Category Five Page 6
No. Not happening, Lupe thought.
Javier said a quick prayer under his breath and turned the key again.
It didn’t turn over.
Lupe stared out the window. They were going to be trapped. She breathed, “Javier, I think we better run.”
“No, no, it will start.”
Turn, grind, stop.
Turn, grind, stop.
He was flooding it now, and they both knew it. Hell, the ghosts probably knew it. Javier bashed on the steering wheel with his fists. “Damn you, Pedro! What a piece of shit!”
Lupe pulled on his sleeve and pointed out the back window. The figures were only a few feet away, and she could see their faces, cheekbones jutting out, covered with desiccated flesh, empty eye sockets. They were all reaching now, their sharp, bony fingers leading the way
“It’s not going to start. Let’s get out of here.” And they were out of the truck, both tearing across the moonlit beach, trying to focus on what was ahead and not on the ghostly figures behind them.
They were halfway across when Javier stopped short. “Wait, I don’t know which way we should go. What if we’re at the tip of the island?”
Lupe stopped, but almost tripped on a weather- and salt-eaten board on the beach. “What is this?” She picked it up and her breath stopped. It was a sign, and after reading it she put her free hand out in front of Javier. “Don’t take another step,” she whispered.
“What? Why?” He was looking back at the glowing figures with increasing anxiety. She turned the sign around to show him.
He read it out loud. CAUTION: UNEXPLODED ORDNANCE. KEEP OUT!
She knew unexploded was bad. “What the hell is an ordnance?”
“I am guessing this was one of the beaches the navy used to test weapons. Lupe, ordnance is bombs or grenades or land mines—”
“Okay, okay,” she whispered, as if merely the vibration of her voice could set them off. “I get it.” She glanced from the stretch of beach between them and the trees, and back at the … beings coming for them, their moans riding the sounds of the surf and reaching for them. “What do we do now?”
They looked back. Only a few yards remained between them and the beings. Thank god they moved slowly. “I’m not the expert on the supernatural that you are, but I’m imagining they don’t have to worry about the bombs, right?”
Lupe shrugged. “That would be my guess.”
“Well, shit.”
They both looked toward the water. The tide had come in and the waves were increasing in intensity. Plus, the cove was edged in rock cliffs. No way they could swim for it.
Something brushed against Lupe’s neck again, and she yelped. She turned around slowly to find a large, shadowy face nuzzling the side of her head. It took a second before she realized it was the long furry snout of a dark brown horse.
She ran her hand along his nose. “Hi, sweetie,” she cooed. The horse was shaking his head toward the ghosts who were only feet away now. “Javier, how did he make it through?”
“I don’t know.” Then he seemed to remember something. “On this nature show I watch, in Cambodia they use rats to sniff out the land mines. Maybe he can sense them too.”
“Or maybe he’s just been lucky,” Lupe said while petting the scruffy creature’s head. “Does he belong to someone nearby, maybe? Someone who can help?”
“No, I don’t think so. There are wild horses all over the island.”
The moaning picked up in intensity and the ghosts were close to Javier now, fingers reaching toward his chest. He and Lupe were both frozen in place, afraid to run and set off a mine, but unable to stay.
The horse sniffed, then started to turn around, looking back toward Lupe, then shaking his head up and down like he was nodding, his mane waving in the moonlight. She watched him carefully. “I think he’s trying to tell us something. I think he wants to lead us out,” she whispered.
Javier threw up his hands. “Well, let’s follow him. We don’t have any other choice.”
Lupe followed behind the horse at an appropriate distance—she’d done enough riding in Vermont that she knew you didn’t want to be within kicking range if the horse got spooked—and took Javier’s hand behind her. They walked single file, stepping carefully into the horse’s tracks, the moaning and rustling a constant companion behind them to remind them of the urgency. With each step Lupe imagined a blast of fire, her legs flying around the empty beach, setting off other mines as they landed, the sand exploding in a cloud of smoke and flame.
