at his table.

  “How’s the S.O.S.?” Mason asked noticing the half-eaten plate of creamed chipped beef on Ramsey’s tray.

  Ramsey gave a disgusted look and shook his head. “Bland as hell.” He pushed the tray to the center of the table.

  “They don’t call it shit on a shingle for nothing,” Mason said. He took a sip of his coffee and made a face. “Tastes like panther piss.”

  “I wouldn’t know,” Ramsey said.

  Mason parked his cup on Ramsey’s tray.

  “If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear they were trying to poison us.”

  “Just be glad to be back on dry land,” Mason said.

  “Well, we’re not exactly there yet.” Ramsey grabbed his tray and stood up from the table. Mason got up and waited by the door while Ramsey
slid his tray into the small scullery window for the dishwasher.

  They went out together down a narrow passageway to a hatchway that led to the outside deck running alongside the ship’s bridge. Mason put on his sunglasses to shield his eyes from the bright late-morning sun. He could hear the high-pitch caw of the seagulls circling above the antennas and radar masts.

  Mason and Ramsey leaned on the railing and took in the panoramic view of the busy shipping port from the upper deck of the livestock carrier, five stories above the wharf.

  Two container ships, each as long as three football fields, were being loaded in the far berths with orange, red, blue, and green 20-foot long sea vans which looked like giant Rubik’s cubes stacked on the decks. Twenty-five story harbor cranes towered over the loading docks like alien space invaders.

  Looking down the side of the ship, Mason saw that two sets of ramps had been deployed. The narrow ramp nearer the stern was being used to offload cattle single file from the ship onto the waiting semi truck trailers, a tedious process, as there were over 3,000 steers onboard. The ramp closer to the bow was wider with pedestrian walkways on each side so the handlers could prod the sheep along: all 14,000.

  It was going to be a long day.

  “Can’t believe we’ve been stuck on this barge for three weeks,” Ramsey said.

  “Now you know why they call it a slow boat to China.”

  Ramsey glanced at Mason’s left arm as he had his denim sleeves rolled up. “Man, that looks bad.”

  Mason looked at his scarred arm. Forty-five stitches and it looked like a jigsaw puzzle. It was a miracle it was still attached to his shoulder. He raised his hand, managing to flex his fingers, and felt the tendon pull tight up through his forearm. “Good as new,” he muttered.

  They entered a hatchway and walked by rows of ventilation turbines used to exhaust the ammonia and foul smell of the animal feces from the lower levels.