Use Enough Gun (Legends of the Monster Hunter Book 3)

by Joshua Reynolds

  “Still serving,” she said. “Can I have one of those?”

  He looked at the beer, then smiled. “I don’t see why not.” He snapped his fingers, shouted in Greek. A few seconds later a young woman in a peasant blouse, her shoulders bare, appeared. She placed an open bottle of beer in front of Caroline. Caroline noted that her hands trembled as she put the bottle down, and when she walked away she seemed to be in a hurry.

  Condensation dripped down the side of the bottle like sweat over muscle. When she reached for it she found it ice cold; she took a long drink.

  “Still serving,” conceded the old man. “Though one imagines a dishonorable discharge cannot be far away.”

  Caroline shrugged. She put the bottle back down but kept her right hand wrapped around it.

  “In January of this year you returned from a tour of duty in Afghanistan. Shortly thereafter questions were raised regarding the death of a young soldier who had been in your custody.

  “On January 15th two police officers came to your home to arrest you on a charge of murder. You butchered them both with a kitchen knife, slitting one’s throat and gutting the other.”

  Caroline said nothing. She was relishing the cold from the bottle as it seemed to leech up her arm.

  The old man continued. “You went on the run, until being captured on February 13th. During this time you killed a further five people; another two police officers, your ex-husband and his new wife, and an old lady who had the misfortune to offer you a lift.”

  Caroline said nothing. The chill was fading as the sun warmed the glass bottle. She took another drink.

  “Tracking down your ex was a risk, why do it?”

  Caroline smiled. “Crossing the line is liberating, and once you’ve done it you might as well enjoy the ride, for however long it lasts. Besides, he’d been a lousy husband.”

  “And the old lady?”

  Caroline shrugged. “I needed the car.” She necked the rest of the beer and put the now empty bottle back down on the table. Absently she wondered about using it as a weapon against Yanni or Jayson, or against this old man.

  “Where am I?”

  He shook his head, grinned. “You don’t need to know that at this time.”

  “I’m guessing Greece,” she said. “Though whether it’s the mainland or an island is hard to tell. Is that the Aegean or the Med?”

  He waved her words away. “Don’t even try to guess. What matters is that I have a job for you, and if you succeed you will be cut loose, and paid handsomely.”

  “Am I allowed to know your name?”

  He sat back. “Of course, a person should know their employer.”

  “Potential employer,” she countered.

  “True, although if you do not take the job you become very disposable.” He kept smiling as he spoke, a kindly grandfather who talked calmly about murder. She wondered how he’d made his money.

  “Touché”

  He took a sip of beer. “My name is Stephanos Laskaris, and I am a businessman with a problem.”

  “I’m listening.”

  He pointed out to sea. “See the island there? I own it.”

  “Bully for you.”

  “I own it, but I’ve never set foot there.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Scared of water?”

  A shadow crossed his face. “No, I’m scared of what lives there.”

  Caroline looked at the island. It looked idyllic. “And what lives there?”

  “A monster,” he said.

  Caroline chuckled. She couldn’t help herself. “A monster? What are we talking about here, a vampire?” she smirked. “A werewolf?”

  He didn’t smile. His face remained emotionless. “I have coveted that island for many years, but I only took possession of it six months ago.”

  “What’s it called?”

  “Anarkhos.”

  She cocked her head to one side. “As in anarchy?”

  He nodded. “Yes, though strictly speaking in Greek it means ‘without a ruler’. It is said no man can own that place.”

  She smiled. “And yet you do.”

  He shook his head sadly. “To own land I can never touch demeans me.”

  “But why can’t you touch it? And don’t give me that monster bullshit again.”

  Finally he smiled, though it was a cold affair. “You do not believe. That is understandable. Once I did not believe. I wish that were still the case. Yanni, sound it.”

  “Sir I don’t think…”

  “You’re not paid to think!” The old man’s shout was sharp, abrupt.