Her dramatic imagination was a bit of a drag at times.
She looked up and realized they were already to the tree line and the horse had begun to run. Without a word, they followed behind, rushing through breaks in the trees and the trampled brush that the horse left behind, branches flying back and scratching along her cheeks and arms as they gained distance between themselves and the ghost-infested beach. They staggered into a clearing, and the horse slowed, then stopped, then began chewing on some long grass in front of a ramshackle house. There was the light of a single lamp inside, and as the moon rose above the trees, Lupe could make out a figure on the porch, the glow of a cigar tip red in the darkness.
This was just like something in a horror movie, but Javier stepped forward. Lupe looked around the clearing, the hurricane-stripped palm branches like thin fingers reaching up to the sky, the moonlight giving the ring of trees a blue glow like the ghosts. No way was she going to stand there by herself, so she followed Javier.
A crackly voice rose from the porch’s shadow. “You children look like you’ve seen a ghost! Or perhaps many ghosts!” Then came a cackle, loud and bordering on out of control, the sound bouncing off the surrounding trees.
Lupe wondered if they had just jumped from the frying pan into the fire.
Chapter Eight
Javier
AT THE SOUND of the creepy cackling, Javier grabbed Lupe’s hand and took an involuntary step back before he remembered the crowd of undead who had been following them, and then stepped toward the unknown character on the porch. At least the old man seemed to be alive. The bomb-sensing horse seemed calm, so he took that as a sign they could relax.
A little.
The laughing slowed, then stopped, followed by the sound of a deep drag of breath and the flaring of the cigar’s tip. Then the unseen man was hacking, like his lungs were coming out his mouth. Finally, he said, “Well? Who are you and what are you doing on my property?”
“Perdón, señor.”
“Chachu.”
“Salud,” Lupe responded. “Bless you.”
The old man just growled at her. “No, that’s what they call me, young lady. Chachu.”
Lupe’s face reddened.
Javier continued, “Chachu, we were on that beach.” He pointed back toward the beach with the unexploded ordnance. “We didn’t know it was dangerous. Then these … well, they were…” He was trying to find a respectful way to say it when Lupe broke in.
“A herd of ghosts chased us off the beach. And your horse there saved us by leading us here.”
Javier waited for the cackling to resume. It sounded so damn bizarre even to him, and he’d just lived through it.
Instead, another long drag on the cigar, then a sigh. “She’s not my horse, she doesn’t belong to anyone.”
“That’s what he chose to respond to?” Lupe whispered. She wasn’t helping. Then louder. “So … the fact that I just told you we were chased by a bunch of ghosts is no surprise?”
“Young lady, I’ve lived on this island for every one of my eighty-seven years, and nothing surprises me anymore.”
Javier took a step closer. “Did you hear about the murders in Mosquito Bay?”
Chachu nodded. Javier could tell by the glowing tip going up and down. Then Chachu leaned forward and his wrinkled face caught the moonlight, his eye sockets darkening as if empty like the ghosts’.
Javier didn’t trust him yet.
Chachu took another d
rag of his cigar, the sweet, cherry-smelling smoke wafting from under the porch roof. “I know who those ghosts are.”
Lupe muttered, “Oh. Great. He knows the ghosts personally. This is only getting creepier and creepier.”
But Javier was captivated. He knew the value of people like this, the viejos who sat on their porches as life went by. They often knew everything that was happening on the island, didn’t miss a thing. He walked toward the porch and, after hesitating, Lupe followed him.
Javier’s eyes were adjusting to the darkness, and as they stopped and stood in front of the man he saw how thin he was, how withered. Javier prodded him. “So, who are they, Señor?”
“Oh, I think they’re people who have been here all along.”
Javier worked at keeping his patience—the man was, like, one hundred and fourteen years old—but it was tough. It had been a very long night.
Lupe snorted. “Okay, moving on.”
