Cryptid Frontier (Cryptid Zoo Book 7)

by Gerry Griffiths

  “My Lord, they’re lathered up.” White shaving cream like foam covered each horse’s chest and legs. “They must have run full gallop all the way back. It’s a wonder they didn’t collapse from heat exhaustion.”

  “You don’t think Miguel and Sophia got bucked off, do you?” Maria asked.

  “Not Miguel. He’s a good rider. I don’t think Miguel and Sophia were on them at the time. That’s what happens when you got a couple of barn-spoiled horses. First chance they get, they’re leaving you high and dry and running back to the barn.”

  “We have to go look for them,” Maria said in a panic.

  “We will. But first we need to tend to the animals.”

  Maria helped Camilla unsaddle the horses and wipe them down with wet sponges.

  Inside the house, Camilla went into her room to gather up some things to take along while Maria dashed into the guest room for the truck keys. She came out and joined Camilla in the kitchen. “Any idea where they might have gone?”

  “Maybe,” Camilla said.

  “Where’s that?” Maria asked, grabbing two canteens hanging on the wall and filling one with cold water from the tap on the kitchen sink.

  “An abandoned Navaho hogan I once took Miguel to. Better grab some flashlights out of the drawer.”

  “Okay,” Maria said. She finished filling the second canteen and retrieved the flashlights. She turned around and saw Camilla holding a shotgun. “That wouldn’t by any chance be the same gun you talked about in your story?”

  “Sure is. Grainger’s Ithaca 10-guage,” Camilla said, opening the breech on the 12-inch double barrel coach gun to make sure it was loaded then snapping it shut.

  “So everything you told us was true?” Maria said.

  “Most of it,” Camilla said.

  Maria leaned forward and stared down at the table.

  “Are you okay?” Camilla asked.

  “I just need a second,” Maria answered but didn’t look up.

  “Don’t worry, we’ll find them. Do you have something of Sophia’s?”

  “Sure.” Maria went into the guest bedroom and came out with one of her daughter’s shirts.

  Camilla turned and yelled, “Astuto! Get in here! Now!”

  They waited but the little troll didn’t respond.

  “Astuto! You better get in here! We have to find Sophia!”

  This time the little-wrinkly-old-man-looking troll came out of his hole in the wall and scampered over to Camilla’s feet.

  Camilla leaned down and showed Astuto Sophia’s shirt. “Now I want you to take a good whiff.”

  Astuto buried his face into the fabric and snorted.

  “Good grief, did he just blow his nose?” Maria said. “You really think he can find them?”

  “You bet. Astuto’s got a nose like a bloodhound.”

  26

  CLEAN UP ON AISLE ONE

  After assisting Clay Lansford with his injured llama, Ben had waited by his Tahoe for Roxy to return from her search. As soon as he saw her come out of the trees, a car engine sounded off in the distance. “Anything?” he asked.

  “No,” Roxy replied.

  The sun had dipped behind the treetops casting long shadows across the menagerie of animals scattered about the field.

  “You want to write this one up?” Ben said to Roxy.

  “Not much to write up.”

  “Yeah, you can do it in the morning. I have to stop by the Quick Stop and pick up a few things on the way home.”

  “I’ll follow you. The Interceptor needs filling up.”

  “Damn gas guzzler’s putting a crimp in my budget,” Ben griped. “If I’d known, I’d have put in for a hybrid.”

  “Sure, I can see myself telling speeders ‘You mind pulling over while I recharge my battery,’” Roxie quipped. “Besides, I like that car.”

  “I can tell. Let’s go.” Ben climbed into his Tahoe while Roxy got in the Mustang.

  The trip over to the Quick Stop took only fifteen minutes.

  Ben parked in front of the convenience store entrance. He got out and saw Roxy pull up to the nearest gas pump. She exited the Mustang, grabbed the nozzle off the pump, and began gassing up her vehicle.

