Fury of the Chupacabras

by Raegan Butcher

  He looked at the group. Carlos and his brother were grim, their eyes red-rimmed. They looked exhausted yet very tense; sweaty and strung-out. “Are you ready?”

  Everyone nodded. Ready or not, they had no choice. Maria felt that none of this was necessary; they could simply go into the basement and wait until morning. But men with guns, swollen with testosterone and pumped with adrenaline, were not going to listen to her. This tall gringo was obsessed with getting his precious weapons from the car, willing to risk all of their lives so he could play soldier. As for the others, Maria knew better than to expect anything else from her fellow Mexicans; they had been raised in a patriarchal society steeped in the mystique of machismo; they would take on chupacabras with nothing more than machetes to prove their manhood. Maria wished she were back in her cozy little cantina, safe and happy with the rest of the sensible cowards. This was madness!

  Joe handed a torch to Ramón. Maria had found a pail and put the Molotov cocktails in it. Joe scrunched his eyes at her. “Can you carry that?”

  “Yes,” she assured him. Everyone treated her like a child.

  “Remember: don’t hit the car,” cautioned Keith. He loved that car.

  “I got it handled,” Ramón guaranteed him. Maria walked to the tower door with Ramón, while Joe grabbed Carlos by the arm and guided him to the front doors. Joe checked his pistol to make sure he had a full magazine and then turned to Carlos. “Are you ready?”

  Carlos nodded, hefting his .357. “Are you?”

  Joe looked over at his brother and Keith nodded his head. “We’re ready,” said Joe as Ramón nodded and opened the door to the staircase.

  “Stay close to me,” Ramón whispered to Maria as the pair began to make their way up the stairs, with Ramón holding his pistol in one hand, the torch in the other. No sound came from the bell tower. If there were any chupacabras up there, they were keeping very quiet. As he made his way up the stairs, Ramón found his thoughts turning from Where are the chupacabras? to What are they doing? The gun in his hand suddenly seemed pitifully small and ineffectual, though he knew that wasn’t true. After what seemed an eternity, he reached the top of the stairs. Ramón pointed to the door and whispered, “Unbolt the door and fling it open. If there are any of them up there, I’ll be ready.”

  “I am scared,” whispered Maria.

  “I have a gun,” he snapped hoarsely, to reassure himself more than anything. “Just do it!”

  Maria clutched the pail in one hand. With the other she unbolted the door and flung it open. Ramón moved through the threshold with the torch held in front of him. They circled the belfry and Maria set the pail down. Ramón handed her the torch. “Here, take this.”

  He bent down, plucked a Molotov cocktail from the pail, lit it off Maria’s torch, and heaved it over the side of the tower. It soared out and smashed into the plaza.

  Boom! Whoosh!

  A fireball exploded and chupacabras took flight like a flock of startled birds. Some of the creatures were engulfed in flames, covered with burning kerosene, screeching and howling. Ramón lit another Molotov cocktail and tossed it.

  Boom! Whoosh!

  It landed in front of the church, just behind the car. The chupacabras perched on the trunk screamed and soared up into the sky. Black smoke laced with red flames billowed up, obscuring the view.

  ««—»»

  Downstairs in the chapel, Joe looked at his brother. “Are you ready, bro?”

  “As ready as I will ever be,” said Keith, fidgeting, sweaty and nervous. He took a deep breath.

  Joe nodded to Carlos, who lifted the bar and pushed open the doors. Joe called out, “Let’s roll!” and he and Keith charged outside.

  Another Molotov cocktail exploded in the plaza and scattered burning chupacabras into the sky. Joe and Keith ran down the steps and reached the trunk of the Impala. Joe fumbled with the key before slipping it into the lock. A Molotov crashed to the ground near them with a splintering sound. The flames leaped up and illuminated the Impala and the creatures surrounding it.

  Keith looked up, startled. “Goddamn, not so close!”

  A snarling chupacabra rushed at them from out of the darkness, undeterred by the flames around the car. Keith fired his pistol twice. The creature fell, claws raking the empty air as it dropped.

  Joe opened the trunk. He snatched the M-16s out and leaned them against the back fender, and then started to frantically tear at the partition at the back of the trunk.

