Van Dyne's Vampires

by C W Hawes

  “No, sir, you don’t.”

  “Good.”

  “So that thing, the chupacabra, it’s going after people now,” Young said.

  “Won’t know for sure until we do an autopsy.”

  “So what am I going to do, Mr Mostyn?”

  “A team will come in to look for this new creature. We’re very interested in finding it. Once found and removed, hopefully things will go back to normal for you.”

  “I hope so. Enough is enough. Coyotes and big cats are bad enough. We don’t need any bloodsucking devil creatures.”

  “On that, I think we agree.”

  ***

  Three hours later Dotty Kemper and Pedro Garcia’s body were on their way to a secret Federal facility. An hour after that an OUP team arrived on the Young property to hunt for the chupacabra. Agent Ramsey was assigned to assist the new team, and Willie Lee Baker stayed to take pictures.

  Mostyn, Jones, Helene, and Gerstner bid their teammates goodbye and got in the big black SUV. Jones got the vehicle on the main highway and pointed it in the direction of Albuquerque and the OUP jet waiting to take Mostyn and company to their next destination.

  “Looks as though the chupacabra might have to be renamed,” the mythologist said. “They aren’t simply the goat-sucker any longer.”

  “That’s going to be a major bummer,” Jones said, “if this thing develops a taste for human blood.”

  “That it is, Jones, that it is,” Mostyn replied.

  Helene took his hand. “You are worried Mostyn Pierce.”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “You do not need to worry. You will find a way out of this.”

  He squeezed her hand. “I don’t know, Helene. At least the beings that threaten us from outside this universe are easily identifiable. It’s the monsters within ourselves, they are the ones, I think, that will ultimately destroy us.”

  6

  Once again Mostyn found himself in New Jersey’s Pinelands. Jones guided the big black SUV west from Atlantic City International Airport. Penn and Kemper had rejoined the team at the airport. Dusk was gradually darkening the September sky.

  Gerstner was discussing Penn’s preliminary findings. “So if I understand you correctly,” the mythologist said, “the chupacabra is a man-made creature.”

  “That’s correct,” Penn replied. “We analyzed the genome. It’s had DNA spliced in from at least eight different animals, including humans.”

  “What did it start out as?” Dotty asked.

  “That’s where the touch of irony enters the picture,” Penn said. “It started out life as a bear.”

  Dotty laughed. “A bear? Oh, that’s choice.”

  “Isn’t it, though?” Penn replied.

  Mostyn turned to Dotty Kemper. “Would you give us an update on the results of your autopsy?”

  “I emailed everyone an abstract,” she replied. “What the situation looks like to me is that the victim was taken by surprised, made a meagre attempt to defend himself, and had a chunk of his throat ripped out.

  “The force used was considerable. This is a very strong creature.

  “Since there was not a lot of blood showing on the ground, I’m assuming the creature drank the victim’s blood. Approximately ninety-five percent of it, allowing for initial loss and what I found remaining in the body.”

  “Anything to identify the attacker?” Mostyn asked.

  Penn answered. “Dotty sent me the analysis of the saliva found around the wound. It’s a match for a chupacabra.”

  Mostyn closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the headrest. After a moment he opened his eyes, and asked, “Can the work be traced back to Van Dyne Corp?”

  “Possibly,” Penn answered. “If we can find DNA in the creature that no one else is using, then that would be an indicator Van Dyne’s hand is in this.”

  Mostyn nodded. “There’s been a new development.”

  “When did you find this out, Mostyn?” Dotty asked.

  “Just before we landed at Atlantic City. Bardon texted me. There have been three attacks in three days on farms near Jeremiah’s Peak, a little hamlet north and east of Hesstown, here in New Jersey. The third attack occurred last night. The victims were a dog, a sheep, and a pig, in that order. The attacks are very similar to the chupacabra’s, but according to the two eyewitnesses the creatures were tall, hopped like a kangaroo, and had bat-like wings.”

  “The Jersey Devil,” Gerstner said.

  “So it seems,” Mostyn agreed.