  Caroline heard the young man walk away, but didn’t turn to watch him go. After a moment, something that howled like an old air raid siren sounded from somewhere close by. It made her jump, and she mentally chided herself for showing weakness, but if Laskaris noticed he showed no evidence of it.

  The whine of the siren died, leaving silence in its wake. But the silence didn’t remain for long. At first she thought it was a whisper, but then it got louder and she realized it was actually a song, a slow, melancholic dirge that seemed to wash in from the sea, as if each word was following a wave.

  She couldn’t decipher the words, couldn’t even determine the language it was being sung in, but she felt it, her skin prickled and a sudden chill descended over her, though no cloud had obscured the sun. The effect on Laskaris, however, seemed far more intense. He was staring at her, eyes wide, nostrils flaring, and she saw his neck twitching, as if some force was trying to make his head turn and he was fighting against it. He was gripping his beer bottle so tight that she almost expected it to smash.

  From behind her she heard shuffling footfalls, as if someone was almost being forced to move, and something else, a faint whimper.

  By the time she realized that the song had incapacitated the men, it was over. If she’d figured it out sooner there’d have been chance to disarm Jayson behind her, but now the spell was broken. The itching of her skin had vanished, and she felt the warmth of the sun again, and Laskaris and his men were once more dangerous.

  “What was that,” she whispered.

  “That was the thing that lives on the island. That was the Siren.”

  “Siren, as in the myth?”

  He nodded, face grim.

  Thirty seconds before and she’d have laughed in his face, but she’d heard the song, a curious lilting refrain that, if she were honest, was like nothing she’d ever heard before, and she’d felt its effect on her, had seen the effects on Laskaris.

  “The woman who lures sailors to their deaths on the rocks?”

  “She does worse than that,” said Laskaris. “The Siren has no desire to see men drown, she wants them to come to her, sit before her in calm, fearful paralysis whilst she, whilst she…” He was gripping the bottle again.

  “Whilst she what?” Caroline wasn’t certain she wanted an answer.

  Laskaris took a deep, calming breath. “Do you know what the word anthropophagy means?”

  She shook her head.

  “Cannibalism. It refers to the eating of human flesh.” He stood, turned and walked towards the top of the wooden stairs. Back to her, staring at the island, he continued. It seemed easier if he didn’t have to look at her. “The Siren makes men come to her, and they obey, then they sit there while she eats them alive. She isn’t like the stories say, isn’t a beautiful maiden, she’s something unnatural, and she has many mouths, how else could she sing her song of compliance even as she feasts.”

  He turned around to face her. There were tears in his eyes. “After the purchase went through, my son, Hector, went to the island. I told him to wait, that we’d send others first. I wasn’t afraid of the legends then, I thought they were bullshit, but why take the risk?”

  “Why indeed.”

  “Hector set out from that very jetty. We watched him sail to the island, saw him walk up the beach, and we never saw him alive again.”

  “So how do you know she did it?” it felt odd to be talking
about the creature as if it were real, though she’d heard the song Caroline wasn’t sure she believed yet.

  “Because she left just enough of him intact that she could make him walk back to the boat and cast himself off. The tide did the rest. He started screaming the moment he was outside of her influence, by the time his boat washed up on the beach, fifteen minutes if that, he was dead.”

  Laskaris took his seat once more. The tears had dried; there was only grim determination in his eyes now. “He had no arms, and his face…” the old man raised fingers to touch his nose, his lips. “What manner of creature can do that? Sing softly like a lover even as she sinks her teeth into your flesh?”

  Caroline thought of an answer but thought it best to change the subject. “What happened next?”

  He shrugged. “I sent five men with assault rifles out there. They had the best ear defenders money could buy. I thought if they couldn’t hear her…” he shrugged again. “They never came back. Then a month ago I tried again. A single man this time, a former soldier who’d been deafened by an explosion, a man so desperate for work that he agreed to go out there, even though he knew what was waiting.”

