Gayne Young - The Tunnel

“If you will allow,” Jared slurred as he stumbled out of his camp chair. “Yes, the chupacabra is said to resemble a kangaroo or a baboon absent a tail comes from a myth—yes, a myth—born in Puerto Rico that made its way here to the Tex-Mex Border. The real chupacabra…”

Jared paused to burp.

“Here we go,” a grad student from Harlingen named Hope scoffed.

“Excuse me,” Jared began again. “The real chupacabra is a hairless coyote. Some say it suffers from mange. Others that it’s a genetic anomaly and others that they are bred that way on some secret ranch. They are found throughout South Texas and make the news every now and again when some rancher or hunter shoots one. They were named ‘chupacabra’ by the press and it has become the official name for this animal.”

“I’ve seen that!” Dr. Cooke joyfully announced. “On the news. Is that really what they’re calling those hairless things? Chupacabras?”

“Yes, sir, that they are,” Jared said. He fell back into a camp chair and killed the beer that sat at his feet.

“Well, then, I stand corrected, Jared,” Dr. Cooke announced. “Thanks for enlightening me and anyone else that didn’t know that.”

“You are welcome,” Jared said just before vomiting.

“I can’t believe Jared puked in front of everyone,” Tom said in disbelief. “In front of Dr. Cooke. I mean, that’s Jared’s doctorate advisor.”

“Yep. He’s an idiot,” Megan agreed.

Tom rolled over to face Megan in the half darkness. Her face was cast in the soft light of the stars that filtered through the open mesh roof of their tent. She was beautiful.

“Quit looking at me like that,” Megan said, giggling.

“Like what?” Tom asked, trying to be coy.

“Like you want to do me.”

“I always want to do you.”

“I’m sooooo flattered but we’re out here in the woods, it’s 90° at 11 o’clock at night, and I smell like absolute shit. It ain’t happening.”

Tom smiled then leaned in to kiss Megan again anyway. She received his affection then pushed him away and joyfully warned, “Don’t get too excited there, chief. I’m telling you, it ain’t going to happen. Not ‘til I get back home to a shower and some A/C.”

Tom smiled and stared up at the sky through the mesh roof of tent. He lay there, enjoying the moment until Megan spoke again.

“Is it true, what Jared said?”

Tom rolled over to once again face Megan.

“Is what true?” he asked.

“That those hairless chupacabra things are out here.”

“I don’t know,” Tom admitted.

“You don’t know,” Megan mocked in an over-exaggerated impression of Tom. “Real reassuring. I feel so safe.”

Tom smiled and replied, “I mean no. No, there are any out here.”

“Now you’re mocking me,” Megan huffed.

“I am not.”

“Yes, you are.”

Tom rolled over to once again face Megan. “I promise. I’m not.”

“Then tell me.”

“Ugh,” Tom groaned. “I have no idea. I’m sure there are tons of coyotes around here…”

“Tons!” Megan exploded.

“Yeah, tons. But I have no idea if there are any without fur around here.”

“I guess it doesn’t matter what kills me when I go outside to squat piss in the middle of the night,” Megan sarcastically exclaimed. “Could be a freakin’ chupacabra or a coyote or a jaguar…”

“Jaguar?” Tom exclaimed in disbelief.

“Yeah, jaguar. You said earlier they used to be here or could be here…”

“There are no jaguars here,” Tom assured his girlfriend.

“You don’t know what’s out here waiting to kill us!” Megan stated. “You have no idea!”

Hunter led Taylor outside the main building and into the darkness. Hunter lit a cigarette and offered one to Taylor who nodded silently in acceptance. Taylor lit his offered Marlboro and stared out upon the desolate ranchland illuminated by stars and a half moon before him.

“You believe him?” Hunter asked, breaking the silence. “Because I kind of do.”

“You believe your men were killed by albino baboons?” Taylor answered with a question, unsure if Hunter was being serious or not.

“I don’t know,” Hunter admitted. “I don’t know if it was baboons. Probably wasn’t. But I do think what ripped his crew apart was animal. Not human.”

“What kind of animal lives down there, deep underground in a sealed cave?” Taylor scoffed.

“Might not have been sealed,” Hunter theorized. “Julio said they couldn’t see the other side. Doesn’t mean there’s not one or that there’s a tunnel that leads up and out.”

Taylor killed his cigarette and snuffed the butt into the sandy earth with his boot.

He listened as Hunter explained that the area of the border the goat ranch sat upon had gone through dramatic changes in the past few years. Deep irrigation canals had been dug outward from the Rio Grande. Quarries had been torn into mountain bases and hills were leveled for earth and gravel. On the American side, construction crews had been pounding steel beams up to 20 feet into the earth in order to construct a border wall. The area has seen fracking by big oil companies, and as a result, earthquakes had occurred and sinkholes appeared. Hunter theorized that one of these activities had opened the cave system Julio and his men tapped into. Animals had traveled downward and become lost in the darkness. They were starving and once fresh meat came upon them, they attacked with fervor.

“What kind of animals are you thinking?” Taylor queried.

“Cougar. Bear. Coyote maybe. Who knows? But whatever ripped apart Julio’s brother was big enough and strong enough to knock his fat ass down and had claws and teeth sharp enough leave him looking like he’d been run through a meat grinder.”

Hunter’s words sent Taylor’s memory back to Afghanistan to a time he and his unit were investigating a cave system in the mountains of the Tora Bora. The cave opening was natural. The tunnel system it led to was not. Taylor and his men had winded their way through 300 meters of abandoned, carved-out terrorist highway when they encountered an Asiatic black bear denned up among the remains of an empty food cache. The animal looked sickly and partially emaciated yet lunged at him and his men with the ferocity of a wild beast. Taylor had put two shots into the bear and it still rushed forward at him as if it had been bit by horseflies. A final shot to the head put the bear down and sent the whole team into fits of hysterical laughter and joking about their Taliban hunt being turned into a bear hunt.

A similar situation could have befallen Julio and his team of diggers. And given that none of them were trained soldiers, armed and ready, it could explain the heavy loss of life. Taylor exited his thoughts to agree with Hunter’s theory that it could have been an animal that took out the tunnel workers then added that whatever was down there would be found and killed soon enough.

Hunter agreed and offered, “Come on. Let’s go meet the team. And have some fun.”

The old bunkhouse smelled of beer and cigar smoke, tequila, and cigarettes. Despite these remnants of vice, the interior of the building appeared to be a place of health and preparedness. The room contained weights and exercise equipment, gym mats, and two heavy bags hanging from the ceiling. Footlockers and hard cases of weaponry and military gear were stacked against the wall and at the end of every bed.

The group of six men and women stood and cheered in mock revelry at Hunter’s return, quickly thrusting a cold beer in his and Taylor’s hand. Hunter cracked a few jokes about his absences and how he’d found Taylor living under a highway overpass with a sign asking for work then introduced him to the team. They were: