Age of Blood

52

One kilometer south of the plaza stood a man-high gate secured with an old, thick lock. Brown water gushed through it, just above their boots, falling into a trash-laden aqueduct below and behind them. A drunk called out to them, his words too slurred to understand. If he was ever to report them, he’d remember two black-clad men in shiny helmets—aliens—entering the sewers. If the Mexican authorities believed him, and if they decided to climb into the aqueduct, it would be long after the events that were about to unfold, because right now the police were responding to bank alarms signaling from all over town. More than three hundred alarms were being triggered at alternating times, causing every local and federal policeman to rush back and forth, leaving the area around the plaza even more free of police than it had been.

Laws snapped the lock. He and Holmes entered, and then he secured it with a bicycle lock. He tossed the keys up the aqueduct, where they sank. Then they began to move forward, carefully, but quickly. They had a lot of ground to cover.

Without knowing the extent of their underwater travel, they’d opted for the worst scenario, which is why they were wearing a closed-system scuba, with full-body neoprene and a full face mask that also covered their ears. The DARPA-provided mask was constructed from Gorilla Glass and featured an internal head-up display (HUD), which gave them full-spectrum views from the two forward cameras. They wore ballistic gloves on their hands and Vibram Spyridon toe shoes with carbon-polymer-reinforced soles. The latter provided them a much surer grip in the slippery wash on the bottom of the old pipe than anything else they could have chosen.

Pure oxygen was being pumped into the mask, courtesy of the LAR V Draeger rebreather system. Worn with a modified horse collar and a low profile that reduced the bulk as well as the amount of oxygen it provided, it still wouldn’t get in the way of OTB operations with the DARPA mask.

No skin or hair was in danger of touching the vile liquid that was coursing around their ankles. With levels of lead, Diazinon, carbofuran, chlorpyrifos, and malathion more than thirty times that of the most polluted American river, the tests didn’t even take into consideration the molecular biological threats present in the sewer. Although they’d entered into the unknown, they knew that even a drop of the substance would probably kill them, whether it was today, tomorrow, or ten years from now when their bodies were so full of tumors they wouldn’t even have enough space for body fat. The full-body suits were a nod to more than convenience. They were an acknowledgment that they could be killed by something their HK machine guns couldn’t protect them from.

They’d chosen to leave the HK416s behind. Even with their OTB capacity, they were concerned with space and the longer weapon might be impossible to bring to bear, especially with the suppressor they’d decided to use. So instead of the 416, they returned to the HK MP5, with rail adaptor system, suppressor, and the AN/PEQ-2 infrared targeting laser. The MP5s had the same OTB capability, but also had the benefit of being 311 millimeters shorter.

They moved in a tactical crouch as quickly as they could through the five-foot diameter aqueduct, their lasers aiming down the tube, dancing as they ran, lines of light in the green universe produced by the IR view of their HUDs. They encountered several smaller tubes connecting to the tube they were in but they kept to the larger one, following it around several corners, over heaps of trash and what appeared to be an empty safe, and finally around a dam made from three shopping carts wedged together.

Suddenly Holmes stopped.

“What is it?” Laws asked.

“Didn’t you see it?” Holmes’s breathing was rapid from running in the close confines.

“I didn’t see anything.”

Holmes flipped the selector on the AN/PEQ-2 from 2 to 5, which sent high power illumination along with the targeting laser. The interior of the aqueduct filled with green light. Far at the end something seemed to be moving. Something with glowing eyes.

“There. See it now?”

Laws wished he could get a closer look. They wanted to keep their firing to a minimum, so the usual way of finding out what it was by shooting it wasn’t going to work. If he’d been back in the States, he’d say it might be a raccoon or a possum. Certainly a varmint larger than a rat. Then again, if they were in New York City it could’ve been any number of things, including one of the immense crocodiles purported to be living deep beneath the city.

“Fuck it.” Holmes took aim and squeezed off a controlled four-round burst. The eyes winked out.

Laws peered over the weapon’s iron sights. Using the HUD instead of his actual eyes wasn’t the easiest thing to do, but they’d practiced using the mask with all of their weapons and were prepared for the awkwardness. They weren’t going to win any marksmanship contests, but they could hit what they were aiming at.

None better than Holmes, who rushed forward, hugging the HK to his shoulder, wary of any creature that might try and breach his suit.

Laws followed and when they were about halfway there, the small body was pulled backwards from sight.

Both SEALs came to a halt.