  “He never came back,” said Caroline. It wasn’t a question and as such Laskaris didn’t reply. “So,” she said, curiosity piqued now. “The song isn’t audio, it’s something else.”

  “Yes.”

  “And you’ve decided it needs a woman’s touch?”

  “Yes,” he said again. “I’ve been hunting since I was a small boy, and the first rule you learn is that you have to choose the right weapon for the hunt. I’ve been trying to get the job done with the wrong tool; it’s time to correct that mistake.”

  Caroline bristled, not sure she liked being referred to as a tool to be used. “Surely you could hire female mercenaries?”

  “You’d think, but there aren’t that many out there with the training and the inclination. I needed a killer, someone as bloodthirsty as the Siren to kill her.” He patted the buff folder again. “I read the file. What you did. Tell me, were you ever going to tell the authorities what you did with your ex-husband’s genitalia and his wife’s left hand?”

  Caroline smiled sweetly. “How much?”

  Laskaris snorted. “One hundred thousand euros, plus your freedom.”

  It was a pitiful amount really, true freedom would cost a lot more, but it wasn’t like she really had a choice. She wondered how they’d do it, Yanni and Jayson, a bullet in the back of the head or something slower. She stared into Laskaris’ eyes. Hell the old guy would probably do the deed himself.

  “I’ll do it,” she said.

  They fed her first, Stifado—beef stew—along with potatoes and bread. Then Yanni and Jayson escorted her back to her cell where clothes awaited her.

  They stood outside while she changed. She chose a pair of desert patterned camouflage pants, there was a matching tunic but it was too damn hot, so she instead chose a black vest top. Lightweight boots completed the ensemble.

  Laskaris was waiting on the jetty, hands in his pockets. He said nothing as she clambered into the boat. The two younger men followed after she’d sat down in the bow, both taking up position at the stern. One of them—she couldn’t tell them apart—untied the boat from the jetty.

  She looked up as Laskaris. “Not coming?” she said with a smirk.

  He sneered back. “Once you have fired your gun, it is not necessary to actually accompany the bullet.”

  One of the Greeks started the outboard and within a few seconds they were pulling away from the jetty. Laskaris was already walking back to the house.

  “He didn’t even wish me luck,” said Caroline with a dry chuckle. Yanni and Jayson said nothing. They looked nervous as hell, but the pistols in their hands didn’t waver.

  It took less than ten minutes to reach the island, and nobody spoke. Caroline turned her back on the Greeks, and actually found herself enjoying the ride as the boat roared its way towards the island. It wasn’t just the sun she relished, or the wind in her hair. There was an adrenaline rush building in her as well, something she hadn’t felt since Helmand.

  That wasn’t to say her actions back in the UK hadn’t thrilled her, but it was a different kind of thrill. She’d never felt in any real danger during her little killing spree, she’d known they’d take her alive.

  It’d been different in Afghanistan, with your life truly on the line, and it would be different here.

  They stopped the boat several yards from the shore. Caroline asked if they could get closer. They said nothing. One of them pointed towards the water. The implication was clear; she was going the rest of the way on her own.

  Tentatively she clambered over the side and slid into the water, her biceps straining as they took her weight whilst she ascertained how deep it was. Her feet touched solidity with the water level just above her waist.

  She looked back at Yanni and Jayson. “Weapons? Or am I supposed to just use my sparkling personality.”

  Neither man smiled. One of them lifted a dirty holdall from the bottom of the boat and—very nervously she noted—passed it to her. Caroline took it in both hands and held it above the water.

  “Ok then, well I was never one for long goodbyes so I’ll just get on with it. Can’t say it was the best threesome I ever had, but you guys are okay.” She grinned, winked.

  There was no reaction.

  “Tough crowd,” she muttered and turned towards shore.