  Another Molotov smashed into the plaza. The chupacabras, frenzied, soared back and forth in the black smoke, circling the car, screeching in anger.

  Joe tore at the back wall, hands flying. Keith shot a chupacabra lunging at them and then yelled, “Hurry up, man!”

  The monsters moved in closer, their fear of fire not as strong as their desire for blood. Or was it something more than hunger that drove them forward?

  Keith shot another charging creature and was rewarded by a shrill scream and a spurt of blood as it dropped on the cobblestones. His brother scrambled in the trunk.

  “Hurry!”

  Joe’s fingers tore at the last of the glue holding the false wall together. “I’m trying!” He ripped the wall away. The M-16 magazines spilled out into the trunk and he grabbed one, slammed it into a rifle, and shoved it at his brother.

  Keith dropped the torch, grabbed the M-16, put his pistol away, and locked and loaded the rifle. Joe frantically emptied one of the gym bags and started loading magazines into it. Keith slung the other M-16s over his shoulder, leaving one loose for Joe, and began shooting at the creatures darting and flying in the smoky shadows of the plaza. Gunfire and shrill screeching echoed across the square.

  Joe crouched half-inside the trunk. Keith had his back to the car. Another Molotov exploded nearby, throwing shadows. A chupacabra jumped high in the air, hopped over the car roof, and landed on the trunk, slamming it down on Joe’s torso. He cried out and grunted in pain. Keith whirled and opened fire. The chupacabra tumbled in a heap among the other snarling beasts. Keith lifted the trunk’s lid from his brother’s back. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah,” Joe assured him as another Molotov exploded in the plaza. A chupacabra swooped down on them and Keith ducked, fired another burst, and drove the creature away.

  “Hurry up,” Keith called. “Ramón is running out of bombs.”

  Joe emptied the other gym bag and started filling it up with M-16 magazines. Another Molotov cocktail slammed into the plaza and flames leapt into the sky. Joe shoveled magazines into the second bag. Keith fired another burst at an oncoming chupacabra as the last Molotov exploded nearby.

  “Come on, come on!” Keith shouted, firing yet another burst at a charging chupacabra. They were everywhere, eyes glowing with demonic fury, tails slashing the air.

  “I am going as fast as I can!” Joe yelled.

  The flames were dying down. Smoldering chupacabras littered the plaza. Keith fired into the square, but for every monster he killed two others appeared in its place. The Impala was surrounded. Joe zipped up the bag after stuffing it with magazines. He grabbed an M-16, slammed a magazine into it, and slung the two gym bags over his shoulder.

  “Let’s go!”

  ««—»»

  In the bell tower, Maria held the torch as Ramón leaned out of the tower to see what was happening below. As he peered down, a chupacabra landed with a thump on the parapet behind them. Maria screamed and dropped the torch. The snarling beast lunged forward, its muscular arms reaching for her. Ramón wheeled around and fired.

  The chupacabra flipped over the ledge and tumbled into the darkness. Ramón picked up the torch and thrust it into Maria’s hands. “You keep watch in the back. Don’t drop the torch.”

  ««—»»

  Down in the plaza, Keith and Joe retreated up the steps to the church doors, shooting as they went. Nightmare shapes plunged through the smoky air above their heads, forcing them to crouch as they ran.

  “Hurry up,” Keith panted. �
��They’re closing in!”

  A chupacabra soared down at their backsides. The church doors cracked open and Carlos thrust his pistol out and blasted the swooping creature. It crashed to the cobblestones a few feet behind Joe and Keith as they lurched up the last steps and tumbled through the doors. As Carlos began to swing the heavy doors shut, Rolando ran through his legs and out the door, barking furiously. Carlos swiped at the animal but the little dog was too fast for him. “Ah, come here, you damned dog!”

  But it was too late; the dog zipped outside and disappeared. Chico ran to the door as Carlos secured it with the wood bar. “I have to get Rolando!”

  Carlos pushed him away from the doors. “It’s too late. We can’t open the door again.”

  Tears streaked the little boy’s cheeks. Joe bent down and placed a hand on his shoulder and said, “Don’t worry Chico, Rolando will be fine. He’s a smart dog. He will find a place to hide so the chupacabras don’t get him.”