“Did you see that?” Laws asked.

Holmes breathed into the microphone. “It had to be some sort of predator.”

“Or it could have been its mother.” Laws chuckled as the stress bled from him. “Great going, boss. You just pissed off the Great Underground Possum of Mexico City.”

“Very funny.”

They continued forward. The pipe turned about forty-five degrees. Holmes popped his head and shoulder around the corner for a brief second, then brought it back.

“Get back,” he whispered.

Laws began to back up, but had to ask, “What is it?”

Holmes popped around the corner one more time, then turned toward Laws. “Fucking. Run!”

They hurtled down the pipe as fast as their feet and balance would allow. Twice Holmes pointed his MP5 behind him and let it cough blindly.

When they finally reached the place where the carts had come together, Holmes called for them to halt, with the carts in between them and their pursuer.

Laws twisted and laid the barrel through a square of metal. He dialed his own AN/PEQ-2 up to five and added his light to that of Holmes’s.

“Remember the tunnels in Arizona?” Holmes asked.

“Fucking ’cabra.” Laws felt his stomach tighten. “How many?”

“Looked like a pack.”

“And you killed a little one.”

“That I did.”

They peered down the pipe and there, on the farthest edge of their vision, were sets of chupacabra eyes. But where the aiming laser touched them, they moved, as if they could see them. But that was impossible, unless they had their own version of infrared vision.

There were a lot worse things out there than chupacabra. They didn’t require any special ammunition. Chupacabra could be killed using regular ammo, as long as they were shot through the head or the side and there was a lot of it. Their sternums and skulls were too dense to penetrate with anything other than a high-explosive round.

The biggest problem was their intelligence. A chupacabra alone could take out a pack of hunting dogs, one by one, luring them, separating them, killing them silently. A pack of ’cabra could take down a platoon of soldiers. Laws had seen it happen in Indonesia, during a low light condition exercise that went wrong. The ’cabra had gone through the men like a mower through grass, leaving them screaming and shouting. Then it had stood back and waited until those who hadn’t been injured came to the aid of their fellow soldiers. Then it attacked again. Two minutes later, it trotted free and easy into the forest and not a single Indonesian had remained alive. If Laws hadn’t been in a hide site high in a tree, he could have been next. As it was, Laws remembered the ’cabra glancing at him, as if it had known where he was the entire time, which was impossible since Laws was so high in the air. Then again, with ’cabra, nothing was impossible.

“What are they waiting on?” Laws asked.

Holmes shook his head. Then he turned and shined his light down the pipe behind them. Just in time, a ’cabra was revealed, as large as any Great Dane and with front legs twice the size of its rear legs. Its face resembled that of a baboon and it had jaws full of too many sharklike teeth. It had a whip tail with a ragged ball of wiry hair at the end. Its bark was more like a cough from someone who’d croaked out the words “Sorry, fella, but it’s time to fucking die.” The beast stood looking at them, its green eyes appraising them and perhaps a little disappointed that it couldn’t finish sneaking up on its two would-be victims.

Then the ’cabra launched itself into the air just as Holmes let loose with the rest of his magazine, riddling the beast with lead.

Its jump switched to a tumble as it crashed into the water, sending a miniature tsunami splashing him and Laws. Laws turned to the beasts coming from the opposite end and opened fire with more control than Holmes had shown. Laws could afford to do so; they weren’t right on top of him like the one that had been behind them. Which begged the question… Why not? What were they waiting for? Then it hit him.

“Fucking guard dogs?”

“I was thinking the same thing,” Holmes said as he finished loading a new magazine.

“Or they’re just your random pack of inner city sewer chupacabra. No, these beasties are here to keep us out. And since they’re not coming to us…” He let the words die.

“We’ll have to go to them.”

Laws checked his magazine. “Which is just fucking great. Fucking great. I can’t wait to write home about this when I’m all fucking done. Dear Mom and Dad. It’s so much fun to be a SEAL. I’m up to my asshole in shit and about to be eaten by real live land sharks.”

“Are you ready?” Holmes asked. “Or do you need another minute?”

“Naw. I’m ready. Just shooting a bird at the divine windmill Mr. Hilarious placed in front of us.”

“Good,” Holmes said, cocking the receiver and setting the first round. “Because we’re on a timeline. Let’s get this over with.”

And they began to move forward.

They heard about a dozen coughs welcoming them.

Cough cough. Sorry, fellas, but you’re both about to die.