Monster Hunter Memoirs: Grunge - eARC

by Larry Correia

  “I can order you,” Schmidt said, darkening. He did not like to be crossed. “Failure to obey a direct order would constitute grounds for termination without retirement, Captain.”

  “Ah, but you’d have to explain to a county review board what the order was,” Lyons said, holding up a finger. “Which you cannot because UF is secret-squirrel.”

  “So you’re just going to let people die?”

  “Is that a recognition on your part that you are completely out of your depth?” Lyons asked. “Before you kill yourself admitting that, be aware that it’s become obvious to everyone with a clue about UF in the county. People who don’t have a clue are wondering why the death rate is through the roof and why we lost several very good deputies to random accidents. So just go ahead and say: Yes.”

  “Yes,” Schmidt ground out.

  “Good,” Lyons said. “That’s the first step of twelve, admitting you have a problem. I gave you the answer to your problem the first night but you rejected it.”

  “Lieutenant Shaw?” Schmidt asked, frowning.

  “Shaw is sharp, ambitious and has a strong gut so UF doesn’t throw her,” Lyons said. “She also has no life except work which is something you’re going to want. So you’re talking to the wrong person. But you won’t like working with her. You won’t like working with anyone who is good at UF. Because the sort of people who can look at the kind of mess vampires and werewolves leave behind, and still keep it secret, are not going to sugar coat it. And you’ll have to deal with them, regularly, they’ll have to live in your hip pocket. Because at the best of times this is constant. Not as bad as lately but constant. And there’s constant cover-up, funerals, contacts, that have to be managed. So you’ll have to get used to someone who you deal with on a daily basis who is not going to kiss your ass. But that is the only bone I’m going to throw you, Sheriff. Now, Traffic doesn’t run itself so don’t call me again and I won’t call you.”

  And he left.

  So then the Sheriff called in Lieutenant Shaw.

  “Kay,” the Sheriff said, escorting her into his office and gesturing to a seat. “I think we got off on the wrong foot.”

  “Even if he is read in, now,” she said, gesturing to Jones. “We’re not going to have this conversation, or any other conversation about UF, with him present.”

  “Who are you to tell the Sheriff what to do?” Jones snapped.

  “We wouldn’t be having this conversation if you weren’t desperate, not after our first one. And I’m not going to have your butt-boy inter-jaculating all over it.”

  “That is an obscene thing to say to the Sheriff!” Jones snarled. “And I take offense at your insinuation that—”

  “Jonesy,” Schmidt said, holding up a hand. “Why don’t you step out?”

  “Sheriff,” Jones said. He could see that choice office slipping out of his fingers.

  “We’ll discuss it later, Lieutenant,” the Sheriff said.

  When Jones had left, Shaw just waited.

  “I’m considering you for the Special Actions position,” the Sheriff said, uncomfortably.

  “I don’t care about the choice office,” Shaw said. “I don’t like you, you don’t like me, I’d rather not be that noticeable, anyway. If it’s necessary it’s necessary. But unless it really is, Jonesy can keep his office. But it’s a captain position.”

  “The budget…”

  “Nice talking to you, Sheriff,” Shaw said, standing up.

  “Wait,” Schmidt said, letting out an angry breath. “Just tell me one thing. Why you?”

  “I know what to do and how to do it, Sheriff,” Shaw said, sitting down. “I know who to call. I know the people and don’t have a bad relationship with them. You have, frankly, pissed in every single well. I haven’t. Give me the budget and the authority and you can stop being woken up at three AM every damned night. But that means I will be. And I’ll have to be able to take charge of any scene, order anyone around including Lieutenant Jones since he’s handling so much of your administrative trivia. That means Captain in big, bold, letters on my door in the basement. I’m fine with the basement. But the door says ‘Captain Shaw’ or I can go back to chasing human homicidal maniacs. Much safer and waaay less stress.”

  “We’ve got a serious giant spider problem,” Schmidt said.

  “Heard,” Shaw said. “Worse than you probably realize.”

  “What do you mean?” the sheriff said.

