Stephen Randel - The Chupacabra

“Stop right there!” Agent Diaz commanded. “Stay away from that man.”

“What man?” asked Kip as they stopped at the edge of the street. Agent Diaz walked back around the car with her pistol at the ready.

“Oh, my God,” she muttered seeing the empty street in front of her. Just then, the first of several police cars came screeching to a halt in front of the white house. A lanky police officer bolted from the car with his weapon drawn. Agent Diaz holstered her weapon and held her I.D. aloft. “I’m Agent Maria Diaz with U.S. Customs and Border Protection. There’s an officer down inside the house. Suspect is on the move. He’s male, Hispanic, well over six feet tall, armed and extremely dangerous. We need to cordon off this area right now.” The police officer got on his radio and began to shout instructions as other police officers approached the scene.

The next morning, the street in front of the big white house still buzzed with activity. The police officer’s body had been removed from the home, and the yellow police tape had just been taken down. Out front, the overturned rental car had been towed away. Avery, Bennett, Kip, and Jackie all sat on the front porch steps while Aunt Polly made coffee in the kitchen with the rest of the girls. Max sat on the steps in front of his people, furiously chewing on something mysterious. Bennett tried vainly to fish it out of the persistent dog’s mouth. Kip had his long arm draped across Jackie’s shoulder. They had been up all night and were exhausted from the terrifying ordeal. In front of them, Agent Diaz stood on the sidewalk speaking with a tall senior police detective.

“We’ve had a dozen units and a chopper out all night looking for your guy,” the detective said.

“He couldn’t have gone far,” Agent Diaz replied. “I know I hit him twice in the back. I can’t believe he got up. I should have checked him. I can’t believe I didn’t check him,” she added despondently.

“Well, you definitely hit him. We found an abandoned car with plates belonging to your victim in the El Paso hotel. Your guy apparently tried to burn the car out. A local resident saw it and controlled the blaze in time. In the back seat, we found a bulletproof vest. Had two slugs in the back. Also had a trunk full of narcotics. I’m willing to guess it’s the shipment you’ve been looking for. We brought in the dogs to try and pick up a scent from the vest. They lost it a few blocks away. Absolutely nothing. Your guy is a ghost. But we lost a real good man last night. We won’t stop looking until we find him.”

“What can I do to help?” asked Agent Diaz.

“Well, you’ve got a big load of dope and a pile of money to take back home. I’m guessing you’ve got more than a few hours of paperwork to get started on in your office. Your boss is working on getting you a flight back as we speak. Don’t worry, Agent Diaz. You did a good job. You saved those people inside. You can bet I’ll let your superiors know.”

Down the street, the local mail carrier was making her rounds. Approaching the white house, she couldn’t help but notice the commotion.

“Everything okay, doctor?” she asked as she handed a rubber-band-bundled stack of mail to Bennett.

“Nothing to worry about, Mary,” Bennett replied. “Just your typical night around here when you live with a lunatic.” He nodded toward Avery.

“Bite me,” Avery replied.

“Take this inside,” said Bennett as he tossed the stack of mail at Avery. Avery took the mail and stormed inside. Tossing the bundle onto a table in the foyer as he headed upstairs to his office, Avery failed to notice the letter on top of the stack. It was addressed to one Avery Bartholomew Pendleton. The return address noted the letter was from the Office of the Chairman and CEO, IKEA International Group.

West of Austin, a bus pulled to a stop in a small town. Off stepped a dark, dangerous-looking man. As the bus pulled away in a cloud of dirty blue smoke, the large man took a seat on the bench at the stop. Across the street from the bus stop was a small motel. The stoic, hulking man patiently waited.

After half an hour, a nondescript car pulled into the motel’s parking lot. A man got out of the car and headed into the motel office. A few minutes later, the man returned and reentered his vehicle. The car drove slowly down the parking lot and pulled up in front of a room on the end.

The dark man rose from the bench and quickly walked across the street toward the car.

Somewhere in Mexico, a mangy coyote loped through the desert…

To: Editorial Department

Austin American-Statesman

Dear Sir or Madam:

The time is here. The invasion has begun. The demons are already at the gates. Escape is futile. Our defenses are impotent. Hold out as long as you can. Fight to the last man, woman, and child. Show no mercy, for none will be given. Take as many of the beasts with you as you can. I will lead the way. You wouldn’t listen to me before. Listen to me now. This is your last warning. The long, dark night of the CHUPACABRA has arrived. I’m going after them. I’ll keep you posted.

Knuckleball Press

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Copyright © 2012 by Stephen C. Randel

Published by Knuckleball Press

All rights reserved

This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of Stephen C. Randel except for the use of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.