Monster Hunter Alpha-ARC

by Larry Correia

  It was an air-force captain that met me as I got off the chopper. As a “civilian consultant” I didn’t merit a salute, and I’d only been a corporal in the AEF, but he gave me one anyway. I just scowled and asked what that was for.

  His name tag read Conover, though I was certain that probably wasn’t his real name. He was an athletic young man, wearing enough cologne to really grate on a werewolf’s nose. “I was told about your OSS record. Very remarkable. North Africa, Paris, Berlin, and then all over the Pacific.”

  “Don’t ever salute me again…Snipers, you know.”

  He looked around, confused. “We’re in Okinawa.”

  “And it’s much nicer than the last time I was here. No flaming samurai demons.”

  Captain Conover tried to be as welcoming as possible. He even attempted carry my bags, but he was only human and ended up having to drag one of them to the waiting jeep. We rode across the base until we came to a small concrete building. “Welcome to Special Task Force Unicorn.”

  “Unicorn? Really? What Pentagon dipshit makes this stuff up?”

  “Everybody knows there’s no such thing as unicorns, Mr. Wolf.”

  I hated the new code name.

  * * *

  His dreams were of the beginning. The fiercest beast in the world had been captured, chained, tortured, and mutilated. Then mankind made a terrible mistake, all in hope of making a weapon.

  The dream broke and faded as conciseness returned. He couldn’t remember how the dream ended, but it hadn’t been pretty.

  At first he thought the Hum was back, but it was just the buzzing noise of the big circular lights hanging from the ceiling. He woke up under a basketball hoop. A blue banner that read GO BULLDOGS was on the wall behind the hoop. The place was crowded, echoing with voices, some scared, some excited, nervous, angry, confused, and under that was that most common refugee sound of all: children crying.

  He was so hungry that it bordered on nausea. Every spare ounce of fat on his body had been consumed to fuel the change. It took him a minute to piece together that he was lying on a blanket on a hardwood gymnasium floor, somehow alive, tired, weak, sore, in desperate need of a smoke, and by some miracle, not a werewolf.

  I’m human. Thank you, Lord, I’m a man again.

  Earl Harbinger was a big proponent of having a flexible mind and adapting quickly, but having an unbreakable curse broken was going to take a bit to sink in. He’d long ago accepted that he would die a werewolf. There was no cure, never had been. Yet the mystery Alpha’s magic amulet had sucked the werewolf right out of him.

  The amulet had been shaped like a claw, but with only three fingers and a thumb. Inside of it had been carved a normal human hand. Already, he couldn’t remember the dream, but the amulet had been in it. It had been important way back then, and it was important now that this other Alpha had it.

  As for the Alpha, he’d called Earl father. That made no sense. Earl knew his kids. He was a devoted family man, and even in the many long years since his wife had passed, he was pretty sure he’d have known if he’d sired any more. Earl might not have been as fundamentally devout as his saintly mother had wished, but he wasn’t the kind of man that left a trail of bastard children behind, either.

  That left one other possible use for the word….

  But first things first. He needed to assess the situation. Grimacing, Earl sat up, feeling a deep ache in his chest where Deputy Kerkonen had pummeled his ribs doing CPR. It had been a long time since he’d borne that type of pain for more than a few seconds. He’d forgotten about the concept of lingering. Other than the soreness and the hunger, everything seemed to be in one piece.

  There were at least two hundred people milling around the gym. Most of them had taken the time to get dressed, but several had arrived in their PJs. At least half the adults were armed. The sight of so many guns, mostly deer rifles and duck guns but with a smattering of black rifles and riot shotguns, made him glad that this was going down in a rural area where people still had their heads screwed on right about personal defense.

  There was a knot of people conversing a few feet away. A raven-haired woman in a red parka saw him watching and stomped over in a pair of giant snow boots. “You’re awake. Good. About damn time. Deputy Heather said you knew what was going on.” She was rather tall, probably in her mid-forties, and struck him as the kind of person used to being in charge. The men she’d been talking with followed her over. “Well, spill it, mister.”

  He would’ve gotten up, but realized that under the blanket he was buck naked, and there were children present. “Who’re you?”