  Entering the store, Ben knew something was wrong when he saw no one at the counter and the place had a strange odor. It smelled like rancid food that had been left out in the sun to spoil. He could hear the drone of buzzing flies. The sound was coming from the other side of the far end of the aisle. “Macy, you in here?” he hollered.

  He waited for a reply, but none came. He glanced out the glass doors. Roxy had finished filling the car and was returning the nozzle to the pump. She began walking toward the front entrance.

  When the automatic glass doors opened, Ben waved to her and called out, “We might have a problem.” He drew his gun from the holster slowly.

  Roxy pulled out her service weapon, held it with both hands, and advanced toward Ben. “What is—my God, what’s that smell?”

  “I don’t know,” Ben replied.

  Roxy glanced around. “Where’s Macy? Isn’t she supposed to be working today?”

  Ben edged around the end of the first row of shelves. He looked down the aisle and gasped, “Oh no.” He hurried down but could only go so far or he would be stepping in blood.

  There was so much blood.

  He remembered Monroe telling him that a human body weighing 150 pounds contained just over a gallon of blood; which when put in perspective was enough to paint half a small bedroom.

  Or pool a huge section of floor.

  “Oh my God, it’s Macy,” Roxy said.

  “Go down the other aisle and check the back,” Ben instructed Roxie. He waited while she went to the rear room.

  “All clear. There’s no one here,” she yelled.

  “Call Monroe and Forensics.”

  “Will do.” Roxie came back and went out to her car.

  Ben tried to get as close as he could without disturbing the evidence. Macy’s midsection looked like she had fallen on the spinning blade of a buzz saw. It was a terrible sight. What was he going to tell her boys?

  He took a step back and glanced over the top shelf.

  Roxie stood outside next to her patrol car. Instead of using her radio inside the cruiser, she was talking on her cell phone, which he didn’t think was unusual.

  It was the way she was acting that struck him as odd.

  Even though he couldn’t hear what she was saying, he could tell she was yelling at the person on the other end of the line. Ben doubted very seriously if it was the coroner or the criminal investigators.

  Whoever it was, it was personal, and Roxie was reaming the person good.

  27

  HEATED CONVERSATION

  Roxie had been furious with Ethan over the phone. She’d asked where he had gone after his little stunt at the animal rescue. He swore he had gone straight home to the apartment, but she was skeptical, knowing that after a therianthropic episode it was common for him to experience a temporary fugue. She decided not to press him any further and confront him in person about Macy’s death.

  She ended her call with Ethan, spotting Ben staring at her through the convenience store window and hoped she hadn’t made too much of a spectacle of herself. She immediately contacted Keith Monroe and then afterward called the U.S. Forensic Office to have an investigative team sent out.

  Roxie took a deep calming breath, stuffed her cell phone into her trouser pocket, and walked back to the convenience store. “They’re on their way,” she called out, walking between the automatic doors as they slid open.

  “Good,” Ben said, standing on the outer perimeter of blood haloed around Macy Brown’s body. “You okay?” he asked.

  “Yeah, why?”

  “Couldn’t help noticing you outside. You looked a little agitated. Monroe giving you a hard time?”

  “No, nothing like that.” Roxie walked over and joined Ben. They both gazed down at the bloody corpse.

&nbs
p; “What kind of monster could do something like this?” Ben said.

  “Think it was the Quick Stop Killer?”

  “I checked the register. Doesn’t look like anyone touched the money. This is definitely an animal attack. Probably the same thing that killed the Willards.” Ben turned and looked at the front entrance. “I’ll bet anything it waltzed right through those doors and when Macy tried to run, the damn thing chased her down and killed her.”

  28

  MOONLIGHT PREDATORS

  Miguel stepped out of the hogan and gazed up at the night sky. Just as he had predicted there was a full moon with no clouds and plenty of stars to help them navigate back to Camilla’s house. “Ready to go?” he asked Sophia.

  “So how do you know which way?” she asked.

  “Easy. Look up.” Miguel pointed. “See those three stars aligned together?”