She was right: they were wasting their time there. He thought back to the scene on the beach: they had to get out of here soon in case the ghosts were following. He took the cell phone out of his pocket and turned it on, this time with the ringer off.
No service.
Perfecto.
“Señor, do you have a phone we could use?”
He waved his hand. “Bah! What do I need one of those for? Only people who call me are trying to sell me something! Or buy my land!”
Javier sighed; it was going to be a long walk. “How far is it to town?”
“Oh, it’s a long walk, with many hills. Why don’t you leave your girlfriend here to keep an old man company while you walk to town?”
He waggled his thick, unruly white eyebrows. Actually waggled them.
“I just threw up in my mouth a bit,” Lupe whispered. “There is no way I’m staying here with that creep.”
Javier shook his head, a small smile lifting the corner of his mouth. “No, we’re going to stay together.”
He put his arm around her protectively, and she wrapped her arm around his waist, tight. “I guess we better get walking, Lupe.”
The old man took another drag. “You could do that. Take you quite a while in the dark.”
Not to mention the undead horde that could be waiting for them.
This was going to be a long night.
“Or, I could give you a lift in Estrellita.” Then there were two electronic beeps and headlights beamed toward them and they noticed the late-model Kia in fire-engine red that sat placidly next to Chachu’s ramshackle house.
This night was just full of surprises.
Chapter Nine
Isabel Segunda, Vieques
MORTIMER CARTER WAS angry. Not about anything in particular, though he’d almost been run over by some young hooligans that afternoon. No, it was pretty much his default state. There was so much to be angry about these days. Since he’d retired and moved full time to his late aunt’s house on this godforsaken island, everything pissed him off. And that had been, oh, twenty-five years back, now.
He stumbled through the darkened streets, heading home after a failed attempt to buy another bottle of moonshine. The bastard who made it had closed up for the night, the house all dark. It wasn’t even past midnight yet, and he was closed? Mortimer had pounded on the door for a good ten minutes until the shrew next door yelled out the window, her spoiled baby shrieking in the background. Well, he told her a thing or two and kept pounding for another ten minutes, just because she pissed him off.
Nothing went smoothly on this damn island. Everyone moved slowly, no work ethic in these people, no hustle. But damned if he was going to stay in North Carolina while his lazy-ass grandnephew tried to get his paws on his money. No sirree Bob! He was keeping it all in an offshore account where it was safe, and after the land sale he just made, he had a lot to protect.
He felt the brush of something across the back of his neck. “Who the hell is there?” he shrieked, wheeling around. Did he see something duck between the buildings? No, probably a rat, or something. Probably all this talk about ghosts was causing hallucinations. Whole damn island was going crazy. Ghosts, sheesh! Next thing you know, Godzilla will be crawling up on Esperanza Beach!
Mortimer stumbled on the broken sidewalk, cursing loudly. Goddamn town doesn’t even take care of its streets. They’re using the hurricane as an excuse. Well, he’d lived through a few of those; in fact his aunt bought the cursed house and all that land after the hurricane of ’28. And they didn’t whine about damage in those days. They just fixed it! Well, in the morning he would give that pudgy Torres police captain a piece of his mind. Maybe he’d take a piece of the concrete and pitch it through the bastard’s car window! Would serve him right.
He paused by the house next door to catch his breath. Damn humidity was causing his asthma to act up. He glanced at the neighbor’s house and half expected that bitch to be on the porch, nattering at him as he went by. Always going on and on about the condition of his house. If she’d use her big mouth to bitch about the sidewalks maybe they wouldn’t be in such terrible condition!
He went to take a step, but the wind picked up and swirled around him, howling. Or was it a moan? He shivered. Should have had his sweater, damn it! But that laundry woman was late with getting him his clothes back. Hurricane shoulda carried them all off and left him alone.
