Stephen Randel - Trail of the Chupacabra

“Having some trouble, mister?”

“Yeah, she’s misfiring like a blind sniper,” the Fire Team Leader replied.

“I’ve got a shop a few miles down the road. Want me to take a look?”

“Be much obliged if you would.”

The mechanic peered into the engine compartment. “Well, here’s your problem,” he said immediately. “Try her now.”

Private Zulu climbed inside and stirred the General, who was less than happy at being woken in the middle of a dream in which he was commanding three full brigades of horse soldiers pitted in battle against a tiny band of elderly Navajo women and small children. The Navajo had his men completely surrounded and were winning the day, but the General was sure it was only temporary. The General bitched a little, but then started up the bus. It ran smoothly, but the air conditioning didn’t work anymore. Fire Team Leader Alpha thanked the generous mechanic and climbed on board, and the men hit the road again.

An hour later, Avery woke up and wiped the drool from his face.

“Morning,” General X-Ray said, looking back at Avery. “It’s a great day for an invasion, son. Clear skies and not a chance of rain.”

“Marvelous,” Avery groggily replied. “When do we eat?”

“Not until we’ve invaded. We’ll requisition from the enemy.”

“I’m starving.” Avery cracked open a Mountain Dew and drained it. “Pull over.”

“Not a good idea.” The General doubled-checked his mirrors. “We’re on a mission.”

“Take that exit.” Avery pointed.

“I’m busy driving.”

“The exit!” The bus swerved toward the off-ramp.

“Don’t yell at me in front of the men!” the General screamed, his face turning a bruised plum color. Avery looked back at the men of STRAC-BOM. They were all asleep.

“May I ask you a question?”

“About what?” The General readjusted his mirrors as he navigated down the exit ramp.

“How did you get this job?”

“Protecting America? I was born with the job of protecting America from invasion.”

“No kidding. Me, too — I’ve been trying to convince people that…wait, pull over there. See that place?”

“The hotel?”

“Exactly. Pull in. It’s time for breakfast.”

“Then you’re paying.”

“Nobody is paying.”

“What are you talking about?”

“General,” Avery said as he looked at his driver seriously. “This is my kind of mission. I know what I’m doing. Get your men up.”

“Like, I’m up!” Ziggy said as he crawled out of the bus stairwell. “Are we there yet?”

“Shut up,” Avery and the General said in unison.

“Bummer, angry dudes.” Ziggy curled up on the top step.

“Where the hell did you find this hippy, anyway?” the General asked.

“Have you ever been to Austin?”

“No, but question answered.” The General cupped his hand over his mouth. “Can we drop him off somewhere?”

“No, he’s strangely useful to me. Kind of like a slinky. He doesn’t really bring much value to the universe, but it still makes me laugh when I push him down a flight of stairs. Pull in there.” Avery pointed.

“Okay.”

“Get the men up.”

“Why? The border is less than forty minutes away.”

“I’m hungry, and we’re going to eat.”

“Whatever you say.” The bus pulled into the parking lot of an extended-stay business hotel.

“General, what time do you have?”

“Nine hundred hours.”

“Perfect. The business-class rush hour is over, and the selection should still be good. Follow me. Act natural. If anyone approaches us, I’ll do the talking.”

“All right, men. Fall in!” The members of STRAC-BOM wiped the sleep from their eyes and followed Avery across the parking lot. Ziggy brought up the rear. He danced along as he hummed a Grateful Dead song to himself. At the door to the hotel, Avery turned and addressed the men.

“Follow me closely, and try to act inconspicuous. Don’t make eye contact with any hotel staff. If harassed by an employee, take hostages.” Avery turned and entered the hotel. The rest of the men followed and attempted to avoid attention, but when a group of nine grown men, six wearing camouflage fatigues, one in a vintage WWII tanker’s uniform, one in a yellow tracksuit, and one wearing a tie-dyed T-shirt and baggy shorts, try to sneak across a busy hotel lobby, it’s pretty conspicuous. Avery led the procession of men around the perimeter of the lobby, using large potted plants for cover when possible. “In there.” Avery pointed. The men hustled into the breakfast lobby of the hotel and launched themselves at the buffet. Eggs, cereal, pastries — the group cleaned them out. Avery noticed they were missing someone. He went and peeked into the lobby. Ziggy was at the front desk, filling out a reward program application with the manager. Avery whistled and waved Ziggy over to him. Ziggy shook the manager’s hand and joined the group.

“Like, forty nights, man, and I’m like, Platinum.” Ziggy smiled as Avery dragged him toward the buffet. Avery stacked his plate with everything he could find. Ziggy just grabbed a banana. Joining the other men at a table, Avery began to stuff his face indiscriminately with food.

“Hurry up,” Avery implored through open mouthfuls. “We’ve only got a few minutes before someone gets suspicious.” The group gorged themselves. Avery stuffed spare jelly doughnuts into his tracksuit as the hotel manager approached their table.

“Excuse me,” the manager said with a frown. “The breakfast buffet is only for hotel guests.”

“We are guests.” Avery choked down a box of dry cereal.

“May I see your room key?”

“Don’t have one yet.” Avery shoveled scrambled eggs into his mouth, a good portion of them sticking in his unruly beard. “Our check-in was delayed.”

“Delayed?”

“Yes, we’re with the Donner party. Here for the wedding.”

“Wedding? We don’t have any weddings on the books for at least a week.”

“That’s unfortunate, Mr. Smith,” Avery said as he glanced at the hotel manager’s name badge. “If that is your real name. The bride is going to be very disappointed. She’s coming all the way from Russia. Never upset a Russian bride. She’ll cut out your liver and feed it to you wrapped in her garter belt. It’s an old tradition, but one definitely not to be trifled with. By the way, do you have an omelet station?”

“No! And leave now, or I’m calling the authorities.”

“Are you in anyway related to the El Paso Smiths?”

“No. Now all of you, out!”

“Good, they’re serial killers, but wonderful cooks. By the way, who’s in first place in the American League East?”

“That’s it — I’m calling security and the police.”

“Every man for himself!” Avery cried as he barreled toward the front door, grabbing a complimentary newspaper on the way. The rest of the men scrambled behind him, the General bringing up the rear as he grabbed some extra bacon from the buffet. Just outside the front entrance, Avery pulled a smoke bomb from his fanny pack and lit it. Stinky purple smoke erupted from the small, round pyrotechnic. He threw it inside and ran toward the parked bus. Avery collapsed into a seat on the bus, completely out of breath. He pulled a doughnut from his tracksuit and shoved it into his mouth as the rest of the men piled into their long, yellow getaway vehicle. The General climbed aboard last, tearing up a parking ticket for leaving the bus in a fire zone.

“Well-executed operation, Mr. Pendleton,” the General said as he pulled back onto the highway access road. “I like your style.”

“It’s a gift,” Avery replied as he looked for the baseball standings. “Where’s the lizard?”