Trail of the Chupacabra: An Avery Bartholomew Pendleton Misadventure (The Chupacabra Trilogy - Book 2)

by Randel Stephen

  “Why so sad?” She sat down beside him.

  “Busy.”

  “With what?” She rubbed his chest.

  “Get off me.” He pushed her hand away.

  “You can tell me,” she purred.

  “Guns. Moving guns for the Padre.” He drained the last of his champagne glass and pushed her off. She leaned back over and unzipped his pants.

  • • •

  “By my estimation,” the General said, “the drought has lowered the level of the Rio Grande to a point where we can use it to our advantage.” The dust-covered school bus bounced down a rutted road, bucking and weaving as it swerved back and forth to avoid rocks and potholes. “They won’t be expecting us out here.”

  “Like, where is here, man?” Ziggy asked as he ate the rest of his banana.

  “The middle of nowhere.” The General checked his mirrors. “The border fence doesn’t run all the way out here. All that separates us from Mexico is that damned river.”

  “Like, I’m not a strong swimmer, dude,” Ziggy whispered, looking up from the stairwell with fear on his face.

  “Not to worry, you yellow-bellied commie hippy freak, this brigade is mobile and hostile. Won’t even have to get our feet wet. This military vehicle is dang near amphibious.”

  “Sir, General, sir,” Fire Team Leader Charlie said. “I wouldn’t push the old girl so hard. It wasn’t made for this sort of stuff.”

  “Poppycock.”

  “Like, poppy what?” Ziggy asked the General. “That, like, sounds pornographic, man.”

  “Nonsense. We’re going to be fine. We just need a flat crossing point, maybe with some sandbars. Speed is our advantage. Although I wouldn’t mind finding a spot we could jump it from.” The General scratched his flabby chin and jerked the wheel over hard with one hand to avoid a terrified jackrabbit in the dirt road. “Always wanted to invade Mexico by air.”

  Fire Team Leader Bravo spoke up from the back. “Sir, may I suggest we just use the crossing at Eagle Pass?”

  “You may suggest it, but we ain’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “How many men do we have on board?”

  “Nine.”

  “How many passports do we have?”

  “Don’t rightly know, sir. Boys, anybody got one of them there passports?” The only hand that went up was Avery’s.

  “What country of origin?” Avery asked as he shuffled through his fanny pack. “American? Portuguese? Japanese? Russian? I’m set.”

  “You see, Team Leader,” the General said, “the enemy now requires paperwork to enter their country. Can you imagine that? A grown man needing a document to enter and stay in a country — it’s unbelievable. Just one more reason to invade, I suppose. Private Foxtrot! Where’s my map?”

  “Sir, right here, sir,” the private said, handing over the road atlas.

  “We’re off the grid. This road doesn’t show up. That’s good.” The General gave the bus some gas. “Boys, this is going to be as easy as Saipan!” Fire Team Leader Charlie looked over at Avery with concern.

  “This might be bad.”

  “How bad?” Avery whispered as he swallowed hard and held onto the firm, green Naugahyde seat in front of him while the bus careened down the bumpy road.

  “Heavy casualties. Survivors envying the dead,” the Fire Team Leader said as he looked for a seatbelt.

  “River ahead!” the General announced. “Battle stations!”

  The men of the Southwest Texas Revolutionary Armed Confederate Border Operation Militia secured themselves as best they could. Avery and Ziggy just looked on as the Rio Grande appeared in the distance. True, the years-long drought in Texas and New Mexico had lowered the water level of the mighty river significantly, but to say it was something that could be navigated by a school bus was a bit of a stretch — a stretch as long as the Rio Grande.

  “You boys know the secret to off-roading?” the General asked. “Stand on the stupid pedal!” He yelled and floored the accelerator. “Suckin’ gas and haulin’ ass!”

