“Could be the chupacabras nest, Dad,” Dean added.
“Still not picking up any vibes, lover. Earlier on, I could. Now, there’s nothing. Almost like I’m being jammed by the little bastards.”
“Jammed?” Ryan replied. The term didn’t seem to fit in with life functions.
The redhead shot him a look, her fiery hair undulating about her face and shoulders. “Best word I could come up with for how I’m feeling.”
“The chupacabras have long been rumored to possess the power to cloud the minds of men and women, Krysty Wroth,” Soto said. “Make them feel weak, powerless, sick enough to vomit. Entire groups of people have been driven to nausea when faced with a single chupacabras. Your special gifts might indeed be compromised in combating the goatsuckers.”
“Which way you think the vibrations were coming from, Jak?”
The teen pondered Krysty’s question for a few seconds, then pointed at the left fork of the twin corridors. “Down there.”
Soto stepped over and looked at a laminated wall map. “That passage leads to an area called Research and Development. Entry Absolutely Forbidden To All but B12 Cleared Personnel.”
“Good thing we’ve got a B12 clearance isn’t it?” J.B. said.
THE DESIGN OF THE LAB was reminiscent of others they’d previously seen in military redoubts. Entry-ways provided by polished air locks of silver chromium rings irised open and closed at the touch of a keypad, each hexagonal-shaped chamber leading into a massive central control area. That, in turn, looked either out and across an interior room or down on med-sterile arenas where the actual grunt work was performed, and in the case of genetic manipulation and the creation of mutants, where the products of said experiments were housed and caged.
The lab area below was dim. All of the fluorescent strip lights that usually illuminated redoubts had either burned out or had been broken and removed. No movement could be seen among the darker shapes of the tables, cages and other pieces of larger gear on the lab floor.
One of the cages was close to the ob window, and allowed the group to see that it was made of clear armaglass on three sides and solid steel on top and bottom. A fourth wall was a mix of vanadium bars and a sliding armaglass portal. From his viewpoint, Ryan noted most of the other cells also appeared empty.
The closest of the confinement cages showed damage-claw marks.
Massive panes of thick and clear armaglass kept the overlords separate from their charges. A series of interior vid cameras were mounted high along the ceiling. Black-and-white vid monitors that took the images seen by the cameras and played them back in the ob booth were mounted in a wire rack next to the armaglass. At the moment, most of the monitor screens were dark. The two still functioning replayed views of what they could already see on the main lab floor below.
Down at the other end of the ob window, Soto gave a startled shriek.
Hell eyes gazed back at him through the glass.
Then, unexpectedly, more eyes appeared as a mass of the chupacabras hovered inside, silent, like a swarm of angry insects.
“How many you count?” J.B. asked.
“Eight. Nine. A dozen. Shit,” Dean replied.
“Wonder how they’re getting in and out? That section below looks sealed,” Ryan noted.
The voiced question was answered when a wall-mounted vent covering clattered to the floor, followed by a beating sound of wings and a hissing noise almost painful to the eardrum.
“They’re in the redoubt’s air ventilation system,” Ryan said in disbelief.
“Bastards must be contortionists,” J.B. replied, setting the sights of the M-4000 scattergun and preparing to fire. He blinked once, twice, and focused. One thing about using the scattergun-precise aim was the last thing a man needed to worry about.
The scout for the chupacabras delegation came bounding over, a fleshy ping-pong ball with bat wings and glowing eyes. J.B. didn’t hesitate as he gently caressed the trigger. A double load of fle-chettes burst from the wide bore of the blaster, spinning for their intended target.
The squat beast exploded like a burst party balloon, spraying blood and entrails in all directions. A pungent stench of sulfur wafted into J.B.’s nostrils and he straggled to hold back a sneeze, but failed mightily.