  She heard the motor start up even as she strode through the water, and she was buffeted by several waves as the motorboat’s wake washed her onwards. As she walked out of the water onto the sand she cast a look back. The mainland (or maybe just a bigger island) looked a long way away and already the departing boat was little more than a dark speck.

  Caroline walked a few yards up the beach then put the bag down and dropped to her knees. Her pants and boots were sodden, and sand clung to them, but she wasn’t concerned. The sun was so hot she expected her clothes to dry off quickly, although for all she knew she’d be dead before they did.

  She unzipped the bag, but her eyes scanned the surroundings as she did so, wary of ambush.

  The sand rose upwards for about thirty feet until it met with the tree line. It wasn’t exactly a jungle, but the undergrowth looked wild and overgrown. She could see no signs of life, hear nothing either, no birdsong or insects.

  Still she felt like something was watching her.

  She shook the feeling away and checked the contents of the bag.

  There was a drab gun belt and she wrapped it around her waist. At the right side was holstered a Beretta 92. There was a fifteen round magazine fitted and the chamber was empty. She chambered a round and re-holstered the pistol. At her left hip was a sheath holding a large, wicked looking machete. She held the blade up to the light. It was old, but it looked sharp enough and there was a good heft to it.

  The final weapon she recognized as a Chinese Type 56 assault rifle with a folding metal stock, the Sino copy of the Russian AK47. It wasn’t loaded but there were two banana shaped magazines in the bag. She slapped one into place and jammed the other in her belt.

  The only other items in the bag were a couple of bottles of water. There were no spare magazines for the Beretta.

  She uncapped one bottle and drank half of it down as she considered her options. She had 75 bullets and a machete. On the face of it this seemed a fair load to take care of a single target, but given the target was a supernatural creature, who knew if her weapons could even harm it?

  She’d find out soon enough, she decided. Scanning the tree line she saw what looked like a break in the foliage a few hundred yards to her left. She left the bag where it was, confident that it wasn’t likely to be stolen, and clasped the rifle tight in her fists as she moved towards the gap, half crouching to provide less of a target, ears pricked for the slightest unnatural sound.

  The air was so still, the sun so hot. It was a different kind of heat to Afghanistan, but the s
ame sense of being on another planet struck her. When she reached it she saw that the reason for the gap was because of a stone archway. The structure looked old, the stonework pitted and crumbling in places, the arch sagging like the drooping breasts of an old woman.

  She crouched and aimed the rifle through the arch. There were irregular flagstones on the floor, forming a pathway that wound into the distance. Nature had tried and failed to overwhelm them, and while the two sides of the forest beyond obviously craved meeting, with branches seeming to strain towards one another like lovers desperate to clasp hands, the passageway was passable, if a touch dark for her liking.

  Shame there’d been no torch in the bag.

  The path looked about as inviting as the maw of a lion, but somehow she guessed that even if she was to circle the island she wouldn’t find another way into the interior that was any more palatable.

  She shivered as she passed under the arch, the air growing suddenly cooler. She tried to tell herself that this was just down to the shade now overhead, but she wasn’t convinced. The pathway was fairly straight, but here and there it snaked left or right for no readily obvious reason.

  It also inclined gently upwards, which meant the branches overhead seemed to get lower with each passing step, until she was forced to first duck her head, then actually crouch, and it got to the point where she was considering stopping and revaluating her strategy, because it was starting to feel uncomfortably like the forest around her was slowly swallowing her up.

  Before she could act on these feelings, she saw brightness up ahead, and a few more steps confirmed another archway further on. It looked as dilapidated as the first, but the undergrowth receded as she approached.

  Still she forced herself to be cautious, wary that freedom from the forest might come at a hefty price. She paused under the arch; using it for cover as she peered out, gun at the ready in case she needed to lay down some fire.

  There was nothing to shoot at. The forest had given way to a hillside that rose up towards the sky. It was covered in wild grass, but she could still see the path of flagstones that continued up until it transformed into a set of shallow steps.