  The first part of the journey wasn’t so bad. The bus caught a little bit of air coming off the five-foot riverbank. No big deal, really. They took a few bounces across some flat rocks in the riverbed, throwing the men around a bit. A little splash of water here, a little splash of water there, nothing to be too concerned about. Then they took a comfortable slide over the top of a conveniently placed sandbar, followed by a gentle, smooth roll into the far side of the river. The first part was easy. The hard part was next. When a school bus loses momentum in a moving stream of water, everything tends to go tits-up. Buses are heavy. Heavy vehicles and water are a bad combination, kind of like small children and bayonets. At first, the bus seemed to track across the water and almost gain speed as it splashed across the top of the shallow river, but then it started to slow down. Ironically, inside the vehicle, the passengers believed that the bus was still accelerating. It’s a delayed effect. The wake from the splash helps to propel an enormous object, like a bus, forward, encouraging optimism from its inhabitants. These same inhabitants naturally think that the powerful forward thrust of the wake behind the vehicle after their terrifying fall is a good thing. Unfortunately, when fleeting moments of joy immediately follow moments of abject terror, it’s usually not a good thing. It just means that abject terror is probably taking a smoke break. And abject terror doesn’t usually smoke for long.

  “Rawhide!” the General yelled as the bus entered the water, but then it slowly started to slip to the left. He didn’t care; he poured on the gas. The back wheels spun furiously but found no purchase. “Come on, you useless son of gun, go, go, go!” Nothing really happened except for the back end of the bus swinging downriver. They were now pointed backward and starting to bob downstream, and the problem with a bus bobbing downstream is that it usually doesn’t bob for very long. After few seconds, they started to sink. Water began to seep into the bus. Ziggy crawled up the stairwell as the water level rose.

  “Like, dude, getting higher here, man.” Ziggy sat on the floor next to the General and pulled his knees up under his chin. “I’m not cool with the water, man. Not cool. Nope, nope, nope.”

  “Broken arrow, broken arrow!” the General cried as he looked back over his shoulder and spun the steering wheel as if trying to parallel-park the bus on the far bank. “Did I ever tell you about my great-nephew’s amphibious landing at Normandy in the big war?” he asked Ziggy. “He was piloting a landing craft full of soldiers and was supposed to pull up on Omaha Beach. Unfortunately, he got a little turned around in some bad weather and made landfall due east at Gold Beach, which was occupied by the enemy at the time, and by enemy, I mean the British. He had a few thoughts about engaging them with his machine guns, but thought better of it because Roosevelt was sympathetic to the tea-sippers at the time.” The General yanked hard on the steering wheel, shifted into reverse, and stood on the gas pedal. “For the record, one of FDR’s worst all-time decisions.”

  “How’d he get lost, man?” Ziggy asked as he kicked at the rising water.

  “The damn current took him. It kept him from landing on Omaha Beach and a certain Medal of Honor. Our family is famous for gallantry, you know.”

  “Dude, I need, like, a life vest. Like, where are the life jackets, man?”

  “Use the current!” Avery yelled as he jumped from his seat and leaned over the General.

  “Like, the current is using us, man. Where’s the lifeboat, dude?” Ziggy implored.

  “Sharp bend in the river turning north!” Avery pointed. “Using the current is our only chance. Keep it in reverse and stay as wide as possible. The water on the inside of the bend moves faster than the water on the outside. Stay wide!”

  “Whatever you say, city boy.” The General spun the wheel hard to the left and hit the gas. Every few feet the bus would bottom out in the riverbed and grab a brief moment of traction. Fire Team Leader Alpha chewed his fingernails. Private Zulu covered his eyes. Private Tango s
tripped off his fatigues.

  “What the hell are you doing, Private?” Fire Team Leader Bravo asked the man sitting next to him in his skivvies.

  “Preparing to bail out, Fire Team Leader.”

  “Put your dang pants on. You want to get arrested in Mexico buck naked?”

  “Are we going to get arrested?”

  “No, probably just drown. On second thought, keep your pants off. It’ll be easier to bury you.”

  “Hard left rudder!” Avery bellowed. “Full throttle, all back!” The General pushed the pedal to the floorboard as the wheels spun in reverse. The slower current on the southern, Mexican side of the border began to pull the back end of the bus toward the shore. The water level in the bus slowly dropped, but Ziggy continued to search for flotation devices.

