Monster Hunter Vendetta

by Larry Correia

  He had known Harbinger, Myers, and Julie's parents. There was just something about the way he had mentioned them that indicated some familiarity. I had a higher opinion of Earl than murdering liar, of course, but I couldn't really fault his assessment of the Fed or the vampires. If he knew them, then they might know him, and at this point, any intel was good intel. I intercepted Harbinger as he was stepping out of the passenger side of the other MHI vehicle. "We need to talk. I just had a psychic meeting with the bad guy."

  It was a testament to the weirdness of our job that he didn't even bat an eye. "No shit? Okay, conference room in five minutes. Just me, you, and Julie. We don't know who else we can trust."

  "Make it ten. Give me a chance to scrub the gas off before I get foot cancer or something," I said quickly as the road-trip weary Hunters from Esmeralda's team began to pile out and unload their gear. I had to keep in mind that one of these people could be the traitor.

  "Well, that was a waste of time," Cooper said as he pulled a rifle case out of the back of the truck. "Didn't even get to shoot any trolls."

  "You're such a glass-is-half-empty kind of guy," his team leader said, stifling a yawn. Esmeralda didn't manage to look any more intimidating wearing all her gear than she did wearing a sweater with kittens on it. "Think of that as a chance to drive around scenic Alabama."

  "It was dark. Then we stopped in the ghetto," Cooper muttered. He was a relatively new Hunter, about my age, a few inches shorter than me and stocky, with square glasses and short dark hair. He had been an explosive ordnance disposal tech before joining us last year. He'd just gotten off active duty and gone on a road trip when he had encountered a winged terror eating travelers at a rest stop on I-15 in middle of nowhere, Nevada. The manner in which he'd shoved an illegal hand grenade down the creature's mouth had gotten him recruited. "Yeah, that was awesome."

  Nate Shackleford unfolded himself out of the driver's seat. He was the junior man on the team, but men of our stature always got the front seat. I did not know Julie's little brother very well yet, but he really seemed like a likable, energetic, humble kid. Like Julie, he took more after Susan than Ray, though I could see the resemblance to his father, only without all the crazy. "I can't believe that Milo took out the whole infestation."

  Cooper snorted. "Infestation . . . ​It was one troll!"

  "I warned you guys that eye witnesses always exaggerate," Esmeralda chided them.

  Julie joined us. "The client was pretty excited on the phone."

  Esmeralda automatically lapsed into teacher mode. "You never know what's going to happen when you meet a new client. Most of the time they're pretty normal, but every once in a while, one answers the door and tries to chop your head off with an ax."

  "Wow, has that ever actually happened?" Nate asked.

  "No . . . ​but it could."

  Mosh was trailing along behind Julie, looking around in confusion at the paramilitary compound. "Oh, man . . ." His jaw fell open when he saw our red and white MI-24 Russian attack helicopter parked in front of the hangar. I suppose that my workplace was a bit different than the average. "You guys have a Hind?" He had always appreciated anything with an engine more than I had. "That is so awesome!"

  "That's Skippy's baby," Julie responded.

  My brother turned to the orc. "Can I have a ride?" Skippy began to nod vigorously, eager to please the Great War Chief.

  "Shhh . . ." Earl held up his hand. I couldn't hear a thing, but he was the one with the werewolf hearing, so I shut up. "Chopper coming in." He paused. "Blackhawk."

  It could only be the government. With the huge debacle of the freeway explosion and the hundreds of witnesses to the oni there, I had been sure that the Feds would have been too occupied with damage control to dispatch new babysitters. Apparently I had been wrong. With Franks dead, I had no idea who they would send this time. Unfortunately, after my talk with the Englishman, I wasn't feeling real optimistic for the fates of those assigned to guard me.

  It took another thirty seconds before anyone else could hear the Blackhawk. It came in low over the trees, circled the compound once, then set down in the parking lot in front of the office building. The blades kept turning as the door slid open. A Fed in a jumpsuit and helmet exited from the side. He positioned himself to help the next person out, which turned out to be a burly, older man.

  "Oh crap," I said. "I forgot."

  "Dad?" Mosh asked in confusion.