  They could hear Rolando barking and yipping from outside. Carlos smiled at Chico. “Yeah, he’s a smart dog. He will be okay.” Suddenly they heard a loud yelp, followed by a terrible silence.

  “Or maybe not,” Carlos admitted with a callous shrug.

  Joe looked at the doors helplessly, and then at Chico, who stared at the entrance with trembling eyes. He started to bawl.

  Father Tom appeared from his hiding place in the basement. “What’s going on?” he asked.

  Chico ran to him and buried his face in his cassock. “Rolando is dead!” the boy sobbed. “The chupacabras ate him.”

  “Rolando is in Heaven now, Chico.”

  Joe threw him an irritated glance. “I thought you were hiding in the basement.”

  Father Tom sighed heavily. “I’m concerned about my church and Chico. It’s fine if you fools want to kill yourselves, but there’s the boy and my parish to think about.”

  Ramón and Maria returned from the bell tower. “Are you guys okay?” asked Ramón when he saw Keith and Joe.

  “Yeah, we’re okay,” said Keith. “Scared shitless, but we’re okay.” He jerked a thumb at the front doors. “There must be a hundred of those things out there, if not more.”

  “We shot and killed a bunch of them,” said Joe. “Ramón did you lock the door coming down?”

  “Yeah, I bolted it so they can’t get in, but that bolt didn’t look too sturdy.”

  Maria made the sign of the cross. “I’m scared. I’ve never seen so many of them.”

  Carlos and Ramón each took an M-16 from Keith, while Joe handed them magazines from the gym bags. The Mexicans locked and loaded their rifles. All four men filled their pockets with extra magazines. Ramón patted his rifle. “These M-16s will keep you safe. These are the big-time chupacabra killers.”

  Carlos chuckled beside him, brandishing his rifle. “Shit, we could probably kill every chupacabra in town now.”

  “Pride goes before a fall,” said Father Tom. “There are four of you with guns and a lot more of them. And claws don’t need to be reloaded.”

  Suddenly the stained glass windows above the front doors shattered, showering glass down on the group. Clutching arms thrust through the broken windows, talons flashing, scrabbling at the plaster. Maria screamed.

  Keith stepped forward and raised his rifle. “I got it,” he said calmly. He let loose a long stream of fire that cleared the window of the grasping claws.

  Joe tapped his brother on the shoulder. “Try not to waste ammo. This ain’t a video game. Fire only short controlled bursts.” He turned to Maria. “Are you sure those things go away at sunrise?”

  She nodded. “They always have before.” She pointed to the bloodstains on Carlos’s bandages. “You are bleeding again.”

  “I am fine,” he waved his hand dismissively. “I have lived through worse.”

  Chico still sobbed. Joe knelt down in front of him. “Kid, I’m sorry about your dog. Before I leave I’ll get you a new one.”

  “I want Rolando. I don’t want another dog.”

  Their attention was diverted to the belfry doorway. The door bulged as something pounded on the other side of it. Keith raised his rifle and moved to the door. “I hear you knocking,” he sang out, “but you can’t come in.”

  Ramón scowled. “I closed and locked the door at the top when we came down. I am sure of it.”

  Keith kept his rifle trained on the door. “Let’s nail it shut.” He set his M-16 down and started dragging a pew over to the doorway. Father Tom grabbed him by the arm. “Stop this nonsense! You’re destroying my church!”

  Keith shook off his grasp. “Look, if we don’t keep those things out of here, you’re not going to live long enough to say mass again.”

  Father Tom scoffed. “I’ve lived a long time. The beasts never bothered the church until you and your band of ruffians came along. When you leave, they will too.”

  “We have friends coming to get us in the morning Padre,” Ramón interjected. “They’ll pick up the tab for any damages. Shit, they just might buy you a new church.”

  “I don’t want your blood-stained money.”

  Keith kicked the pew to pieces, picked up a board and started to hammer it against the door. Suddenly, the door blew off its hinges and slammed into him, hitting Keith flush on his left side, knocking him off his feet. The stairwell behind him overflowed with chupacabras.