  She’d talked to Lyons about the issue the day before and just repeated the briefing. He’d gone through this once before and the Hunters had given him the details. “If they need that much meat, she must be breeding. Once they’ve digested all those homeless, takes a day or two which has already past, she’ll be laying eggs. Those take four weeks to mature. Then the babies, each about the size of tarantulas, burst out. She grabs as many of the females as she can for snacks. Shelobs don’t like competition.

  “The males stick around and grow. They’ll have to be fed. They take about six months to mature. Given the number of homeless that were taken, we’re looking at, currently, one hundred to two hundred spiders. In six months, if we don’t kill the nest, we’re looking at double that number. And any females that escape will start to grow. Takes about six years for a shelob to mature to breeding size. So we’ve got time on that one. But when four hundred spiders have to be fed, they’re not going to be satisfied with dogs, cats and rats. In about ten to twelve weeks we’ll start losing people at a rate even MCB won’t be able to cover up. And all over the county. Breaking through from toilets, into basements, into homes…Welcome to Arachnid Apocalypse, Portland. MCB will cover it up with some hokey horror movie if they can. But we’ll be looking at hundreds dead. And that is not an exaggeration, Sheriff. That’s why MCB went off on you. And, yeah, I heard about that.”

  “I hadn’t realized…” the Sheriff gulped.

  “You see why I don’t really want this job? I have to worry about shit like that so you don’t have to.”

  The Sheriff actually stopped and did something he didn’t enjoy. He thought. Shaw let him.

  “We have a giant spider problem,” the Sheriff said then held up his hand to forestall a reply. “There are others but that is the big one right now.”

  “Understood,” Shaw said.

  “Take care of that,” the Sheriff said. “And I’ll make you a Captain and you can choose your office.”

  “Lieutenant Jones is not involved in any way, shape or form.”

  “The lieutenant is…”

  “Not involved or I’m not involved,” Shaw said. “His real position in meetings is interjecting comments to throw people off. This is not something open to debate or playing games. When I need to talk to you, I need to talk to you. Not him. Because I need you to tell someone something. From you. Not him. And if I’m talking to you and he keeps talking crap I’m eventually going to punch him through a wall and go find a job with a Monster Hunter company. Pay’s much better, anyway. He takes orders from me, yes. When I have to call to get something that absolutely doesn’t have to come from you but Jones can handle I’ll call him at three AM so I don’t have to call you. But he understands that he’s subordinate and he does not get between us. No Jonesy or no me.”

  “No Jones,” the Sheriff said.

  “Same budget as Israel.”

  “Agreed.”

  “And I am neither going to blow smoke nor waste your time,” Shaw said. “You might have noticed I don’t kiss ass.”

  “Which is why you’re probably right for the job,” Schmidt said, smiling as broadly as he could manage.

  “Agreed,” Shaw said. “Fuck me on it and anyone who could do this job competently will tell you to piss up a tree.”

  “Understood.”

  * * *

  Shaw didn’t currently have a UF office at all, so she went back to her substation and her cubicle to think. Then she picked up the phone.

  “I got the job,” she said.

  “I knew yo
u would,” Lyons said.

  “What the fuck do I do, now?” she asked.

  “You let me make some calls,” Lyons said. “Then when you’ve saved Portland and Multnomah from giant spiders you come pick up my rolodex so you can make them next time.”

  CHAPTER 24

  Doctors Nelson were taking a well-deserved joint vacation. We’d been working our asses off and they weren’t getting any younger. Naturally, it was to a seminar but everyone vacations in their own way.

  But Brad was in the office when the phone rang.

  “MHI, Brad speaking,” Brad said.

  “Brad, Captain Lyons, Multnomah.”

  “They give you your job back?” Brad asked.

  “Better, they gave it to a protégé, who has no life anyway. Me, I’m learning to fish for salmon again. I think the most fun is having the time to slowly go through catalogs looking at new rods and lures. At my office on taxpayer time. Good times.”

  “Sounds good, sir.”

  “Please tell me you’ll pick up a job for an old and trusted customer,” Lyons said. “We’ve got a nest of sassus and probably a shelob.”

  “Shit,” Brad said, scratching his head.

  I was watching this interplay from the jig so I turned it off and raised an eyebrow.