  “And the attack signature was the same?” Baker asked.

  “Apparently.”

  Penn ran his hand through his hair. “That would indicate minds that are the same, even though the bodies are different.”

  “Match the form of the creature to the local legend,” Mostyn said.

  Gerstner nodded. “Makes a lot of sense. The chupacabra in areas with a high Hispanic population, since that is where it first appeared, and the Jersey Devil in its old stomping ground of New Jersey Pinelands legend.”

  “What is the purpose of this?” Helene asked.

  “That is the sixty-four thousand dollar question,” Mostyn replied.

  “Why is the question worth sixty-four thousand dollars?” The puzzlement in Helene’s voice and on her face was genuine.

  “It was an old TV game show,” Dotty said.

  “Oh, I will see if it is on YouTube,” Helene said, a big smile on her face.

  “Don’t bother,” Dotty replied. “The show was rigged.”

  “Rigged? What is ‘rigged’?”

  “It means the producers of the show didn’t play fair,” Dotty said.

  “Oh.” The look on Helene’s face clearly indicated she didn’t have the slightest notion as to what Dotty was talking about.

  “The question before us,” Mostyn said, “TV game shows aside, is to what end is Van Dyne producing these creatures? What purpose do they serve?”

  “What does Van Dyne do with the other things it creates?” Jones asked.

  “Don’t know for sure,” Mostyn answered. “I suppose legitimate sales. Van Dyne Corp produces all manner of genetically modified items. So I suppose those are all for public show and tell. As for these monsters…” Mostyn shrugged. “What I do know is that no corporation engages in R and D if they aren’t going to end up using, or at least hope to use, the results. Research and development is expensive. Corporations want to get their money back. After all, the whole reason they’re in business is to make money.”

  “Piles of it,” Jones added.

  “Right,” Mostyn replied, “which gives credence to the rumors that van Dyne wants to sell these monsters to militias, revolutionary groups, organized crime, any bad guys who can pay his price in order to create mass chaos so the thugs can take over. Bardon, however, is holding his cards close to his vest on this one. Consequently, it’s all just a guess.”

  “Okay, it’s a guess. What are we going to do about it?” Dotty asked.

  “Talk to people and see what we can find out,” Mostyn said. “And run a little surveillance on Van Dyne, since we’ll be in the neighborhood.”

  “I don’t mean to change the subject,” Ramsey said, “but where the heck are we?”

  “New Jersey,” Jones said.

  “I know that, wise ass,” Ramsey shot back. “Where in New Jersey? There’s not a single streetlight and we haven’t seen another vehicle for at least fifteen minutes.”

  “Welcome to the Pinelands,” Gerstner said. “The place where legends are born.”

  “This isn’t The Twilight Zone, dude,” Ramsey said. “One moment we’re in civilization and the next we’re in the middle of nowhere.”

  “Everyone thinks New Jersey is an extension of New York City,” Mostyn explained. “That’s true to a great degree for Northern New Jersey. Southern New Jersey is different. While I wouldn’t call it wilderness, there are an awful lot of trees and there are definitely fewer parking lots.”

  Jones slammed
on the brakes. The vehicle swerved, but he kept it from going into a skid.

  “What the hell, Jones?” Dotty yelled.

  Outside of the vehicle the night was dark. The headlights shone down an empty road. Jones sucked in a great quantity of air, ran his hand over his face, and let the air back out.

  “What is it, Jones?” Mostyn asked.

  “I…” He took in a deep breath and exhaled. “We almost hit it.”

  “Hit what?” Mostyn said.

  “The Jersey Devil.”

  7

  Mostyn and the others got out of the SUV. Flashlights stabbed the darkness.

  Ramsey swung his flashlight in a wide arc. “God, I hate trees.”

  “I’m with you there,” Dotty said. “Can’t see a goddamn thing.”

  “Jones, get the lights out of the back,” Mostyn ordered.

  “Sure thing, Boss.”

  Jones went to the back of the SUV, opened the hatch, and got out two boxes. Each one was about the size of two shoeboxes. He set one box on one side of the SUV and aimed it towards the woods. He flipped a switch, and said, “Let there be light!”