  Ramón and Carlos opened fire on full-auto as the creatures swarmed into the chapel. Several fell dead, yet more poured through the doorway. Joe methodically began shooting his way toward his brother’s prone figure. The chupacabras tried to retreat from his gunfire, but the press of more entering from the stairwell shoved the ones at the bottom into the chapel.

  In a panic, Maria picked up the bucket with the remaining kerosene and hurled it at the nearest lunging beast and then tossed her torch. The kerosene exploded into flames. Burning chupacabras shrieked and stumbled around the chapel, shattering pews into splinters, and setting the altar curtains on fire. Black smoke tendrils began to creep through the chapel. Joe had almost reached his brother when a group of chupacabras descended upon Keith’s unconscious body and began tearing and biting at it in frenzy.

  “No!” Joe yelled as the creatures ripped into his brother. Then he registered the awful sight he knew he would never forget as a chupacabra bit the nose off Keith’s face and sucked out his eyeballs with a grisly, wet pop.

  Joe screamed and pulled the trigger. His shots knocked the monsters off his brother’s twitching body. Even as they died, more moved in and tore at Keith’s chest and face.

  Joe kept shooting and the gun bucked in his arms, flame spurting from the muzzle as the bullets slammed into the thrashing reptilian bodies. Suddenly, Joe’s trigger clicked on an empty chamber. Ramón grabbed him by the collar of his coat and pulled him away.

  “There’s too many of them! We need to go to the basement!”

  Maria scooped up Chico and ran. More chupacabras spilled through the doorway from the bell tower, threatening to out-flank them. Carlos held his ground, covering the others as they retreated to the circular staircase. He pegged short bursts through chupacabra faces, necks, chests, punching holes in the advancing monsters. A chupacabra leapt and Carlos shredded its wings with a quick burst. It tumbled through the air, crashed into one of the confessional booths, and crushed it like a cardboard box. Carlos began to retreat to the circular stairwell.

  Joe sobbed. “I can’t leave my brother!” Ramón dragged him to the stairs. “He’s dead, Joe. We need to get the hell out of here!”

  They met Carlos in the corner of the chapel by the stairwell; he fired his rifle sparingly to keep the chupacabras at bay. He knew his ammo would not last very long. “Move!” Carlos shouted, beckoning them to get down the stairs.

  With a loud splintering crash, the wooden bar on the front doors broke in half and another mass of chupacabras stampeded into the chapel. Joe regained his senses and turned and fired into the new horde of charging monsters. Ramón and Car
los pitched in and they cleared wave after wave before Carlos clicked on an empty chamber and yelled, “I am low on ammo! Get downstairs, now!”

  All around them chupacabras bellowed a symphony of ear-piercing shrieks and low-pitched roars. More and more figures bounded through the front door, an endless stream of squalling monsters. They twisted and caterwauled as they fell under the hail of gunfire.

  Joe and Ramón reached the top of the stairwell. Carlos turned and headed down. Joe and Ramón kept firing as they followed him. Bullets ricocheted off the metal stairs and bounced off the stone walls as they retreated down the hall, buzzing like angry bees.

  “Don’t shoot unless you have a clear shot at the bastards,” cried Joe.

  The three desperate men backed down the hallway, laying down a steady stream of fire, retreating toward the storage room. Carlos’s bandages made a crimson trail, soaked through with blood from his exertions. Chupacabras piled up at the bottom of the spiral staircase, but they couldn’t advance down the hallway because Joe, Carlos, and Ramón had a clear field of fire. Joe backed up against the storage room door, reached behind him, and pulled on the door handle.

  It was locked.

  ««—»»

  Upstairs, Father Tom retreated to the remaining confessional booth when the chupacabras began their rampage through the chapel. Now he peeked through the slats and saw several of the creatures headed for his hiding spot. He took a long drink from his bottle of whiskey. A chupacabra slithered up to the booth and sniffed at the door. Father Tom held his breath and crossed himself. Suddenly, a clawed arm smashed through the door and Father Tom cried out.

  “Go back to your lairs in Hell, you filthy beasts!” He swung his whiskey bottle and smacked the nearest beast on the snout. The creature fell back, stunned. It shook its head and snorted. A long red tongue flicked out, curled up, and caressed its nose. A soft growl rippled from its throat and its dorsal spines bristled, changing color, flickering like an old television set warming up.