CRYPTID ZOO
GERRY GRIFFITHS
www.severedpress.com
Copyright 2018 by GERRY GRIFFITHS
DEDICATION
For our wonderful Abbie,
You never cease to amaze us
1
NIGHT HUNT
Jack Tremens spotted a tiny white blip flash across the black screen on the instrument panel. “Did you see that?”
The pilot shook his head.
Jack turned around in the co-pilot’s seat. Miguel Walla was leaning forward in the rear seat, staring intently at the screen. “It’s not one of them.”
“You sure?”
“It was running on all fours.”
“Are we close?” Jack asked the pilot.
“We’re just about there.” The pilot pushed the yoke forward and they flew precariously low over the desert nightscape.
A minute later the skids touched down on the rock-covered sand.
Jack grabbed his gear, opened the side door, and climbed out. He waited until Miguel stepped down then signaled to the pilot.
The chopper lifted off and banked toward a butte where the pilot was instructed to wait for an hour before returning to pick them up unless Jack summoned him sooner with his miniature two-way radio tucked in his ear.
Once the helicopter was gone, the night around them became eerily quiet.
Jack pulled his watch cap down around his ears. “Why is it the desert can get so damn hot during the day and be so frigging cold at night?”
“Be happy we’re not in the Gobi,” Miguel said.
Jack thought back to their time in the Mongolian desert where they endured a week of sweltering heat trekking across the burning sand in search of an elusive specimen that dwelled underground.
One evening Jack and Miguel had stayed up late getting drunk on Arkhi, Mongolian vodka made from fermented cow milk yogurt, and later passed out in their tents.
Luckily, Jack’s full bladder had gotten him up in the middle of the night. Stumbling out of his tent, he’d fallen facedown in six inches of snow. Jack rousted Miguel and they built a fire to stay warm as during the night the temperature had dropped to below freezing due to an extreme climate change.
It seemed ironic that a night of binge drinking would actually save their lives.
Jack and Miguel took a moment to put on their night vision goggles.
“Like being on another planet,” Jack said, scanning the green imagery of flatland dotted with barrel cacti and scraggly shrubs.
“Full of crazy creatures,” Miguel said.
“Yeah.”
Both men wore side arms: Jack a Colt .44 Magnum revolver and Miguel, his .357 Desert Eagle semi-automatic pistol. They hoped they didn’t need to use the weapons, as they had come specially outfitted to capture their intended prey alive.
Jack carried a Remington pump shotgun loaded with rubber dum dum bullets, which at a distance had adequate stopping power, but he knew at close range were still lethal so he had to be careful.
Miguel’s weapon was a high-tech stun gun on a long pole with a battery pack and a regulated charge with a maximum of 200,000-volts.
“You know, Dr. McCabe said it doesn’t matter whether it’s dead or alive,” Miguel said.
“I know what he said. But how do you properly replicate one of these things if you don’t know what makes it tick?”
“You just want to impress Professor Howard.”
“Maybe. So what if I do?”
“Just nice to know in case you get us both killed.”
“No one’s getting—” Jack paused and put his hand up to his ear. “It’s the pilot. He’s picking up targets, south of us. Maybe coyotes.”
Miguel had his finger pressed on his earbud. “But not the four-legged kind.”
They crouched and scampered for cover behind a large bush.
Jack peered between the branches with his night vision goggles and scanned the desert for anything that moved.
A thermal image of a man appeared, running across the rugged desert floor. He was wearing a backpack and carrying a plastic water jug. A woman came into view lugging a tote bag.
Soon there were more of them, all weighed down with rucksacks, each struggling to keep up with the rest of the illegal immigrants having crossed the border.
They looked like invading aliens in the green glow.
“Mules,” Miguel whispered.
Jack counted three men with assault rifles—armed cartel thugs—wrangling the frightened people. He turned and looked at Miguel.
Miguel shook his head.
Even if they intervened, they were clearly outgunned. There was nothing Jack and Miguel could do but wait until they passed. Hopefully there wouldn’t be another group right behind.
When the drug traffickers were far enough away, Jack pushed a button on his wristwatch and the crystal lit up. “We have forty-three minutes before our ride comes back.” He looked at Miguel. “A case of Coronas if this works.”
“It will.” Miguel unzipped a duffle bag all the way. He reached inside, pulled out a small piñata shaped like a goat, and placed it on the ground.
“Weren’t you supposed to send that for your daughter’s birthday?”
“I was but Maria says Sophia is now into unicorns,” Miguel said, reaching back into the bag. He took out an MP3 player and a plastic bottle. He handed the media device to Jack.
Jack had been skeptical when Miguel had first proposed the idea of using a dummy, but figured it was worth a shot. He knew they couldn’t bring a real goat, as it would have cried the whole time once it sensed danger.
Besides, he’d seen what those things could do to a live animal and it was pretty gruesome.
Miguel unscrewed the cap off the plastic bottle and poured a thick liquid over the piñata. “The goat blood should draw them out.”