  Sophia stared for a moment, then said, “Yes.”

  “That’s Orion’s belt. It’s pointing east, which is the way back to Abuela’s.”

  “You mean it’s that simple?”

  “Not everything has to be complicated. Come on.” Miguel rested the carbine on his shoulder and took Sophia’s hand. Even though the temperature hadn’t dropped by much and was still warm, they didn’t have to contend with the scorching sun.

  Walking through the desert, Miguel began their lesson. He pointed at the stars that represented Orion’s sword hanging off the belt and that the bottom star indicated due south and in another constellation the brightest star was Polaris or commonly called the North Star.

  They hadn’t gone more than half a mile when Sophia squeezed her father’s hand and said quietly, “Papa, I heard something.”

  “I did too. To your left?”

  “Yes.”

  He had heard them earlier but didn’t want to alarm Sophia. It was difficult to estimate how many there were but he figured it was a small pack of around six, maybe more. He wasn’t sure if they would try to attack. Generally they were cowardly but if there were enough of them, they might be emboldened being in a large group.

  He heard movement to his right, the sound of taloned feet scrambling behind a stand of tarbush, which meant the nocturne predators were stalking them on both sides.

  Miguel lifted the gun barrel off his shoulder and held the rifle at his side. He would need two hands to shoot it properly but at the moment the last thing he wanted to do was let go of Sophia’s hand.

  “Papa, I’m scared.” Sophia rushed forward, almost pulling her hand out of Miguel’s grip.

  “No, we can’t run. We do and they’ll be on us in a flash.”

  An eerie screech pierced the desert calm.

  “What are they?” Sophia asked, cocking her head to see what it was.

  “I think they’re chupacabras.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I’ve seen their tracks.” Miguel heard something scamper to his right and gazed out at the silhouettes in the night. It was difficult to tell if they were vegetation or creatures poised to strike. And then one bolted out from behind a bush.

  The chupacabra was hunched, four feet tall, and raced across the sand on two hind legs. It had fish eyes, an egg-shaped head, and needle-tipped teeth in a bowl-shaped mouth. Bony knobs grew out of its spiny back down to its serpentine tail. It had claws like a dog on its front legs and bird-like talons on its rear feet.

  The creature screeched, sounding like the one they had heard previously and charged Miguel and Sophia. Miguel let go of Sophia’s hand, aimed the Winchester at the hideous thing, and fired.

  The bullet punched through the chupacabra’s forehead and blew out the back of its skull. It kept running for a few more steps then crashed to the ground. Miguel cocked the lever action, spitting out the empty shell and rammed a new cartridge into the chamber.

  Another bloodsucker darted out of the darkness. It was faster and dodged Miguel’s next shot. Miguel put another round in the chamber and fired. This time the bullet kneecapped the creature and blew off its leg. It stumbled and fell in front of Miguel. He levered another bullet into the chamber, pointed the muzzle down, and finished off the chupacabra with a single shot, its head shattering like a crystal bowl knocked off a shelf.

  Sophia screamed.

  Miguel spun around and saw his daughter dragged away into the dark.

  29

  BOXED IN

  Vera knew time was of the essence. With only a narrow window of sunlight left, she had worked as fast as she could, dabbing in the backdrop outline around the outer edges, leaving enough blank canvas to sketch in her subject. But then as the sun began to set, the lighting kept changing and creating shadows, making it near impossible to capture the exact moment; which she could have accomplished if she had used a photograph of the lechugilla for her template.

  As nightfall approached she finalized her last brush stroke. Even in the dim light she could tell it was one of her better works, if not the best. Gene would definitely be impressed and would no doubt get top dollar at the gallery and a well-earned commission.

  She had made two trips back to the Jeep; the first one carrying the finished painting. Opening the rear passenger door, she placed the canvas on the floor, resting it against the front of the backseat. She collected her easel and paint supplies, and put them in the cab. She thought about trying to start the Jeep but knew it would only ruin the engine if she tried driving it with no oil as most of it had spilled out onto the ground from the ruptured pan.

