"Ready to make a little Chupacabra paste, Paco?" Dylan panted.

"Only if you are, señor," was the tentative reply.

Dylan grounded himself again, then took one wire in each hand and smiled. "Cover your ears, amigo. If this goes right, there should be one heck of a blast. I have never tried adding gasoline to the mix before."

He touched the wires to the truck's battery terminals and an instant later, it seemed like the world had cracked open. A gout of smoke, flame and rocks shot out of where the burrow had been. Dylan craned his neck back as he watched the rocks and debris fly up into the air. When he realized what was about to happen, he shouted, "Get in the truck. NOW!"

The two men barely made it into the safety of the truck's cab before rocks, sticks, and maybe even some atomized Chupacabra came pelting down on them. One rock, weighing more than forty pounds, landed ringingly on the hood and bounced into the windshield, shattering it and covering the men with bits of glass.

After a few moments, when he was sure no more debris were going to fall out of the sky, Dylan sat up behind the steering wheel, peered around the boulder lodged in the windshield, and asked, "You OK, Paco?"