A sound across the street. A stone, or something like it. There was somebody following, he knew it! Probably a mugger trying to steal his money, and right across the street from his own house! Well, he wasn’t afraid. He hobbled as fast as his aching legs could carry him. He had been a Golden Gloves boxing champion in his day; he could fight twice as hard as someone half his age. He’d show them.
He stopped on the sidewalk and peered toward where he’d heard the noise. His eyes weren’t too good in the dark anymore. The sound … it came from by that abandoned house, the one with the fencing around it.
“I know you’re there! Come out and fight like a man!” He held his fists up in a classic boxing stance. He hadn’t lost it!
Movement on the other side of the building. Mortimer shuffled quickly, determined to catch whoever it was in the act. As he walked, he noticed a broken bottle on the ground near the fence. He picked it up and held it in his quaking hand. He wasn’t going down without a fight, that was for damn sure.
Then a shadow on the side started moving toward him, slow but steady, otherworldly like. When he realized what it was, his knees gave way and he fell to the sidewalk.
“Y-you? But that’s impossible, I—”
The last thing he felt was his head bumping over rocks and broken glass as he was dragged over the cracks in the sidewalk.
Then darkness fell.
Chapter Ten
Lupe
THERE IT WAS again. Lupe sat up and listened. She thought the knocking was part of her dream, but no such luck. She grabbed her cell phone to check the time.
Two a.m.
She was willing to bet big money that whoever it was, they weren’t looking for her. And she knew from spending last summer with her uncle that door knocking at this hour was never good.
She flipped off the sheets and tiptoed into the living room. Her uncle wasn’t in his room. He had fallen asleep sitting up, still in his clothes, the television glowing with some random cop show. He’d told her he loved to watch fictional crime dramas because they weren’t his problem. “Let them wake up someone else for a change,” he would say, laughing. Well, clearly that change wasn’t tonight. She stood over her uncle, enjoying the rare moment of looking down on the tall man, and shook him gently as he snored.
“Tío.”
Shake.
“Tío.”
Shake harder.
A knock again. She sighed in frustration.
“Tío!” she yelled, right in his face.
He jolted up in the chair, the remote flying across the room. “¡Madre de Dios! What? What’s wrong?” He looked around, obviously confused.
 
; She couldn’t stifle a giggle. It was so rare to catch him off guard; this was so entertaining. “Someone’s knocking, and given the hour, I don’t think it’s a pizza delivery.”
He wiped his big hand down his face as if swiping away the sleep, stood up, and gave her a chastising look. “Was the yelling necessary? You scared me half to death.”
“Almost as badly as you scared me when I came in tonight and you were standing next to the front door.”
“Yes, well, I said you could go out with Javier; I didn’t think you’d get back in the middle of the night.” Another knock. “¡Voy!” he yelled, slipping on his shoes.
“It was barely midnight … ish.”
He looked back at her with narrowed eyes as he started toward the door, but then he stopped, turned around, and grabbed his gun belt from the coffee table, buckling it around his waist as he walked.
She gave him the side-eye. “Really? You think that’s necessary for answering the door?”
“These days you never know, sobrina.”
“Point taken.”
He yanked open the door and the young woman standing there jumped back, her eyes going huge.
“Lo siento, Chief, I’m sorry to disturb you.” Her voice was quiet and shaky. Clearly knocking on the door at that hour was not her idea.
Her uncle used his extra-patient voice. “It’s fine, joven. What’s wrong?”
“My mother asked me to come get you. She found one of our neighbors, the old gringo … well, she found him in the garden. It’s his heart.”
An old man has a heart attack and they wake them up? To his credit, her uncle stayed calm and patient. “Found him? Did you call an ambulance?”
Lupe hoped this would mean just a call and they could go back to bed. Her head was foggy with sleep.
“No, Señor. An ambulance cannot help him now. His heart … it’s gone.”
Lupe gasped and the girl noticed her and nodded.
Okay, that bit of information woke them up. She could see her uncle go into full cop mode. He grabbed his hat and started out the door, Lupe on his tail.