  Her only choice would be to call Ben. Tell him where she was and have him come out and get her. She took her cell phone out of her pocket and pressed his contact number but the call wouldn’t go through as the screen showed no signal. The only way to get hold of Ben was to walk out of the box canyon and maybe find some high ground. The thought of being stranded overnight in the desert frightened her.

  Vera grabbed a flashlight out of the glove compartment. She tested it to make sure it worked and began climbing up the pile of rocks blocking the mouth of the canyon.

  Reaching the top, she heard small boulders cascading down the cliff face. She got down and covered her head with her hands. Aggregate and heavy stones rained down all around her, some bouncing and striking the back of the Jeep.

  Once she was sure the minor avalanche had stopped, she continued down to the base of the rock pile.

  She looked at her cell phone screen—still no signal.

  “Oh, come on.” Vera took a deep breath to settle her nerves. She knew she was completely helpless, as no one knew where she was. It was ironic to think that her last painting was of death and she would be dying along with it.

  Something big swooped down over her head.

  Sharp talons scraped along her scalp and tore out some of her hair. “Jesus, what the hell?” she swore. Vera looked up but whatever had ambushed her had flown into the shadows. She touched the top of her head and felt a warm stickiness.

  She was a sitting duck out in the open and needed to get back to the Jeep.

  Staying as low as possible, Vera scrambled back up the rock pile. She could hear the sound of powerful wings coming her way. She flattened on the rocks just as the thing passed over, its razor-sharp claws ripping the back of her shirt.

  What the hell is it?

  It’s too big to be a bat or even a hawk.

  Vera didn’t wait around to find out.

  Coming down the opposite side of the rocks, she grabbed the first door handle on the Jeep and opened the door.

  The dome light came on, illuminating the cab.

  Vera was struck in the shoulder and slammed into the side of the Jeep, striking her head on the driver’s window.

  Dazed, Vera caught a glimpse of the thing grabbing the canvas out of the Jeep with its talon feet like a cat roughhousing with a toy.

  “No, no!” she screamed, waving her fist at the creature as it flew off with her painting. “You son of a bitch!”

  Vera slammed the passenger door and got in behind the steering wh
eel, shutting the door behind her, which automatically turned off the dome light. Sitting in the dark, the only thing she could think of was all of her planning and hard work down the drain.

  “Damn,” she cursed and slapped the steering wheel.

  A loud thud rattled the hood.

  Vera pointed her flashlight at the windshield and turned it on.

  The thing was as big as a medium-sized dog, greenish in color, with a large head with two bulging white eyes, a flat snout, and a huge mouth with menacing sharp teeth and an extremely long tongue. It had two short wings and long legs with three-talon feet and was standing on its tiptoes like a bizarre ballerina.

  It glared at Vera and lurched, thinking it could bite her but only ended up gnashing its teeth on the hard surface of the glass. It tried again, this time cracking the windshield and leaving a blob of wet drool laced with splats of blood.

  The winged chupacabra screeched and flew off.

  Vera pushed the Start button on the ignition, lowered her window an inch, and listened while more of them circled above the Jeep.

  30

  THE SCENT-HOUND

  Astuto had been quick to pick up Sophia’s scent. Even though Maria could see adequately in the dark with the high beams and the desert floor was relatively flat without too many obstructions, she maintained a speed of no more than fifteen miles per hour for fear she might run over the short troll running in front of the truck if she went any faster.

  Maria leaned over the steering wheel, never letting Astuto out of her sight. He had a tendency to zigzag left and right like an evasive deer being pursued, which was maddening because Maria thought she had to follow his exact path.

  “Just keep driving straight,” Camilla said from the other side of the cab, “before you get us both carsick.”

  “What’s he carrying?” Maria asked, noticing Astuto was holding something in his right hand.

  “It’s a flint knife,” Camilla said. “He carved it out of obsidian. He’s quite the craftsman.”

  “Seriously, he made that?”