  My father had exited a few helicopters in his day, and even had one shot out from under him once in 1968. We had heard all of those stories as kids. He glowered at the agent attempting to assist him until the man shrank back under that intimidating stare. Keeping one hand on his head to keep his hat from blowing off, he extended his other back inside and—

  "Mom?" My brother was really flustered now.

  My mother was really excited to have ridden in a helicopter. We were far away, and the rotors were beating, so we couldn't hear her, but she was animatedly talking to the agent, probably about the weather, or her book club, or trying to find him a wife, or who knows what, because Mom was always talking about something. The agent actually took the time to snap a crisp salute to my dad. Probably a former military man himself, and everybody saluted my father once they knew who he was. Dad did one of those "whatever" salutes in return, grabbed Mom by the arm, thereby interrupting her conversation—not that anybody could have heard her over the rotors anyway—and steered her away from the chopper. The crew began to unload luggage onto the parking lot.

  Dad saw us and approached with that bulldog walk that only men with really thick necks and big shoulders can pull off and still look tough. Mom paused to point at the chopper as it lifted off because, despite the inconvenience of being evacuated from her home after a kidnapping attempt by rabid cultists, riding in a chopper is pretty darn cool any time you get to do it.

  "Mom and Dad?" I think Mosh had been less surprised to have an oni dangle him from an overpass than to see our parents get out of that Blackhawk.

  "Mom, Dad!" I waved.

  "Oh, shoot. Your mother . . . ​oh, crud, I wish I had a chance to change," Julie began to fidget. I thought she looked perfectly presentable, since she was wearing armor and carrying a sniper rifle, which I personally found to be remarkably hot, but women are weird like that. "Why didn't you tell me?" She didn't add you insensitive jerk but I could tell it was implied.

  "Lot of stuff on my mind," I muttered out the side of my mouth.

  "Like that's an excuse." She was trying to decide what to do with her rifle. Finally she just slung it, and let it hang behind her. She always wore her long hair pulled back when she was working, but that didn't stop her from patting her head to make sure it was still there.

  My parents stopped right in front of our group. Dad was angry. Of course, he had just shot four men and knew it was somehow my fault. Mom looked kind of confused. She pointed at my feet. "Where are your shoes?"

  "Uh . . ." With all of the weird things that were going on for them right now, that wasn't one of the questions that I had been mentally prepared to answer.

  "You'll wear holes in your socks!" Mom had immigrated to the U.S. a long time ago, and you could barely hear her accent, except when she got excited. Apparently my socks were very exciting. My mother was white-blonde, pale, tall and, shockingly enough considering the man she had married and the sons that she had spawned, skinny.

  Dad just scowled. His skin was dark, wrinkled and creased from years of sun and wind. His once-thick, curly black hair was gray. He was wearing a hat, mostly, I knew, because it hid his bald spot. That killer gaze swept over our crew. All of the miscellaneous Hunters took an involuntary step back, then quickly decided that they were better off unloading the rest of their gear later, and dispersed without further comment. Dad just emanated this attitude of the only reason I don't kill you all is because it would be illegal. Only Mosh and I were immune to The Look, and that was only because of overexposure.

  "Boys," Dad sta
ted.

  "Owen blew up my bus," Mosh exclaimed, as if that explained everything. I had to remember that my brother hadn't actually spoken to our folks for several years, and their last parting hadn't been friendly. Despite Mosh's massive success, Dad had never approved of his decisions. This reunion had to be kind of awkward.

  "The government blew up your bus," I explained calmly.

  Only Earl and Julie had stayed. Julie elbowed me in the ribs. I grunted, realized that I was supposed to introduce her, and stammered, "This is Julie. My girlfriend. I told you about her . . . ​and stuff. I guess." I had to remember that pretty much everything I had told my folks about the two of us had been fabricated, because, at the time, I had no intention of ever telling them how we had actually met or what we did for a living. This complicated matters.

  "Yay!" my mother exclaimed, and immediately wrapped Julie in a hug. "She's beautiful. Let me see the ring! Oh, I'm so proud, Owen." Apparently Mom didn't even notice that Julie was dressed for combat. She was probably just glad that I had found a girl at all. She had certainly hounded me enough on that subject my entire adult life. Mom had probably been suspicious that Julie was imaginary, and I had just made her up to stop the nagging.