  “Nancy Randall, Copper County Council.” She glanced around the gym. “Only surviving member, as far as I can tell.” The men flanking her regarded Earl with blatant suspicion. One had a Mossberg 500 and the other had an AR-15. Neither was overt enough to actually point their guns at him, but he could tell they thought about it. He couldn’t particularly blame them, either. It had been a stressful night, and he was an outsider and therefore suspect. “And since I personally saw a hairy wolfman rip the mayor’s head off, and Heather said the sheriff lost his neck, I suppose I’m sort of in charge of this mess. So, what’s the deal?”

  “Name’s Harbinger. I’m a Monster Hunter.” She seemed like the type to appreciate brevity, so Earl didn’t beat around the bush. “Well, Nancy, your town’s being attacked by a pack of werewolves. They’ve got you isolated, and I figure they plan on slaughtering everyone here by dawn.”

  The two men exchanged glances. The one with the Mossberg was fat, bald, and sweating. The one with the AR was thin, young, and nervous.

  “That’s insane,” the thin one said.

  “Zip it, Phillip,” Nancy ordered. “Werewolves…That’s exactly what Heather said you’d say.”

  “I shot one in the head. Point-blank,” the fat one said. “I blew its brains out! Then it got back up and jumped out a second-story window and ran away like nothing had happened. I’ll believe anything right now.”

  “Yes, Steve,” Nancy said in the most patronizing manner possible. “We’ve all heard about the brains thing already. Blah, blah, blah. Give it a rest already.” She turned back to Earl. “So, what do we do about these damn things?”

  He could mount a defense against the werewolves with these people. They were a sturdy bunch, but wasn’t so sure about the mystery Alpha, the Old One’s minions, or the black magic. He needed a chance to ponder on what to do about those. “Any of you got a smoke?”

  “There’s no smoking on school grounds!” Phillip exclaimed.

  Nancy rolled her eyes. “If you haven’t noticed, it’s the end of the world. Pull that stick out of your ass and go get this man some clothes.”

  “There should be a pack in the backseat of my truck. Is it here—big black Ford?”

  “It’s in the lot,” Phillip grumbled and then stomped off. Nancy took a pack of Virginia Slims and a disposable lighter out of her coat pocket. “Forgive my friend. He’s the principal of our fine high school. Phillip is normally a gentleman to a fault, but it’s been a stressful night.”

  Earl took the proffered smokes. Kind of girly by his standards, but he knew that if you bit the filter off, they would do. “What’s your status?”

  “We lost a few folks on the way in. They’re like ghosts in the snow. Invisible until they’re on top of you. Then some tried to get in behind us, but we shot the hell out of them and they ran off. I’ve got people clearing out the old shelter so we can shove all the kiddies in if we need to, and I put ten men on the roof with rifles. And believe me, I picked everybody I ever suspected of doing a little poaching and spotlighting and stuck them up there.”

  Earl liked this town. “How many people do you have that can fight?”

  Nancy looked at the fat man. “This is Steve, county controller. So I put him in charge of organizing. How many people do we have?”

  The fat man shrugged. “I don’t really know. A bunch, I guess.”

  “I’d s
uggest you go count them.” Earl would gladly have traded this guy for his personal accountant right then, but Earl had been stupid and assumed that this was just about him and Nikolai. An MHI team would have made a great early Christmas, but if Earl couldn’t have a group of professional Hunters, he’d put together some amateurs. “There’s special .308, 12 gauge, and .45 ammo in my truck. See who’s got guns in those calibers and divvy it up.”

  Nancy nodded quickly. “Heather already passed out the bullets, said that it would work better on these things.”

  “Good.” The deputy was reliable, and she’d been busy since they’d split up. Alert and organized, this town might have a chance yet. “Where’s Kerkonen at?”

  Steve answered. “She got together a few groups she trusted, some to go house to house and one to secure the hospital.”

  “Lots of injured,” Nancy said pointedly, like that was somehow Earl’s fault. “It’s a nightmare out there.”

