Fury of the Chupacabras

by Raegan Butcher

  “Power must be off,” he muttered. He plucked a mini-flashlight from his belt and turned it on and swept it around the interior. Cobwebs greeted him in the dim yellow cone of light.

  Ramón jerked his chin toward Vinnie, Carlos, and Joe. “You guys look for a tire or a patch kit. We’re going to go find a phone and call El Jefe.” He vanished with Keith and Maria to the office.

  Joe stood next to Vinnie while Carlos swept the flashlight beam around the room. “So,” Joe asked conversationally, “what is this goatsucker-thing supposed to be anyway?”

  Vinnie smiled and shook his head. “It’s supposed to be some kind of lizard monster.”

  Joe’s eyes widened. “Really?”

  Vinnie nodded. “It’s supposed to be able to fly like a bird, hop like a kangaroo, and suck blood like a vampire bat.”

  “No kidding?”

  “Yeah. They say it has great big teeth and long sharp claws.”

  “I’ve never heard of it.”

  “For years farmers have claimed chupacabras kill their livestock. The farmers find the animals half-eaten and drained of blood.”

  ««—»»

  Ramón, Maria, and Keith rummaged through the office. It looked as though a tornado had ripped through it. The desk had been overturned, and deep gouges furrowed the wood. What looked like dried blood was splattered across the walls in intricate patterns that a CSI tech would have described as “arterial spray.”

  “Well, this doesn’t look good,” Keith said, running his hands along the gouges on the desk. They matched the claw marks he’d seen earlier on the doorway of the little house. His mind flirted with the idea that these goatsucker-things could be real, but then just as quickly dismissed it. There was no such thing as monsters.

  “You see a phone anywhere?” asked Ramón impatiently.

  “Yeah, right over here.” Keith knelt down, grabbed the phone from the floor, and put the receiver to his ear. “It’s dead; no dial tone.” He looked at Maria and winked. “Maybe your chupacabra ate it.”

  ««—»»

  Back in the garage, Carlos moved carefully from one end of the room to the other, sweeping his flashlight back and forth.

  “There’s nothing here. This place has been stripped clean.”

  “Shit on a griddle,” Joe growled. “What are we gonna do?”

  Carlos walked to the edge of the first car-pit and aimed the flashlight beam into it.

  Empty.

  He walked to the edge of the second pit, shined the flashlight into it—

  —a snarling green figure sprang out and tackled him, slamming him flat on his back. His head smacked the pavement and the flashlight skittered across the floor, throwing wild shadows. Carlos grunted as he wrestled with his attacker. Talons raked his chest and he cried out as bloody chunks of flesh stripped away with shreds of clothing.

  “What the hell?” Joe exclaimed, fumbling for his pistol. He couldn’t get a clear shot in the dim light.

  Carlos rolled across the floor, struggling furiously. A smell like rotten fish filled his nostrils, choking him. Snapping teeth darted toward his neck. He twisted and pushed with all his might, shoving the growling shape away. He scrambled to his feet. A scaly leg kicked out, catching him in his side. Carlos woofed as his ribs cracked and the force of the blow sent him sailing into the concrete wall. Instantly, the growling figure sprang to its feet, whipped around, and charged at Joe and Vinnie. They leveled their guns and fired until they’d emptied their magazines. The barrage of bullets peppered the squalling figure.

  Keith, Ramón, and Maria rushed in from the office in time to see the dark shape collapse on the dusty floor. Keith looked at the shadowy form sprawled at their feet and shouted, “What the hell is going on?”

  Joe, wreathed in a cloud of gunsmoke, pointed with a trembling hand. “That thing attacked Carlos.”

  Vinnie helped Carlos to his feet. “Are you okay?”

  Carlos touched his hand to his chest. It came away dripping with blood. His legs buckled and then he steadied himself, draping his arm over Vinnie’s shoulder for support.

  “I think so,” Carlos said unsteadily.

  Joe picked up the flashlight and shined it on the fallen creature. “What the hell is that? Is it one of those goatsucker things?”

  “There is no such thing!” Ramón hissed.

  “Then what is it?” Keith demanded, stepping up next to his brother and staring down at the thing on the floor.