  “Nest of Sassus,” Brad said, turning on the speaker. “And probably a shelob.”

  “Wow,” I said. We’d handled a few individual giant spiders. Nasty fuckers but easy to kill in small groups. A nest, though…“How big of a nest?”

  “Hundred to two hundred,” Captain Lyons said. “We’re missing a shitload of bums. Who’s that?”

  “Chad,” Brad said.

  “Hey, Chad,” Lyons said.

  “Hey, Cap,” I said. “You get your job back?”

  “Won’t take it in a million years,” he said. “Turned it over to a protégé. And if you come on to Kay Shaw she’ll rip your balls out through your throat, Romeo.”

  “I’ll keep my comments to myself,” I said, grinning. “Is she cute?”

  “Hot redhead,” Lyons said. “Real va-va-voom body. Dead shot, kicks ass with the best of them.”

  “I’m already in love!” I yelled.

  “I will seriously fucking kill you, Romeo,” Lyons said. “Brad, do an old friend a favor. I know Portland is on your shit list…”

  “We’re not going to let giant spiders take over Portland,” Brad said, rubbing his head. “But the Docs are out of town and our Newbie is in recovery. We’ve only got five guys. And if she’s taken a whole bunch of homeless, she’s breeding so we’ve got to step on this nest, fast.”

  “With you there, buddy,” Lyons said.

  “We’re going to need more support than normal,” Brad said. “And it’s probably going to get exciting. We’re going to have to use a shitload of flame and explosives.”

  “Underground chemical fire caused by a build-up of methane gas,” Lyons said.

  “You working for MCB now?” I asked, grinning.

  “Bite your tongue, Romeo. But I’ve been doing this for a while. Will you take it?”

  “We’ll take it,” Brad said, frowning. “Good money. Assuming any of us survive.”

  “That’s the spirit,” Lyons said.

  “Time to summon the clans,” I said. “It’s gonna be a hot time in Portland. Probably tomorrow night at this rate.”

  * * *

  “Oh,” I said. “Va-va-voom indeed!”

  Lieutenant Shaw was classic bodacious Irish redhead, one each. I was instantly even more in love.

  “I will kill you,” Brad said. “Don’t fuck this up. We can use Portland back in our list of contracts.”

  “I am always a gentleman,” I said. “Well, generally.”

  As we unloaded from the team van, Brad introduced us to Multnomah’s new UF manager.

  “Lieutenant,” I said, taking her hand in both of mine. “May I just say what a pleasure it is to meet one of Multnomah’s finest?” Strong emphasis on “finest.” It was clear I was referring to her beauty not her position as a law enforcement professional.

  “You must be Romeo,” Shaw said, dryly. “Israel warned me about you.”

  “Why don’t we get to business, here,” Brad said, frowning.

  “Yeah, where’s the nest?” Jesse asked.

  “After we lost seven officers to four vamps, nobody will touch anything UF,” Shaw said. “So we don’t know.”

  “Bug hunt,” I said, all business. “Rig up, boss?” I added in a distinct southern accent.

  “Rig up,” Brad said.

  I was careful to not even look at Lieutenant Shaw as we rigged.

  “We’re not going to take on the nest until the heavy stuff gets here,” Brad said as we were donning our gear. “The U-Haul couldn’t keep up.”

  Jesse was in the process of loading his vest with grenades as he said that.

  “What do you call this?” she asked as I racked the Uzi.

  “Our light stuff,” I said.

  “I’m sort of looking forward to seeing your heavy stuff,” Shaw admitted.

  Be still my beating heart. A gun and boom nut with a size 36F chest. I might just have to quit my philandering ways.

  Nah.

  “If you’re extra special nice to me,” I said, winking and slinging the Uzi, “I might let you play with my Barrett.”

  “Is that what you call it?” Jesse asked. “Man, that’s sick. Get a life.”

  * * *

  Looking around the encampment made me want to puke. There was not a trace of real horror. It was the lack. Food, what there was of it, was still in dishes. A coat that was in the middle of being darned. A stuffed rabbit. There’d been kids.