“Time to set the trap.” Jack placed the digital audio player on the ground under the cardboard goat then turned it on.
A distressed kid blatted for its mother from the tiny speaker.
Jack and Miguel snuck over to a nearby bush to wait.
It took only ten minutes for the ruse to work.
The creature that lurked out of the darkness was nearly four-feet tall and stood on two legs.
Fish eyes gaped from the egg-shaped head. Its mouth was open like a deep round bowl, revealing needle-sharp teeth.
The neck was taut and its shoulders were hunched on a lean torso, bony knobs running down its spine to the base of its serpentine tail.
At the end of each front arm was a two-claw appendage.
The hind legs were slightly bent at the knees, but then the limbs formed into hocks and withers like a dog; each foot having three bird-like talons.
The chupacabra looked especially creepy in the green imaging.
Jack watched the creature sniffing the air, drawn by the scent of the blood as it moved stealthily toward the bogus goat hidden behind the shrub. He waited until the thing was close enough and stepped out from the concealment.
The chupacabra spotted Jack and turned to bolt.
Jack fired the shotgun.
The rubber bullet struck the creature in the shoulder.
It stumbled forwards, but stayed on its feet.
Jack ratcheted another dum dum into the chamber and shot it again, hitting it squarely in the middle of the back. This time it fell to the ground, kicking its feet and screeched like a cat that had just had its tail pinched under a rocking chair.
Miguel rushed up and shoved the tip of the stun gun into its chest and gave it a sharp jolt of electricity.
The chupacabra jerked convulsively for a few seconds then went rigid.
“Jesus, Miguel.”
“Don’t worry. I set it for half charge.”
Jack leaned over the ugly creature to confirm it was alive and was relieved to see it was still breathing. He picked up the media player, turned it off, and slipped the device into a side pocket of his cargo pants.
Miguel rolled out a thick canvas bag on the ground that resembled a body bag and had air holes in the fabric. He pulled down the long zipper.
Jack and Miguel picked up the chupacabra and slipped it inside the bag. Miguel closed up the zipper and fastened a small padlock so it couldn’t be unzipped.
Jack spoke into his two-way radio and told the pilot they were ready to be picked up.
They took off their night vision goggles and gazed up at the stars.
“Beautiful, eh? Kind of reminds me of—” Jack paused when he heard something in the bush behind him. He tucked the butt of the shotgun into his shoulder and aimed at the source of the noise, which sounded like a frantic pack of Pekinese shredding apart a newspaper.
Miguel switched on his flashlight and shined the beam behind the bush.
Four hunched chupacabras shrank away from the light and vanished into the night.
The only pieces left of the piñata were the head, a single leg, and a few tattered strips of paper and cardboard. The hungry bloodsuckers had eaten every scrap of paper mache that had been covered with blood.
Miguel looked at Jack and laughed.
“What’s so funny?”
“Sneaky bastards went and ate the candy.”
2
DREAM PROJECT
Lucas Finder was the lone occupant on the elevator headed up to Carter Wilde’s office. He’d brought his attaché case along, knowing his boss was anxious for an updated progress report. Construction was near completion thank God, but there was still much that needed to be done before the theme park would be ready for Opening Day.
Lucas had been project manager for Wilde Enterprises for the past ten years and had completed many engineering feats around the world. He’d always beaten his deadlines and completed each project under budget, and was graciously compensated for his exemplary achievements, spurring him to take on even more challenging assignments.
But this venture had been unlike building a pharmaceutical manufacturing facility in South Korea or erecting an elegant high-rise hotel in a wealthy Middle Eastern country and embossing WILDE ENTERPRISES over the front entrances.
This had been a seemingly impossible whim of a 62-year-old eccentric multi-billionaire who happened to be the fifth richest man on the planet and had the resources at his fingertips to make a childhood fantasy come true.
Lucas couldn’t remember the last time he had gotten more than three hours sleep in one night since starting the $4 billion project, which had been expected to take three years to complete.
His cell phone was constantly ringing, problems occurring on a daily basis, each one a potential setback threatening to push out the scheduled completion date, which was now only weeks away.
There had been times he was so frustrated he’d even contemplated giving his notice then quickly came to his senses when he realized how much he would miss his job and the sacrifices he would have to make. But most of all, it would be admitting failure and disappointing his boss.
The elevator came to an abrupt stop and the doors slid open.
Lucas stepped out onto the top floor of Wilde Enterprises corporate office—Carter Wilde’s penthouse office suite.
The mosaic marble floor had recently been buffed and shimmered like the surface of a sparkling lake under a moonlit sky.
An attractive brunette in her mid forties was sitting at a cherry wood custom reception station that looked like a fortress caponier with its parapet of translucent acrylic window risers. She looked up and smiled. “Good morning, Mr. Finder.”
“Morning, Katherine.”
Katherine Donahue was Carter Wilde’s trusted secretary, and had been since Lucas first began traveling up to the 100th floor to visit the eccentric tycoon.
“Would you like for me to order you up something?” Katherine asked.
