Stephen Randel - The Chupacabra

“I want Fire Team Leader Status reports starting with Alpha Team,” the General instructed.

“Alpha, present and accounted for.”

“Bravo, ditto.”

“Charlie, ditto, ditto.”

“Excellent,” the General replied as he consulted his marked- up topographical map and flip-top compass with his flashlight. “Rally Point Uno is on top of this ridge and to the east, about four hundred meters. Follow me and we’ll pitch tonight’s base camp and begin surveillance for illegal aliens.”

The men fired their machines back to life and gingerly made their way along the ridgeline, passing a cut in the ridge with a sloping path to the valley below. Just to the east of the cut they parked their vehicles and began setting up Rally Point Uno base camp.

“Fire Team Alpha!” the General barked. “I want you to assemble the tents over there. Fire Team Bravo, set up the dining fly, mess hall, and command center here. Fire Team Charlie, take your entrenching tools and begin constructing the surveillance foxholes over there about twenty-five meters. Dig them right on the edge of the ridgeline, and I want them at least three feet deep.”

“Dang, general,” Private Zulu replied dejectedly. “How come we got to dig the foxholes? This dry ground is an s.o.b. to hack through.”

“Stop your whining, private,” the General reprimanded him, “or I’ll have you dig the latrine, too. Once the other Fire Teams are finished, they’ll help you with the perimeter defenses.”

The men went to their assigned tasks, and in short order the olive drab canvas pup tents were erected and the command center was in place. Fire Teams Alpha and Bravo joined the effort to finish the three foxholes on the edge of the ridge.

“Okay, men,” the General began, “take your positions in the foxholes and watch for movement. If you see anything, radio me in the command center, but no loose chatter on your walkie-talkies. And don’t forget to check your weapons and ammo.”

For the next four hours, the Fire Teams scanned the valley below, hardly able to see a thing in the darkness. The sounds of the desert played tricks with their minds, particularly the occasional flutter of bats wings over their heads as the nocturnal creatures chased their nightly prey of insects.

“You see anything out there?” whispered Private Zulu.

“Nope,” replied Fire Team Leader Charlie.

“Kind of creepy out here. I sure don’t like it.”

“It ain’t that bad. Could have to share a foxhole with the General.”

“I don’t know,” said Private Zulu, taking a sip from his canteen. “Lots of unexplainables out here.”

“Unexplainables? I don’t even think that’s a word.”

“Whether it is or ain’t, this desert got some weird things in it.”

“Like what?” Fire Team Leader Charlie asked as he took the canteen from the private and drank.

“Like werewolf coyotes.”

“Well, I bet there’re plenty of coyotes out there, but not werewolves. You watch too much cable.”

“Oh, no, they got them werewolf coyotes in this part of the country. Or vampire coyotes, I can’t keep ’em straight. Either way, they’ll kill you right dead and eat your bones in a heartbeat unless you shoot ’em with garlic bullets.”

“So how many garlic bullets did you bring with you?”

“None.”

“Well, I guess you’re out of luck, partner. I’ll be sure to let your family know you died heroically.”

“That ain’t funny,” Private Zulu said as he snatched his canteen back. “Hey! What was that?”

“What was what?”

“Down there,” the private said, pointing to an area straight below the cut in the ridge. “Something moving.” The two men stared intently at the area for a few minutes.

“Could be something,” Fire Team Leader Charlie said. “Bet it’s just some kind of animal.”

“See! There it goes again. Call it in! Call it in!” implored Private Zulu.

“Okay, but if it turns out to be nothing and the General has a conniption, it was your idea,” the Team Leader said as he reached for his walkie-talkie. “Command center. This is Checkpoint Charlie. Do you read? Over.”

The noise of his walkie-talkie startled General X-Ray so much he dropped Private Zulu’s confiscated handheld videogame, on which he was busy playing Zombie Slaughter 5.0.

“Checkpoint Charlie, this is Command Center. Over,” the General replied.

“General, Private Zulu thinks we got something down here. Might just be animal movement but we aren’t sure. Over.”

“Hold your position, Fire Team Leader Charlie,” the General said as he shoved the videogame back into his pocket. “I’m on my way. Over.” The General leapt from the command center and double-timed his way to their position. “Situation report,” he said as he crashed into the cramped foxhole with his men.

“Down there, sir.” Fire Team Leader Charlie pointed. “A pretty good ways below that cut in the ridge.”

“I don’t see anything,” said the General.

“Definitely something there, general,” replied Private Zulu.

“Okay, steady, boys,” the General said as he readied the flare gun he retrieved from his belt. “Aim your weapons and prepare to fire.” Fire Team Leader Charlie looked down at the pellet gun and wrist rocket on the ground beside him. He decided on the pellet gun because he didn’t have time to find a suitable rock. Private Zulu shouldered his single-shot, twenty-two-caliber rifle and aimed in the general vicinity of the movement.

“Launching flare!” the General announced with gusto. With a whoosh, the flare arced a small, circular, flickering red flame up and over the valley below. A few seconds later, the flare ignited and illuminated the terrain of the valley as it slowly floated back down from the desert sky.

A small grey coyote lifted its head from its meal and froze in place. Sensing danger, it sniffed the wind. Grabbing one more bite from its prize, the coyote slunk back deeper into the shadows of the valley and slipped away into the night.

“Did you see those eyes?” Private Zulu cried in terror. “They were glowing! Oh, Jesus! Oh, Jesus! It’s got to be one of those vampire coyotes!”

“A what?” the perplexed General asked.

“Don’t get him started, sir,” Fire Team Leader Charlie replied. “Just your garden-variety coyote eating something.”

“Not with eyes like that!” the trembling private replied.

“I don’t care what it was,” the General said as he picked up his walkie-talkie. “We’re going down there to recon the area.” The General keyed the “Talk” button on his walkie-talkie. “Fire Teams Alpha and Bravo, this is General X-Ray. I’m taking Fire Team Charlie and Private Zulu with me to reconnoiter the valley. Over.”

“Roger, sir,” Fire Team Leader Bravo replied over his walkie-talkie.

“Jesus, general,” Fire Team Leader Alpha responded. “That flare scared the pants off us. Give us a heads-up next time.”

The General, Fire Team Leader Charlie, and the extraordinarily skittish Private Zulu made their way down the cut and approached the area where the coyote had been feeding. The remains of the two Mexican drug couriers, Ernesto and Victor, had been fed upon for several days. Their bodies were hardly recognizable as human. Only the presence of their shoes and clothes indicated that they were ever human at all.

“Help me, Lord,” cried Private Zulu. “No regular coyote can break a man up like that. We got to find some garlic fast!”

“Compose yourself, private!” the General commanded. “Just a couple of illegal aliens who snuck into our beloved homeland that got what was coming to them. I don’t know how they met their fate, but we’re taking the credit. STRAC-BOM: two, Mexico: zero!”