  “Ah, Jesus,” I said, shaking my head. “These poor people. Please, Lord, let it have been quick.”

  “You actually care?” Shaw asked.

  “Am I a lounge-lizard SOB?” I said. “Guilty as charged. Am I a mercenary? Yep. Do I do this purely for the money? I’ve got a sky-high IQ and could have gone to Harvard business and be making a phone number in investment banking or something. This is for me, literally, a mission from God. I got sent back from heaven, by choice, to fight monsters. ’Cause, yes, Lieutenant, I give a shit.”

  “You’re serious?” she asked.

  “He’s serious,” Brad said. “Trail leads down this sewer. Lieutenant, why don’t you go back to the clear air. If we’re not out in…four hours, tell MCB to call SRT. Because if we can’t handle it, nobody else can.”

  “I can go with you,” Shaw said.

  “Lieutenant,” I said. “One, we’re experienced at this. Two, we’re armed and rigged for this. Three, you’re way too pretty to get paralyzed, strung up in a web then later injected with an enzyme that turns you into a gooey substance to be sucked up through a feeding proboscis.”

  “I’ll head up top,” Shaw said.

  * * *

  The trail went through the sewers for about a really disgusting mile then went up into a large, round, tube that was up near the top of the sewer tunnel.

  “New guy gets to check out the tunnel,” I said.

  “Oh, hell, no,” Roy said, backing up. “I’m not going in there!”

  “I think the biggest pain-in-the-ass gets to check out the tunnel,” Brad said, dyspeptically.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said. “I can barely fit in there!”

  “You’re also our smallest guy,” Louis pointed out, enjoying my discomfort.

  “Oh, fuck me…Help me get out of my gear.”

  When I was divested of all my gear, I pulled out a rosary and said a quick prayer.

  “Saint Michael, Patron of Warriors, give me the courage and the strength,” I said, holding the rosary in my clenched hands. “Let me bring a light to the darkness. Amen. I’m gonna need a boost.”

  I carried my 1911, same one I’d carried in Elkins, and a Maglite with really fresh batteries. And that was it.

  When Jesse and Brad had boosted me up I poked
the flashlight into the tunnel and then reached back.

  “Louis, hand me my Uzi.”

  “You’ll never fit it in there,” Brad said. “And you’re heavy. Quit stalling.”

  “I’m not stalling,” I said, taking the Uzi. I pointed it into the tunnel, leaned to the side and fired off a mag on full auto. None of the rounds ricocheted but I could hear them travelling quite a way up the tunnel. “I’m using suppressing fire.”

  I handed the Uzi back and clambered into the tunnel.

  It was one of the worst experiences of my life. There was barely room to move. Brad had tied a long rope to my boots so they could pull me out. That was how little room there was.

  The air was close and foul. I wasn’t even sure there was enough to breathe.

  But I started wiggling down the tunnel, looking for giant spiders. I had to wonder how the spiders had managed to get through there, especially towing human prey. I had to wonder how much chance I’d have if one of them came down the tunnel searching for fresh prey.

  Not damned much, that was my chance.

  The damned tunnel seemed to go on forever. We ran out of rope. I had to sit there while somebody went back to the surface for more. Just sit there in the fetid dark. Finally they shouted they had more rope. I had to hope they’d tied them together with really strong knots.

  It wasn’t straight. It curved after a while. I was really nervous going around that curve. And it was sloped down. It was getting deeper. But there was air. A slight cross-current. There was an end to it. I just hoped like hell it wasn’t actually in the nest. That would be bad. I only had eight rounds in my pistol.

  I committed to saving the last round for myself. I knew suicide was a sin. I was pretty sure that Pete would intercede on that one. I was not going to be sitting in a cocoon, waking up from time to time in agony, waiting to be spider chow.

  I wasn’t going out that way.

  Finally I saw not a light at the end of the tunnel, despite what it shows in movies sewer tunnels are never lit, but an opening at the end of the tunnel. That was nervous making. I shut off the light and listened. Any skittering? Not a bit. Not even rats. That was a bad sign. There were always rats in tunnels unless there was a super-efficient rat predator. Like, say, hundreds or thousands of giant spiders.