  Earl scowled as he lit the cigarette. Dark magic and that stupid amulet were changing the natural order of things. People were changing too fast, immune to silver, and even unbreakable curses were getting broken. It was threatening his calm. Those injured could turn rapidly, but he couldn’t worry about that now. Hopefully, Kerkonen had briefed the men she’d sent there to be ready for that possibility.…Hell, she was the same possibility. It was like everyone around here was a werewolf except him. Suddenly, he coughed. It turned into a hack as the cigarette smoke burned his lungs. “Damn it,” he croaked.

  “Those things will kill you,” Steve pointed out.

  Earl removed the smoke from his lips. “Shit…Now they can. Nuts!”

  Nancy had no idea what he was talking about and just regarded Earl like he was simple.

  * * *

  You disgust me.

  Nikolai had lain hidden in the shadows between the dumpsters, waiting, but for what, he was not sure. Exhausted, it had taken quite some time to crawl to safety. If Harbinger or even one of the lesser werewolves had found them in their current state, they wouldn’t have stood a chance.

  Failure. You’re a failure. You are weak. Pathetic.

  The berating had continued for quite some time. The sad thing was that Nikolai agreed with the Tvar’s assessment. If it hadn’t been for the distracting fire, Harbinger would have torn his heart out. Harbinger was stronger, faster, superior. Nikolai hated himself for failing to avenge his Lila.

  That is twice. Twice you’ve let him win. You failed your unit. You failed your precious motherland. He embarrassed you once before. Mocked you like a dog. Coward. Imbecile. If it wasn’t for me, you’d be dead. You should be dead. I should be in charge. I would’ve drunk his blood, ate his bones.

  His body was wrecked. Ribs pressed through his skin. If he had not let the snow cover him, he would have appeared nothing more than an emaciated corpse lying there. The spare flesh had been burned away to feed the furnace of regeneration. He needed desperately to eat but lacked the strength to care anymore. Perhaps it would be better to just let the cold carry him into the bleak.

  This is what you get for imprisoning me for so many moons. You weakened us. We should have been strong. Ready. But no, you tried to be a man. You are no man, Nikolai. You were deluded. All to please your little human bitch.

  “Silence,” Nikolai gasped. Snow fell between his lips as he spoke. The little bit of moisture cooled his parched throat. “Never speak of her.”

  We owned the night. Everything feared us, but you chained me. Chained me for her! You betrayed me, your one true friend, for a soft human girl! Then, when you need me, you come begging back. Look at us now. Are you happy? She deserved to die. She died because she made you weak.

  “Enough.” Finally provoked, his voice was louder that time.

  I wonder what Harbinger did to her. I know what I would’ve done. How many ways did he hurt her first? Did she cry? Did she beg? I bet she begged for death. She’d have promised anything to make him stop. Anything.

  It had been late when he’d returned from the hunt, where he’d banished the Tvar, only setting it free on the frozen tundra north of Sklad when the cycle of the moon required it. As had become his custom over the previous years, he had been gone for five days, one to travel, three to hunt, one to return, as far from humanity as possible. The Tvar had despised him for it, but Lila loved him even more for the sacrifice. His sweet wife was always there to welcome him back, yet when he’d returned for the final time, he’d found his home desecrated.

  The safe had been blasted open. The files he’d taken from the disintegrating KGB had been scattered. Only one was missing, but it wasn’t until later, when he realized which one it was, that he understood just how serious the break-in had been. The file contained everything they’d gleaned about Koshei’s murderer, including the name of the American town he’d immigrated to.

  They’d left his wife’s body upstairs. Lila had been in the bedroom, tortured, executed. A small green patch had been left on her forehead as a calling card.

  I could have protected her, but I was degraded to chasing reindeer. She’s dead because you were weak.

  A fist exploded from the snow. “I said enough!” Nikolai roared. He grabbed the cold metal of the dumpster and pulled himself up. Legs wobbling, he waited for the dizziness to pass. He’d lost too much blood. He needed energy to repair. Hearing movement, he flung open the lid of the dumpster. The rat never stood a chance. One hand shot out and snagged it before it could flee. The rodent managed to scratch his thumb before he crushed it and shoved the entire flea-ridden thing in his mouth and chewed. It was hot with blood and therefore delicious.

