Hell's Gate(32)

“Now wait a minute, Mac, by ‘significantly larger’ you mean—?”

“Picture a bat with a body as big as a raccoon and a wingspan of about, I don’t know . . . ten feet?”

“But you . . . you said these things are extinct?”

“I said we thought they were extinct. Anyway, there were at least three of them—probably four, and they were hunting me last night. Just like they were hunting the animals in that stall and those people in the dead village.”

“Bats with ten-foot wing spans—alive? Today? Here? How is that possible?”

Yanni returned from the kitchen with two cups of something hot and aromatic. As she handed one of them to Bob, her calm presence seemed to soothe him immediately. Quietly, she handed the second cup to Mac and sat down beside her husband.

“Thanks,” Mac said, nodding to Yanni, before turning back to his friend. “Like I said, I don’t know. But giant vampire bats did live in Brazil, and recently, too!”

“How recently?”

“I don’t know . . . couple of thousand years. Guess we can revise that number, huh?”

Although Thorne said nothing, Mac could tell from his friend’s expression that the man was definitely not fully sold on the idea of giant winged mammals. “Look, Bob, I know how this must sound . . . but I think this is them.”

“And who is them?”

“Desmodus draculae.”

“Dra-coo-lay?” Thorne repeated. “And what the hell are these dra-coo-lay doing here in 1944?”

Yanni broke her silence. “The chupacabra have always been here,” she said, and the two friends straightened their spines, as if they had been touched at the same instant, by the same live wire.

“Jesus,” Thorne whispered. “This is not possible.”

MacCready stood up. “Think about it, Bob. It makes perfect sense. These creatures aren’t myths, they’re survivors—living fossils.”

“You mean, like that butt-ugly fish everybody thought was extinct for eighty million years?”

“The coelacanth? Yeah, kinda like the coelacanth, I suppose.”

“But why the dead livestock all of a sudden—and that village you wandered into? If people think you’re extinct, why not just stay hidden?”

“Excellent questions,” Mac said, moving to a window. It’ll be dawn soon, he thought, focusing on the outline of a fenced-in chicken coop. “Maybe it’s about food. Maybe they’re starting to run low on natural prey. Along come your cattle farmers—your chicken pluckers, and, ‘Bang!’ Before you know it there are new blood banks open all over town.”

“Yeah, could be, I suppose,” Thorne replied. “Or, assumin’ you haven’t flipped your wig, maybe these draculae got driven out of the woods by the same guys who stirred up the Xavante.”

“You mean whoever ran that sub upriver?”

“Sure, maybe the Krauts riled them up. Everybody hates those f*cks, so why not a bunch of extinct bats?”

“Bob, let’s not forget, that was a Jap sub that ran aground.”

“Japs, Nazis, same shit, different uniform.”

MacCready smiled at the imagery.

“But I don’t know, Mac. This still seems like a bit of a stretch to me. I mean, what do I know from bats?”

“Enough to take Yanni and get the hell out of here.” Mac answered. “I need you to get to Cuiabá, anyway. Contact Hendry and tell him about those rocket contrails and the new coordinates we figured out. But for shit’s sake—do not mention giant vampire bats. Last thing I need is for him to think I’ve gone crazy.”

“Leave . . . here?” Thorne sat down as if his legs had given out. “I know what I said yesterday, but maybe there is another—”

“There is no other explanation! Believe me, Bob, I’ve seen these things, and whatever kept them at bay for all these years . . . well, they’re not shy anymore. And right now the two of you need to find yourselves a new paradise, because this one’s got a serious downside.”

Thorne seemed to be waiting for another alternative, and realizing that there would be none forthcoming, he buried his head in his hands.

Mac turned toward Yanni, looking for support, but she was gone.

Thorne rose without another word and shuffled slowly back toward his bedroom. Mac carried his cup to the window. He was hoping he’d done a good enough job convincing his friend to leave Chapada, when a strange sound came to him from somewhere outside the house. It was familiar somehow, but at the same time completely unique.

Without a word, Mac picked up the candle and began to follow it, stopping as he reached the back door.

Extending his arm, the candle flickered against the predawn breeze, animating the boxes and gardening tools that cluttered the Thornes’ backyard.

MacCready edged a couple of steps farther, then paused again. Though he was only a few feet from the house, he could already feel the immensity of the forest—a living thing that waited beyond the tiny plot of cleared earth on which he stood.

The sound came again, and he knew where he’d heard it before.

He was back in the orchard.

The Brazil nut tree.

The branch.

GENTLE

It sounds like—

MacCready squinted into the darkness. There was a figure in the flickering candlelight.