  Dad scanned Julie once and nodded in approval. "M14. Nice rifle." My father was a practical man. Then he gave Earl The Look. Earl didn't flinch. That alone should have alerted Dad that Earl Harbinger wasn't actually human anymore. Dad stared at my boss for a long time, bit his lip, looking confused for a moment, almost perplexed, like a bullfighting bull that just got poked and was trying to figure out whom he needed to gore. Mosh and I glanced at each other. Dad perplexed was scarier than normal Dad. "Do I know you?" the senior Pitt asked.

  Earl shook his head. "I don't believe so."

  "Yeah . . . ​yeah I do." Dad was positive. "But it can't be. You're too young. Was your father in Vietnam?"

  Earl paused for a long moment. "No," he said calmly.

  "You wouldn't happen to be related to some guy who worked for the CIA, went by the name . . . ​what was it . . . ​Mr. Wolf?"

  Mr. Wolf? If that was one of his pseudonyms, it was pretty damn lame.

  Earl frowned slightly. "Never heard of him."

  "Good, because he was a real jerk-off. But damn if you're not like his twin. Good thing you're not, 'cause me and him have a disagreement to settle." Dad was obviously suspicious. Mosh, Julie, Mom, helicopters, compounds, assassination attempts, everything else was forgotten as Dad focused in like a laser beam on Earl. "What's your name, buddy?"

  "Harbinger. Earl Harbinger. Your son works for me." He stuck out his hand to shake. My father took the smaller hand in his catcher's-mitt-sized paw and I knew that Dad was going to try and crush him.

  "Auhangamea Pitt," Dad said as he squeezed. "This is my wife, Ilyana."

  Earl smiled slightly and squeezed back. Dad's brow furrowed and I could tell that he wanted to cringe. Most normal men would have. Earl let go and nodded. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Pitt. I'm sure you've got a lot of questions for your boy that I'm sure he's just itchin' to answer. I can assure you this inconvenience will be temporary. We'll find you a room and get you settled in for your stay. Welcome to Monster Hunter International."

  The best available room at the compound was on the first floor of the main building, near the stairs to the basement and the archives. It had been set up for clients and VIPs, but since visits like that were extremely rare, the room, though nicely furnished, smelled a little musty.

  "Beats a hotel," I suggested helpfully as I put Dad's suitcase on the bed. I still stunk of gas and had quite a bit of my own blood dried on my clothing. Dad just glowered at me.

  Mosh was getting cleaned up. It had been about fifteen years since we had last been forced to share a room, but it was either bunk with me, or sleep in the barracks with the Newbies. He'd dealt with enough weirdness so far that the last thing I wanted to do was stick him with a bunch of really gung-ho, brand-new Hunters.

  Julie had tagged along. My mom hadn't stopped talking to her since she'd gotten off the chopper. Julie had dropped her vest and rifle behind Dorcas' desk, so now she only had her form-fitting and, in my opinion, very flattering, Under Armor shirt on. Julie was nodding her head patiently as Mom continued to ramble on about her day's adventure as she carried more bags through the door. She gave me a patient look that basically said you weren't kidding about your parents.

  Dad waited until all four of us were present. His deep voice indicated that he wasn't messing around. "All right then, I want some answers, and I want them now. There's some strange business going on here. First off—"

  "How did you two meet?" Mom asked, clapping her hands together excitedly. Dad rolled his eyes and groaned.

  Julie gestured toward me. "Well, we had a contrived story to tell you, but I guess we can tell you the truth now. We work together. The first time Owen and I met was when I interviewed him for this job."

  Mom covered her mouth, like me dating the boss' great-granddaughter was the most scandalous thing ever. Hell, like Mom even knew what I did for a living. "You're his supervisor?"

  "Technically, yes, but he doesn't take well to supervision," Julie laughed. Mom laughed. Mom began to ask Julie for details. They both plopped down on the edge of the bed. Dad and I exchanged glances. He signaled for me to pull up a chair to the side so we could address man business.