  “Ropes, dining fly, duct tape…like, why the hell no life preserveRs!” Ziggy screeched at the top of his lungs. The rest of the men on the bus froze. No one, not even Avery, had ever heard the normally timid man raise his voice. Suddenly, the bus stopped with a lurch. The men all looked around. Avery ran toward the back of the bus and peered outside. The back end of the bus was rammed against the sloping bank of the Mexican side of the border.

  “Engines, all stop, General.” Avery opened the back door of the bus and jumped out on the bank. He fell on his side when he landed.

  “You all right?” Fire Team Leader Charlie asked, leaning out the back of the vehicle.

  “I did that on purpose in order to break my fall. It’s a technique they teach in the Russian Special Forces.” Avery lay on his back and held his ribs.

  “Yeah, whatever…you all right?”

  “No.” The men of STRAC-BOM and Ziggy all piled out of the bus while Fire Team Leader Charlie helped Avery to his feet. The militia wandered around the riverbank, pondering their good fortune. General X-Ray planted a small paper American flag in the riverbank. Ziggy climbed for higher ground.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The Flying Burrito

  El Barquero made his through the streaming crowd of people wearing brightly colored jerseys. The sun was out in this part of Coahuila, and it was hot. People were singing and chanting in the streets around the large complex. Drums and horns played loudly as the soccer fans poured into one of the newest and finest stadiums in Mexico. Police stood guard all around the arena. There had been shootings here before. Recently, one even stopped a match in mid-progress. Barquero made his way to a small stand in the concourse. He stood out of the way and waited. A few minutes later his friend Cesar appeared out of the crowd.

  “Walk with me,” Cesar said, slipping back into the flow of people walking to their seats for the game’s kickoff. The two men walked toward the far end of the stadium. They both scanned the crowd as they walked. El Barquero dropped the flyer he was holding and looked back as he picked it up. “Anything?” Cesar asked.

  “No.”

  “Good, I have men out there. If you can’t see them, no one can.”

  Barquero clinched his jaw. “Over here. Follow me,” Barquero hissed. Cesar followed him. They stood next to the wall near a restroom. Fans poured by. Cesar reached up and touched his earpiece.

  “We’re good. I’ve got six of my men in the stadium. They don’t see anything.”

  “What do you have for me?”

  “The Padre, he’s moving a shipment of weapons tomorrow. Your guns, the ones you stole.”

  “Where?”

  “North of here. Hundred miles or so.”

  “Who gave you the information?”

  “I know a girl. A stripper. She’s really good, she’s got these fantastic…”

  “How’s he moving it?”

  “Uh, by truck, a large truck. It’ll be heavily armed. The Padre likes to armor-plate them and builds in firing ports for his security detail.”

  “How many men?”

  “At least a dozen, maybe more, probably in several vehicles with some men inside the cargo area of the main vehicle. After his cargo ship sank, the Padre’s not taking any chances. By the way, you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

  “What about Carnicero?”

  “I don’t know, but I would assume he’ll be there.”

  “Prepare for the worst…”

  “…and expect it.” Cesar touched his earpiece again. “Okay. We’re still clear,” he said.

  “I’ll take care of this,” Barquero said as he scanned the concourse. “Have your men ready. You can take all the credit.”

  “Okay, I like all the credit.”

  “After I take care of this, I’m done. Can you help me disappear?”

  “What?” Cesar asked incredulously. “You don’t want to come around for the holidays?”

  “I’m serious,” the intimidating man said as he looked down at his friend.

  “Okay. I’ll see what I can do.”

  • • •

  Carnicero walked with one of his men outside the stadium. He smoked a cigarette and watched the late-arriving crowd through his dark sunglasses. Cheers lifted through the air as the match began. The home supporters were already singing loudly for their side. The two men watched Cesar and Barquero leave the arena and head off in different directions.

  “We can take him, boss. Right now.”