  It was reptilian and yet humanoid; it had long arms with extended fingers—twice the length of a man’s fingers—tipped with curved talons ending in razor-sharp points, more like a bird of prey than a lizard. A flexible, folded membrane under the arms served as wings. Shimmering insect eyes—like a honey bee or a housefly—bulged from its skull, and its mouth was an ugly slash filled with razor-sharp fangs. Iridescent green scales covered its hide and a strip of bony spikes protruded from its back, ending in a long whip-like tail.

  Joe nudged the creature with the toe of his boot. “Look at those freaky eyes and that weird skin. If a bug fucked a lizard, this would be the baby.”

  “It’s a bat,” said Ramón.

  The two Americans looked at him and scoffed. “That ain’t no bat,” Keith asserted, shaking his head.

  Ramón puffed up. “I am telling you, that is just a Mexican bat. The mountains are full of them.”

  “You’re full of shit!” Keith barked.

  Joe tucked his pistol into his shoulder holster and pointed at the thing. “This son of a bitch is huge. Do Mexican bats get this big?” He looked to Vinnie and Carlos. They stared down at the creature.

  Vinnie looked at Joe and shook his head. “That is no bat,” he said.

  Carlos stared in morbid fascination at the thing that had almost killed him and made the sign of the cross. “Holy Mother of Creeping Baby Jesus!”

  “Ramón says it’s a bat,” Joe said tersely.

  “That isn’t a bat,” Carlos answered.

  “Yeah, that’s what we said,” Keith added.

  “We must get out of here,” Maria whimpered. “The other chupacabras will come,”

  The men whipped their heads around to look at her. “Others?” Joe stammered. “You mean there are more of these chupacabra-things?”

  She nodded vigorously. Carlos and Vinnie shared a quick worried glance. Keith looked at his brother and raised his eyebrows questioningly. Ramon blurted, “There’s no such thing as a goddamned chupacabra!”

  Joe pointed to the monster on the floor. “Are you blind? Look at that thing. If she says it’s a chupacabra, then that’s what it is. I know it isn’t a bat.” He turned to his brother. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

  Loud thumping, followed by scratching noises, came from above—the sound of talons on a tin roof. All eyes went to the ceiling. Slowly, almost sensually, the men drew their pistols and worked the slides.

  Joe tip-toed to the door and poked out his head. The car sat a dozen steps from him, surrounded by darkness. “Come on,” he urged, and left the sanctuary of the building. His brother walked close behind him. Ramón and Maria were next, followed by Vinnie helping the wounded Carlos.

  Joe reached the car. His hand closed on the door handle. Suddenly a shape swooped down from the darkness. Vinnie cried out as claws sank into his back like meat hooks and jerked him up by his shoulders. His scream became a long, mindless shriek of agony. He fired his pistol wildly. The muzzle flashes faded as he vanished into the sky, a rapidly diminishing point of light in a sea of darkness. His screams grew faint and then stopped.

  Joe had the driver’s door open and he slid behind the wheel. Maria tore open the passenger side door and dived in, her skirt billowing like a sail. Ramón crowded next to her and slammed the door shut. Keith and Carlos reached for the handle of the back door. From out of the blackness, a creature zoomed at them like a missile. Keith pivoted and squeezed off two shots, aiming for the center of its body. Two gashes burst open in the monster’s chest.
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  The wounded creature shrieked and landed in the dust several yards from the car. Keith shared a look of surprise with Carlos. Two bullets in the chest and it was unfazed. Carlos climbed into the car and motioned for Keith to follow him. “Get in, quick!”

  The wounded monster bared its teeth, skittering toward Keith, puffing dust with each step, muscled legs tensed for leaping.

  Keith stood his ground, drew careful aim at the glowing eyes in the hideous head, and squeezed the trigger three times.

  The creature’s eyes popped like blisters, spewing lustrous fluid. The chupacabra screeched and dropped in the dust. Keith whooped in triumph and piled into the car. Carlos winced as Keith jostled him.

  Joe grabbed the steering wheel—he didn’t have the keys. He turned to his brother in the back seat. “Keys! Give me the keys!”