  Mom was so personable that when she entered a room, she created her own gravity field that dominated everything. Once free from Mom's sphere of influence, my father turned stern. "I killed four people today. I haven't done that for a while. I'd like to know why."

  "So the last guy died too?" I had really been hoping that the Feds could have gotten something out of him.

  Dad shrugged. "Looked like a liver hit. I'd be amazed if they got him to the hospital before he croaked. I'm getting sloppy in my old age. Mozambiqued the other assholes. Don't dodge my question, boy." He glanced at his watch. "I'm missing a fishing trip today because of this."

  "Okay . . ." I had thought about this moment, and the best way to convey it, for a long time, but all of my practiced lines were forgotten under the stare of those hard eyes. My entire life, this man hadn't ever really approved of me. He had always been gruff and cold. The closest we had ever come to bonding was him teaching me to kill stuff. Well, when all else fails, go for brevity. "I'll get right to it. Monsters are real. I'm one of the people who hunts them."

  Dad nodded slowly. "Pay good?"

  "Pay's awesome."

  "Monsters?" Dad took off his hat and set it on the small table between us. He scratched his bald spot. "All right then. I'm glad we got this all cleared up."

  That's it? He showed no emotion. That wasn't one of the outcomes that I had imagined. "Uh . . . ​cool. Any questions?"

  He intertwined his fingers, put his elbows on the table, and studied me silently. I never could read him, and now was no different. It was like being under an electron microscope as he stared right through my façade of confidence. This man could read me like a teleprompter. "Oh, I got questions—lots." Then he went back to glaring at me. It was extremely awkward. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat.

  I've died twice, traveled through time, stopped an alien invasion, and battled just about every terrible being that hell could puke onto the surface of the Earth, but despite those facts, this man could still make me feel like a pathetic fat kid. It really pissed me off. My entire life I had striven to make him proud. I had failed every step of the way. No matter what I did, I would never measure up to his impossible ideals of what it meant to be a real man.

  But no more. I knew what I was. And I didn't have to take his shit anymore. I was going to make him understand. He was on my turf now. "Listen, Dad," I said as I reached across the table and grabbed him by the arm. "I—"

  Black energy crackled inside my skull.

  "Damn it, boys. That was pathetic," I shouted at my sons as I threw my own pack down. Personally, I was exhausted, but I wasn't abou
t to let them know it. They could never see weakness as an option. The boys were big and strong for their ages, but I had overloaded their bags on purpose. I knew that they had to be hurting bad by now. "That was slow." I made a big show of looking at my dive watch. "We only averaged thirteen minutes a mile. Thirteen!"

  "It was straight uphill!" Owen protested. He had to pause, pull out his asthma inhaler and take a deep puff. He didn't use it nearly as much as he had when he was younger, but we were several thousand feet higher in elevation than he was used to.

  "And the ground was all loose," David whined. "My feet hurt."

  Damn right their feet hurt. My feet were killing me, and I had done forced marches most of my life. They were only fourteen and eleven. Their pack straps had probably abraded right through the skin of their shoulders by now. "You think if the enemy were right behind us they'd be complaining? Hell no, they would've chased us down, raped us to death, then cut us into steaks and eaten us."

  "But ‘the enemy' aren't chasing us, Dad. This was supposed to be a camping trip." My oldest gestured around the mountainside. He had always been a smartass. The kid was incapable of knowing when to shut up. Despite how I was always farming him out to the neighbors for adult-level manual labor, and he was strong as hell, the boy was still pudgy. He paused to wipe the sweat off his face with his tee shirt, not that it would do much good, since his shirt was already totally saturated.

  David started crying. "I can smell Mom's cooking. Camp's right there. Can I go sit down now?"

  "Yeah, go," I jerked a thumb back toward camp. I could smell it too, and my stomach rumbled. "And don't be such a baby." I felt like a complete asshole as I said it, but I had started having the dream again, at least once a week now. Some nights I couldn't sleep at all, even when the dream didn't come, just because I couldn't get it out of my mind. I didn't pretend to understand the dream, but I knew it was true. My children couldn't afford to be weak.