  The beam of light the small lamp put out was equal to one of those great big old searchlights. Jones set up the other lamp on the opposite side of the SUV and in a moment that section of highway looked like the sun had forgotten to set.

  Jones called out, “There you go, Agent Geek and Dr Asphalt. Light. Plenty of light.”

  “Alright, people,” Mostyn began, “spread out. Let’s see if we can find some footprints or other evidence, so we know that Jones wasn’t just hallucinating.”

  “Gee, thanks, Boss.”

  “Don’t mention it,” Mostyn said, while clapping Jones on the shoulder.

  After twenty minutes, their search had picked up nothing save for a couple of footprints.

  Dotty seemed disappointed. “I guess we can’t blame our sudden stop on you being crazy, Jones.”

  “Love you, too, Kemper,” he shot back.

  Baker photographed the prints, and Mostyn ordered the team back into the SUV. Jones stowed the lights.

  When they were once again driving down the highway, Gerstner asked, “I wonder if it was on its way to or from its target?”

  “We’ll probably have an idea if we hear of another attack tomorrow,” Mostyn said.

  “In a way, it’s too bad you didn’t hit it, Jones,” Penn said. “Would have given us something to compare to the chupacabra we captured.”

  “Yeah, well, I’d just as soon not have to fill out the accident report,” Jones replied.

  “Yes, you upper-worlders love paperwork,” Helene commented. “Until I met Mostyn Pierce, I had not touched paper and pen for two hundred years.”

  Jones looked at the rearview mirror. “Amazing what a difference just a couple miles can make.”

  “Oh, yes, DC,” Helene replied. “The new experiences are endless.”

  “So how did the government work in your world?” Ramsey asked.

  “In K’n-yan there is no government. At least not like you upper-worlders seem to think you need. Our customs and traditions dictate what is and is not acceptable. We do not need someone to tell us that.” She paused, and then said, “They do not need someone to tell them what to do. I am one of you now.”

  In a few more minutes they rolled into the New Jersey city of Vineland and the GPS directed Jones to the Vinegate Hotel, the only three-star hotel in a sea of expensive two-stars. Herndon, the accounting wonk, had made sure to point out to Mostyn that he was putting them in the best hotel available.

  Jones pulled into a parking spot and everyone got out.

  “What is this place?” Dotty said, her voice dripping disdain.

  “Look, Kemper,” Mostyn said, “Herndon said this was the best place to be had and made sure to tell me to tell all of you he did his best.”

  “He’s an accountant,” Dotty shot back. “What the hell does he know besides numbers?”

  Mostyn sighed. “No complaining. At least they serve a hot breakfast.”

  “Big whoop-de-do. I don’t eat breakfast,” Dotty said.

  Jones had a big grin on his face. “Maybe you should, Kemper. Might improve your disposition.”

  “Fuck you, Jones.”

  “No, thank you.”

  Sniggers and choked laughter rippled through the group. Dotty grabbed her bag and stormed off towards the hotel entrance, flipping the bird to everyone in her wake.

  Mostyn walked over to a van that was parked in a corner of the parking lot, obscured by shadows. As he approached, a door opened, and out stepped Dr Bardon. A wave of sweet Virginia pipe tobacco came with him.

  “Good evening, sir.”

  “Good evening, Mostyn.”

  The two men shook hands. Bardon had a yacht-shaped briar pipe in his mouth, which he slipped into his pocket.

  “You don’t need to do that on account of me, sir.”

  “That’s alright, my boy. Smoked out. Ready for a little surveillance work?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good.” Bardon rubbed his hands together. “Who’s coming with us?”

  Mostyn looked at the little round man in his Brooks Brothers suit, complete with homburg, and said, “You’re going out into the field?”

  “Why not? A leader should not be afraid to do what he asks his people to do.”

  “The situation could, um…”

  “Go pear-shaped?”

  Mostyn nodded.

  “Boy Scout motto, Mostyn. Be prepared. I have a Level Four EDT handy just for such situations.”