  A beast landed on the roof, buckling it. Maria screamed. More flying shapes swooped out of the sky, strafing the Impala. A streaking fist smashed the rear passenger window and glass sprayed the interior like crushed ice. Keith dug into his coat pocket and wrapped his fingers around the keys. Joe placed his pistol to the roof and pulled the trigger twice.

  A shriek of pain came from outside the car, and thick reddish-green goo dripped through the bullet holes in the roof, oozing over Maria and Joe. Maria screamed.

  Keith pulled his keys from his pocket and slapped them into his brother’s waiting hand. Joe twisted around and slammed the key into the ignition and started the engine. More creatures appeared from the darkness, tails whipping back and forth, slicing the air like daggers.

  “Go!” Keith shouted. “Go!”

  The snarling creatures moved at the car from every side. Curved talons reached for the doors. Keith leaned out the broken window and fired repeatedly at the nearest snapping face. Three shots rang out in quick succession. The monster fell away, arms clawing the air as it toppled.

  Joe hit the accelerator and the Impala shot forward. He turned on the headlights, and everyone in the car gasped: the road in front of them was lined with chupacabras. The car barreled through them, a hissing gauntlet of flashing claws and teeth. The creatures screeched, swiping at the car as it passed by. A chupacabra sprang onto the hood, eyes glowing, fangs bared.

  Joe slammed the brakes and the snarling creature was thrown from the hood, leaving long gouges in the metal. Joe stomped down on the accelerator and the car rolled over the roaring beast. A rear tire blew out with a loud bang! The car lurched and slowed.

  “Where is the police station?” Joe asked.

  Maria shook her head. “The police are all dead! The station is closed!”

  Keith scanned the road out the back window and saw the pursuing chupacabras, their eyes a mass of glowing dots, like a swarm of fireflies. The dots grew larger as they closed the gap between themselves and the Impala.

  “Can’t we go any faster?”

  “We’ve got two flat tires,” Joe reminded him, grimly clinging to the steering wheel. The car shot sparks as the rims scraped along the road. Keith’s worried voice came from the backseat. “They’re fuckin’ fast, man! They are gaining on us!”

  Maria looked back and screamed again.

  Joe turned to her. “Can you please stop screaming? We know you’re scared, but you’re killing my ears.”

  Keith pounded on the back of the seat. “We have got to go faster!”

  Ramón looked out the window, scanning the passing buildings and houses. “We need to find a place to hide.”

  “Turn here,” Maria said, pointing out the window.

  Joe gripped the wheel. “Where?”

  “Here!” she screamed, still pointing, and Joe wrenched on the wheel and the car skidded on the cobblestones, sparks flying from the rims of the two flat tires. Then the car straightened out and barreled down a side road. It turned a corner and they were heading back to the main plaza.

  “The church,” said Maria. “Go to the church!”

  The car fishtailed into the plaza with the horde of monsters in close pursuit. “Where is the church?” Joe asked.

  “The other end of the plaza!” Maria pointed.

  Joe pressed the gas pedal to the floor. The church loomed ahead of them, a mission-style building fronted by two wooden doors, with thick granite steps leading up to the entrance. Joe bumped up over the curb and slammed to a halt on the first set of steps. The car doors burst open and everyone tumbled out.

  Joe glanced over the top of the car and saw a tidal wave of chupacabras charging right toward the car. Maria reached the church doors and began pounding on them and screaming, “Open up! Father Tom, Father Tom, open up! It’s me, Maria Gonzalez!”

  Joe aimed his pistol and began cracking off shots at the nearest streaking shapes. Ramón, Keith, and Carlos joined him. Ramón yelled over his shoulder at Maria, “Whatever you’re going to do, do it quick!”

  The chupacabras hissed, swiping the air with their claws, moving closer, as more and more dropped into the square from out of the sky, slapping their tails on the cobblestones.

  Maria pounded on the church doors. “Padre! Open the door! Please, Father Tom, for the love of God! Open the door!”

  The beasts had reached the car. Only a few yards separated them from their prey. Ramón took aim at the nearest monster. It snarled at him and hissed, its jaws open and ready to feed.

