Marcus Pelegrimas - Teeth of Beasts

“You’re sure you want to do this?” he asked.

She clipped a nylon belt around her waist. From the stiffness of the pockets and the shininess of the pepper spray cans within them, he wouldn’t have been surprised to find a price tag dangling from the black and green mesh. “This is why I joined MEG in the first place! Throw in a UFO sighting and I may become giddy.”

“All right,” Cole said as he stuck the shotgun along with some supplies into a flexible case. “Let’s get moving.”

The spear strapped to Cole’s back had the dull sheen of a table leg that had been polished after being pulled from a fire. Having whittled the spear from a sapling, he and it had become attached both physically as well as sentimentally. Not only did the weapon have his blood soaked into it right along with the shape-changing mixture, but it had saved his life on more than one occasion. The thorns sprouting from the handle matched the scars on his palms, and the pain they caused when they pierced his skin was as familiar to him as the twinge he got from his bad knee when the weather changed. He didn’t have to apply much of the blood-infused varnish any longer. The Skinner concoction was soaked all the way through, making the wood as light as it was durable.

Cole reached over one shoulder, grabbed the weapon and pulled against the snaps holding it in place. Since there was no immediate threat, his fingers fell into place between the thorns in a loose grip that kept the thorns pressed upon his palm without breaking the skin. Even though Abby was watching, he resisted the urge to do anything fancy before lowering the forked end into the tall grass that grew alongside the trail. He waggled the spear, shaking the grass in quick bursts. “They hate this,” he told her expertly.

“Hate it, or confuse it for the movement of a smaller animal?” Abby asked. “And before you answer, remember I’ve read the reports.”

“If you know so much about it, why don’t you take the lead in this investigation?” he asked with just enough of a smirk to let her know he was only needling her.

Abby bumped him with her hip as she walked by. “Maybe I will. You could always wait in the car. So, is it true you can make your weapons change into other shapes?”

Cole stopped and faced her while keeping the forked end of his weapon in the weeds. They were too far away from I-94 for the sounds of cars to reach their ears, but it wasn’t exactly quiet. Insects buzzed in the trees surrounding the access road that cut south through the woods, their flight paths swerving due to the same wind that rustled dozens of overhead branches. The rattle of Cole’s spear was like one spastic set of drumsticks in an otherwise respectable percussion section.

“Haven’t you read my file?” he asked.

Abby fixed her eyes on him and gently prodded his chest with a finger as she said, “You haven’t filed any reports, no matter how many times we’ve asked for them.”

“So you want to know more about me?”

“Maybe,” she said softly. “You guys are mysterious. Anyone in MEG would like to know more.”

“Rugged and mysterious? You’re making me sound pretty cool.”

“ Skinners are mysterious. Cole Warnecki is anything but. He’s a video game geek who tries to be a smooth talker, without a lot of success.”

Cole scowled and asked, “My smooth talk isn’t working?”

“I suppose it is a little bit. You’re also not a bad kisser.”

When he put his free hand on the worn denim covering Abby’s hip, Cole had no trouble reeling her in. She not only allowed herself to be pulled closer, but helped him out by flicking her head back to get some hair out of her face. All of his training had taught him to watch his opponent’s eyes. Hers were very promising. When he moved in for the kill, something landed heavily on the end of the spear that was still in the tall weeds. If the weapon had been made of normal, untreated wood, it would have snapped as a little wild-eyed Chupacabra scrambled toward Cole’s shoulder.

The creature stood just over three feet tall upon legs that looked like burnt tree limbs covered in old sap. Its feet and hands resembled something from a preschooler’s sketch pad. Long, bony toes and only slightly longer fingers stuck out at strange angles, which made them perfectly suited for wrapping around the spear and holding it in a tight grip. Its head was thin, narrow, and chiseled down to a point that wasn’t so much of a beak as it was a solid wedge. The lower portion of that wedge hung down to display several teeth that could very well have been old roofing nails.

Cole took all of this in because it was the only thing he could do during the first few seconds of the attack. It was too late to duck, and impossible to take a swing at the gangly little bugger that perched upon the spear while raking its fingers across his chin and neck. As soon as the creature spotted the first trickle of blood, it let out a hacking croak.

Snarling under his breath, Cole twisted around to shake the creature off. Its stick fingers ripped into his shirt, while its toes maintained a solid hold on the spear. Grabbing its arms was a struggle, simply because they weren’t in the right spot. One arm was positioned at about the right height on its frame and less than an inch away from a droopy right breast. The other was about six inches lower and disturbingly close to a festering little wormhole that must have been its navel. Because of this, the creature looked as if it was standing perpetually sideways. Not quite a match to the other Chupes he’d seen, but close enough.

As it wrestled to pull out of Cole’s grip, the Chupe swung large clumpy strands of hair that could have easily been mistaken for freshly unearthed roots. Each tug brought another grunting breath that was sucked in through slits on either side of its wedge-shaped head and let out through its mouth. Dark yellow eyes rattled nervously within deep sockets, reminding Cole of pennies trapped within dollops of amber.

Not wanting to prolong the stalemate, he let go of its arms and grabbed it by the neck. His attempt to close a fist around the fleshy tube supporting its head caused the thing to yelp and break away from him. It twisted in midair, swung its head around and deflected Cole’s spear with a petulant swat.

Since he’d missed with the first swing, Cole allowed his weapon to keep moving until he could drive the forked end straight at the creature. The smaller spearheads caught the Chupe in the meaty portion of its body a few inches below its neck. As soon as it hit the ground, it rolled into the weeds and was gone.

“Was that a Chupacabra?” Abby cried.

Cole felt as if he’d been twisted into a knot. Once he steadied his feet and raised his spear, he took a moment for his head to stop spinning. “Yeah. That was a Chupacabra. One of the biggest I’ve seen, but that’s a Chupe all right.”

“Oh my God, you’re bleeding!” She rushed over to him with a tissue that she’d fished from one of her pockets and went to dab his forehead.

“Give me some room,” he snapped.

Abby pulled her hand away, but nearly jumped from her hiking boots when the single sharpened end of Cole’s weapon moved in her direction. The grass around her feet was rustling, but it was difficult to say if it was being brushed by the wind or being jostled by a little freak with misaligned arms. Cole’s scars wouldn’t warn him of another attack since they reacted only to Nymar and shapeshifters. A Chupacabra was neither, but it was too big to stay hidden in the grass for long.

“I see it,” he whispered. “Get that spray ready.” He took a small amount of comfort from the ripping crackle of new Velcro as Abby opened a pouch on her belt for a thin can of Mugger-B-Gone.