  Mostyn raised his eyebrows in surprise. The Emergency Defense Talisman 4 was quite powerful. To summon one also involved a healthy withdrawal from the blood bank.

  “Oh, I know what you’re thinking, my boy. Don’t you worry. There will probably be no need to use it. Now, who’s going with us?”

  “I think Jones.”

  Bardon thought a moment, and said, “Too heavy.”

  “Heavy? You’re not—”

  Bardon was all smiles. “SNOB Two is on its way.” He looked at his watch. “Should be here in ten minutes.”

  “If you want someone lighter, that leaves Dotty or Helene.”

  “Yes, it does. So which one?”

  “Dotty’s more experienced.”

  “True. However, Helene has that wonderful ability to dematerialize.”

  “She does. But I think I’d rather have experience.”

  “Okay, my boy, Dr Kemper it is. Get her and let’s be on our way.”

  ***

  SNOB-2, being larger than SNOB-1, had greater payload capacity. Mostyn looked at all the equipment on board, and even given the greater lift ability, was surprised the blimp could get off the ground.

  Piloting the craft was Special Agent Delphe Bird. A little wisp of a woman. Mostyn thought she could have had a great career as a jockey, if she’d been so inclined.

  Dotty and Bardon were seated in the back and discussing possible modifications to the human genome.

  Up ahead was the Van Dyne building. Mostyn corrected himself. One of the Van Dyne buildings. This was their public face. They had secret facilities scattered around the world, and not even Bardon knew where they all were.

  Special Agent Bird piloted the blimp to a position eight hundred feet above the building. “We’re here, sir,” she informed Bardon.

  The OUP director rubbed his hands together, his face radiating excitement.

  “Good, good. The first thing we’ll do is release the cyborgized mice drones. Come, Mostyn, help me.”

  Bardon opened a case in which there were five rows of small mouse-like entities, five cyborgs to a row. The director pressed a button on his laptop and twenty-five little mammalian machines woke up. Mostyn and Bardon tossed the little things out one of the blimp’s windows, and watched them fly down to the Van Dyne building.

  Dotty Kemper, who’d been watching, asked, “What on earth are those things?”

  “Our little
spies,” Bardon said. “Those highly modified mice will do what mice normally do, and oh, so much more.”

  “Are they carrying transmitters?” Mostyn asked.

  “Yes,” Bardon replied. “Whatever those little mouse ears pick up, their hearing having been cybernetically enhanced, will get transmitted back to us.”

  “What happens when we aren’t here?” Dotty asked.

  “That comes next,” Bardon said, and held up a small sphere. He pressed a button and out of the sphere came two rotors and four small legs.

  For all the world, Mostyn thought the thing looked like a little helicopter.

  Bardon set the sphere on the floor, tapped a few keys on his laptop, and the rotors began spinning. The thing lifted off and flew out the window of the blimp towards the Van Dyne building.

  “What’s it going to do?” Dotty asked.

  Bardon answered, his stance a bit like that of a professor in front of his class. “It will attach itself to the side of the building, the rotors will drop off, and then it will open into a dish antenna. That’s how we will be able to listen in when we are not here physically.”

  “That’s pretty amazing.”

  “Glad you think so, Dr. Kemper. I’m rather proud of these little gadgets. Been very useful.”

  “You’ve used these before?”

  “Oh, yes, Mostyn. Trial by fire, so to speak. Trial by fire.”

  “How come I never knew about them?” Mostyn sounded a bit put out.

  “Need to know basis, my boy. Need to know.”

  Bird’s voice broke in. “We’re going to get company, sir.”

  “Get us out of here, Ms Bird. Pronto.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Mostyn and Dotty looked out a window as ballast fell from the blimp and the twin props began spinning at high rpm. Taking off from the roof of the Van Dyne building were three creatures with large bat-like wings. Bardon joined Mostyn and Dotty at the window.

  “They’re sending the Jersey Devil creatures after us,” Bardon said.

  The blimp banked sharply to starboard. The creatures flew surprisingly fast, and we’re rapidly closing the distance.