  “No, we can’t,” Carnicero said, running his hand through his long hair. “Not yet.”

  “Should we follow him?”

  “No.”

  “Why not, boss? He’s right there,” the man implored.

  “It’s not the right time.”

  “What? With all these people around, we could be gone in an instant.”

  “With all these cops around, we could be caught.”

  “I don’t know, boss, it’s El Barquero right in front of us. You want him, the Padre wants him…” An enormous roar rose from the soccer stadium as the home team took an early lead.

  “No, the time will come. I want some food,” Carnicero said as he turned, flicked his cigarette to the pavement, and walked away. “And a girl. Find them both for me.”

  • • •

  Ziggy sat on the dry, cracked bank of the river. It was an ancient river, one with a history that spoke of long-extinct prehistoric animals, indigenous natives, foreign explorers, and mad conquerors. His bare feet soaked in the river’s cool, muddy water as he tossed small rocks into it. They made splashes. Rings formed. He loved how one splash made a small ever-expanding circle, and then another rock thrown into the middle of the first circle made another wake, pushing the first one along even more. Rock upon rock, building more and more rings. More and more circles. It reminded him of the universe and its solar systems, constantly expanding and overtaking each other with wave upon wave of star systems overlapping in an ever-expanding infinity of nothingness…or ever-expanding infinity of everything. It really depended on what type of mood Ziggy was in. After surviving the river crossing, he was in a rather good mood. He was on an adventure with his best friend, Avery. Ever-expanding infinity of everything it was, then. He’d save the ever-expanding infinity of nothingness for another day. Rocks and rivers, stars and the universe, infinity and everything. He was a happy lizard.

  “It’s, like, a really pretty river, man.” Ziggy tossed another rock.

  “He loves nature,” Avery, from the riverbank, said to the General, “despite what it did to him.” Avery ate from a box of dry cereal as he scanned the American League box scores in the newspaper he’d stolen from the hotel. The Yankees lead continued to slip. “Who the hell is this Jeter character?” Avery wadded up the sports page. “And why the hell do they even bother playing him? Hasn’t had a hit in a week.” The General watched as the men of STRAC-BOM used a series of ropes and pulleys to haul the school bus out of the river and up the bank. Some of the men pushed branches and sticks under the rear wheels so they could find traction as the bus tried to back out of the water. All of the men complained loudly.

  “Sir.” Fire Team Leader Bravo wiped his muddy hands off on his
fatigues. “I’m not sure this is going to work. This bus must weigh at least ten tons.”

  “Goddammit!” the General cursed. “If I tell you to lift an elephant with one hand, you’ll do it! Now, get my transportation dry, Fire Team Leader!”

  “Where we going to find an elephant with one hand?” Private Tango whispered to Private Zulu. “I thought they only had feet.”

  Zulu stared blankly. “That’s a really good point.”

  The men stopped their complaining and went back to work.

  It took some time, but after a while the bus was on high ground. Once the bus was free, the men loaded up and prepared to pull out. The only problem was the bus wouldn’t shift into first gear anymore, or any other gear, for that matter, except reverse. However, the air conditioning worked perfectly. That was a plus. Driving in reverse provided some navigational challenges, but it did give a nice view of the Rio Grande valley through the front window.

  “They can’t sneak up on us this way,” the General reassured his men as he sat in the back with Avery, while Fire Team Leader Charlie took over driving.

  “General,” Avery began, “I plan on chasing invasive species all around this desert. How are we going to do that with a machine that only goes the wrong direction?”

  “Like, it goes the right direction, man,” Ziggy said, “but only, like, in the wrong way.”

  “Back in your hole!” the General shouted. Ziggy cowered and slunk back down the aisle to his stairwell.

  “Nicely done.”

  “Where did you find him, again?”

  “Long story. Look, General, we need to fix this vehicle. Now, my calculations suggest we’re a few miles from a small outpost, one of notorious repute, according to the Lonely Planet’s Travel Guide to Places You Don’t Ever Want to Go, but we may be able to find a certified mechanic to solve this temporary inconvenience.”