  You listen to me—

  “No.” Nikolai choked down the rat and wiped his filthy face with one filthier forearm. He needed more energy. Then he needed his rifle. “You listen to me. You will not speak of Lila again, or so help me, I will end us both. Do you understand?”

  You wouldn’t dare.

  “I dare…,” Nikolai whispered, recalling the message that had been left on his bedroom wall, scrawled in his wife’s blood. It had read TRY TO STOP ME. Leaving notes for each other, just like old times. A monster like Harbinger could never be allowed to possess the amulet. “I only have one thing to live for now. Mark my words. He will die for what he’s done. You will not stand in my way.”

  * * *

  Agent Stark was running out of both ideas and places to stack bodies.

  At first he’d decided to hang tight and let Briarwood make him some money, but that was before he realized just how badly this place was infested. As the night had gone on, more injured and dying had turned up at the hospital. Hit-and-run strikes were occurring all over town. The remaining staff were doing their best, but the situation was an absolute disaster. The volunteer firemen had placed the dead in rows with sheets thrown over them on the still-damp second floor, until they too had come to the realization that the town was under attack and had snuck out the back to get to their families.

  Luckily the other bitten had all died soon after arriving, because if he started shooting survivors now, he doubted the Yoopers would let them out alive.

  Mosher had fetched their armor and rifles from the Suburban. Comms were still down, there was no word from Briarwood, weather was still awful, and the number of people who were now aware that something paranormal was occurring was growing by the minute. The giant beam of light that had temporarily made the place look like noon shooting up from the center of town an hour ago hadn’t helped matters, either.

  “Anything yet?” Mosher asked as he approached. The kid was fully geared up with an F2000 with all the fixings, including a 40mm grenade launcher, and he was obviously antsy, ready to get out into the action. Stark was glad he had a hard charger to watch his back, but he was really wishing he’d brought a full team. He’d seen what a single werewolf could do. Taking on a whole pack of the bastards? Screw that.

  Stark lowered the sat phone. “Nada. We’re still on our own. By the time we get help we’ll
be at a full on level-five containment. We haven’t had one of those stateside since Myers’s clusterfuck at that concert in Montgomery.”

  The junior agent’s face was still stained orange, and he kept blinking away involuntary tears. Pepper spray was the gift that just kept on giving. Mosher took a long look down the hallway full of sheet-draped corpses. “Sir, we can’t keep waiting for a signal. I’ve got Amy Lee ready to go.” He patted his rifle. Stark had no idea why Mosher had named his firearm. “We’ve got to do something.”

  “I know,” Stark answered. “Best bet is to snag some transportation out of this mess so we can alert headquarters to send in the cleaners. If we don’t get them here before the power comes back on, these yokels will be blabbing all over the Internet, and I do not want a level-five break on my watch.”

  Mosher nodded slowly, still looking at the orderly row of bodies. It was obvious that the kid didn’t like the idea of running. “Permission to speak freely, sir?” Stark grunted his assent, and Mosher continued. “These people are getting slaughtered. The monsters are just going door-to-door. By the time reinforcements show up, this town will be toast. We need to hit back, now. We need to protect them.”

  Stark had been afraid of this. Apparently young Agent Mosher had a conscience. He clucked approvingly and tried to speak like the wise mentor/father figure that he was. His own mentor, Agent Franks, would have agreed with Mosher, and would probably be out there snapping werewolves in half over his knee, but sadly, unlike Franks, he and Mosher were imminently mortal. “That’s really brave of you, Gaige, thinking about these poor folks.”

  “Uh…thank you, sir.”

  “No, no. Thank you. You’re keeping a moral perspective. That’s valuable. But you’re forgetting something important. The most important thing of all.”

  Mosher was confused. “What’s that?”

  Stark had a gift. He was a remarkably loud man, and he turned it up for effect. “That’s not our job!” Mosher flinched. Stark closed in, still shouting. “MCB protocol is to contain first and foremost. You think one pissant town matters in the grand scheme of things? We’ve been commissioned by the highest authority in the land to keep a lid on this kind of shit. Men way smarter than you set that mission for a very specific reason, which I know you’ve been taught! What is the First Reason, Agent Mosher?”