“I don’t think I could eat though coffee would be nice.”
“I’ll tell them to bring up a pot of Death Wish.”
“You’re the best,” Lucas said. He needed a quick pick-me-up and knew the popular brand would do the trick, having 200% more caffeine than any other coffee drink.
“Go right in. He’s expecting you,” Katherine said.
“Thank you,” Lucas said. He turned and walked past the large pane windows facing out over the cityscape.
Two burly security guards wearing suits stood outside the tall mahogany double doors to Wilde’s office. They scrutinized Lucas and for a second he thought they were going to pat him down. Instead one man reached over and dutifully opened a door.
Lucas gave the big man a nod. He walked through the doorway into the office and the door closed briskly behind him.
Carter Wilde was standing behind his desk with his back turned, facing the floor-to-ceiling wall of glass. He made no indication that he heard Lucas enter.
Instead, he jiggled his right arm, and continued to gaze out at the high-rise canopy of spires and rooftops.
Lucas could hear ice tinkling in a glass tumbler. It wasn’t even ten o’clock in the morning and Carter Wilde was already into the good stuff.
“Why is it, Lucas, when you look down it seems so much farther than when you’re on the street looking up?” Wilde said. He turned around to face Lucas.
His goatee was neatly trimmed and his gray hair was slicked back flat against the crown of his skull. He wore a crisp powder-blue shirt, dark blue tie, and a $43,000 Brioni Vanquish II suit.
“Perception?”
“Exactly.” Wilde stepped out from behind his desk.
“If you like, I have the latest updates.”
“By the look on your face, I’m guessing there are more problems.”
It was difficult not to appear glum when he’d been putting out one fire after another trying to keep the project on track. “Yes, there are issues that need to be addressed.”
“Give me a sec, Lucas, and we’ll go into the War Room.” Wilde went over to his well-stocked wet bar to freshen up his drink.
Lucas gazed about the extravagant suite.
One wall was covered with scores of framed photographs of Carter Wilde chumming it up with various top-ranking foreign dignitaries, famous celebrities and movie stars from all around the world, the wealthy elite, and even a couple of presidents.
In the event of a large business gathering, there were upholstered chairs and sofas situated around the room to seat twenty people for a casual meeting.
Lucas looked over at the indoor putting green and noticed the Louis Vuitton designer golf bag was still in the same spot in the corner of the room from the last time he’d been in Wilde’s office. Inside the canvas bag was a 14-piece set of gold and platinum Honma golf clubs, which cost more than Lucas’ Lexus.
Wilde stepped away from the wet bar and carried his glass across the room. He jabbed a code on a push pad on the wall and a pocket door opened revealing a large conference room—Carter Wilde’s War Room.
Lucas followed his boss into the rectangular room, which had once been used for board meetings, but was now exclusively reserved for the project. Only top managers and department heads currently involved in the project were allowed access and all were contractually bound not to discuss any aspects of what went on within these walls, as Wilde was adamant about keeping his pet project as much a secret as possible.
Wilde switched on the recessed lighting.
A blank drop-down 90-inch flat screen hung from the ceiling in the front of the room.
The earth tone painted walls were covered with conceptual artwork, a detailed timeline outlining the scheduled due dates for each stage of development, along with building blueprints and engineering schematics.
Twelve black leather chairs were set up around one end of the 24-foot long solid walnut table. A row of binders was between two bo
okends in the center, each report identified by department and giving specific breakdowns of activities performed.
Lucas stepped to the other end of the table and joined Wilde, studying the three displays on the table.
The first miniature model looked like a giant blue beetle and was as long as the width of the conference table. It was the mockup of the theme park with the dome closed.
Lucas’ design and engineering teams insisted the curvature of the solar panel roof would gather the most sun power, as the theme park had to be self-sustained due to its remote location.
Wilde placed his glass on a cork coaster on the table and stared down at the next model, which was the same size as the first one without the roof.
Lucas watched his boss and knew he was envisioning what the real theme park would look like.
The interior layout comprised of six tiny round plastic buildings and four circular habitats, quality crafted in exquisite detail and arranged inside an oval-shaped diorama on green matting. Each piece was labeled on the top for easy identification.
Lucas did his own visual walkthrough and started at the main entrance imagining he was a guest entering the theme park. Two rows of statues, in the images of the attractions the visitors would be seeing during their stay, flanked a broad pathway that led to the luxurious hotel.
The zookeepers’ workstations and sleeping quarters were in a building left of the hotel. Another circular building was to the right of the hotel; this one reserved for security where the surveillance cameras around the park were to be monitored and the armory was kept under lock and key.
Behind the hotel was an enormous round swimming pool.
To its left, the 900,000-gallon aquarium called the Tank.
On the other side of the circular hotel was the Aviary with aerial space reaching up to the height of the dome’s ceiling and was flush in places to glass-enclosed balconies providing safe viewing for the guests.
The Bioengineering Laboratory and Animatronics Workshop Complex was centered in the middle of the diorama.
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