  Click!

  He looked in astonishment at the gun in his hand, and then called desperately over his shoulder, “Keith, Joe, help me. I’m out of ammo!”

  Keith spun around and fired his pistol at the nearest lunging beast and scored another head shot. The creature squawked and fell, bumping down the gore-slicked steps. Just then, the church doors began to groan open on rusty hinges, and a voice called out, “Who is there?”

  “It’s me! Maria, from the cantina!”

  The door opened wider and the face of a drunk appeared, with rheumy eyes and a highway of purple veins running through a bulbous scarlet nose. The man’s red-rimmed eyes popped wide at the sight of the armed men with Maria and the horde of angry monsters behind them.

  “What in the name of—?” he started to ask, but Maria and the others shoved past him. Ramón supported Carlos with an arm around his shoulders. Joe and Keith were the last ones to enter. They turned, leaned on the door, and forced it shut. Joe dropped the bar and locked it.

  The church was old and solid, a very large adobe building with rough wooden pews and a substantial altar. A giant crucified Jesus splattered with red paint dominated the interior. Stained glass windows, covered with heavy iron bars, lined the walls.

  Father Tom angrily turned to Maria. “What’s going on? Why are you outdoors at night? Who are these men? They don’t live here.”

  Maria sobbed, hysterical, “They killed him! They just flew down and took him away!”

  Father Tom held her at arm’s length by her shoulders and asked, “Took who? Maria, please calm down and tell me what is going on.”

  Joe and Keith fanned out to explore the interior of the church. “There are a lot of windows in here,” Keith called out as he strolled to the altar and looked at the hall branching out behind it. “Two hallways behind the altar,” he announced. He moved down the hallway on the right. Joe went to the left. The padre called out to them, “You are quite safe. All the windows are barred.”

  The sound of chupacabras clawing at the wooden doors resonated throughout the church. Shadows streaked by the windows, wings flapping. Ramón threw a worried glance at the big doors. “Will those doors hold?”

  Father Tom nodded. “I think so.”

  “You think?”

  “The doors have always been adequate…but I’ve never seen the creatures in such great numbers before. What have you done to antagonize them?”

  “They’ve shot and killed several of them, Father Tom,” Maria said tearfully.

  Father Tom made the sign of the cross. “May God have mercy on your souls…”

  Ramón and Carlos crowded close to the old priest.
“What do you mean? What’s the matter?”

  Father Tom looked at them sternly. “Everyone in the past who has harmed a chupacabra has been hunted down and killed by the beasts.”

  “What? How can they do that? They’re just animals.”

  “They are sly, clever creatures—and they hold a grudge, apparently.”

  Suddenly, the chupacabras at the front door stopped scratching on the wood. The silence weighed heavily in the air. Joe and Keith returned from their reconnoitering and joined the others. “It’s too quiet,” Keith whispered. “Do you think they’ve gone?”

  Father Tom shook his head. “They will do anything to get in here and kill us now.”

  “What?” Keith’s face showed the shock he was feeling. “Why?”

  As the padre explained once again about the chupacabras’ thirst for revenge, a deafening clatter came from one of the small rooms adjoining the chapel. The door to the priest’s chambers burst open and a very young boy ran out.

  “Father Tom! Father Tom! They’re trying to get in the windows!”

  They moved as a group and paused at the door of the chamber. Shards of stained glass littered the floor and two hissing chupacabras clawed through the bars. Keith and Joe raised their pistols and opened fire, cracking off shot after shot. The creatures screeched and flapped away.

  Father Tom put his head in his hands. “I need a drink.” He walked to his desk and grabbed a bottle of whiskey and a shot glass. He poured himself a shot and gulped it down. Joe came in and moved to the window. “Will these bars hold?”

  “I think so, if there’s not too many of them.”

  Joe pointed to the room and then at the old man. “Grab anything you need from this room. We’re going to lock the door in case they break through that window.”

  Keith stood in the doorway and said, “If they can get through the bars on that window, then the door ain’t gonna hold them.”

  From over Keith’s shoulder, Ramón pointed to the chapel and said, “There are even more windows in here.”