The Monster Hunters

by Larry Correia

  The van’s wheels had stopped turning. The engine had died. There was an eerie silence punctuated only by ticking noises coming from the hot engine. A green pool of antifreeze was spreading. As I approached, my pain-fogged mind realized why the van had not kept rolling when we had flipped on our side.

  The gargoyle was wedged underneath. Its massive bulk was partially crushed into gravel, silver liquid poured from its interior, steaming and smoking on the pavement. One of its arms was missing. The other ended in a jagged stump. Its lower half was trapped under the driver’s side. It continued to stab at the roof with its stump, searching for Julie and Ray.

  My hand flew to my holster, only to discover that at some point of my road-rash roll my CZ had been knocked loose and lost. I spotted the .50 lying in the road, scope shattered, scuffed and battered. It looked operable, but it was empty. I picked it up to use as a club. The gargoyle shoved its pointed stump through another spot in the roof directly over where Julie would have been buckled in. I heard a scream of pain come from the van. The stump came out.

  The jagged end was splattered with blood.

  The pain stopped. My anger focused like a laser beam.

  “Hey!” I shouted, limping toward the wounded beast. Its gray eyes turned in my direction. “Yeah. I’m talking to you.” It tried to move against me, but it had been hopelessly damaged by the truck. It did not matter. I was coming for it. I was not going to let it get the others.

  I raised the heavy rifle over my head and charged. It swung its stump. I stepped out of the way as it crashed into the asphalt. I smashed the rifle into the stump, again and again. The butt stock broke off, so I shifted it in my hands and used the barrel like a bat. I pounded the stone arm until it quit trying to move, and then I stepped over the dusted remains and with a cry of rage swung at the monster’s head. I struck it again and again. The barrel bent, and my hands bled as I swung at the unyielding rock, steel bar against stone face, over and over. Muscles straining, I continued to shout as smoking fluid spilled from the creature’s broken face and splattered me with burning bits. “Die! Die! Die!” I raised the barrel and drove it forward like a pack bar. The creature twisted its powerful neck and I lost my weapon. I spotted something else that had spilled from the back of the van. I left the creature for a moment, retrieved the tire iron, and then went back to work. I hammered the creature as it twitched and thrashed.

  Finally it quit moving. The molten stone that served as the creature’s blood formed a smoking puddle, and then gradually solidified as it cooled. Cracks formed in the stone body. Perhaps it had never truly been alive, but it was certainly dead now.

  “Can anybody hear me?” Gasping, shaking, I went to the front of the van and knelt before the shattered windshield. Julie was trapped on her side, and there was blood on her shirt. Far too much. “Are you okay?”

  “I whacked my head. Then got stabbed.” She gestured weakly at the hole the monster had just punched through the roof.

  “How bad?” I asked frantically as I tried to gently pull her through the window.

  “Hurts . . .” She had her hand pressed against the top of her shoulder. “I can still move.”

  I pulled her out and helped her sit. The entry wound appeared to be through the flesh above her collar bone, and into the muscles of her back. It was bleeding, but not very fast. I did not know squat about anatomy, and I had no idea how deep it had penetrated.

  “Dad? Where’s my dad?”

  “I don’t know. Just keep pressure on it.” I kept scanning the sky. There was one gargoyle left somewhere.

  “Find him, please.”

  “What about you?” I asked.

  “I’m fine. I don’t think it’s that bad. Find him, Owen. Keep him safe . . .” Her eyes rolled back, and her head dipped forward. I caught her.

  “Shit. Julie. Julie! Come on. It’s going to be okay. Julie!” I shook her. She did not respond. Blood rolled out of her hair and down her cheek from her head wound. I rested her on the ground and went through the window for the first aid kit that was stored under the passenger seat. I tore a wider opening in her shirt. I pulled out a package of Quick Clot, ripped it open, and poured it into the hole in her shoulder. I stuffed a bandage over the top of that. It wasn’t much, but it was the best that I could do at the time.

  I felt the rush of air before I heard the beating of stone wings. The final monster did a pass overhead, slowly circling. Wings spread, it landed twenty yards away and perched on top of one of the many spilled logs. The huge wings folded and the creature put its long forearms down until its clawed fists rested on the ground. It began to crawl toward us. It was the size of a compact car. All I had was a tire iron.

  I flung the tool at the creature. It ricocheted harmlessly away. I abandoned Julie; no matter how much I did not want to, I did not have much choice. I dived into the van, searching for a weapon—any weapon—but preferably a really big gun. Stone feet crunched as it made its way closer.

  “Hello there, big fella. I think I’m the one you’re after.” Ray. Julie’s dad appeared out of nowhere. Looking a little worse from the accident, he limped calmly toward the monster. The gargoyle stopped, seemingly confused by having a human not run from it or shoot at it. “No reason to kill these others. You want me, you can have me.”

  The gargoyle turned away from the van, and started for Ray. He made no effort to evade the monster. He spread his arms and walked straight toward it.

  “Come on. That’s a good monster. Yeah, that’s a good boy. Just kill me and get it over with.”

  But the gargoyle had not been dispatched to kill him. The Cursed One was looking for information. The monster reached out and grabbed him around the waist with one gnarled claw, easily lifting him into the air. The creature spread its massive wings, preparing to leap into the sky.

  My hand landed on Abomination. Somehow the brutal, stubby shotgun/grenade launcher had not been tossed out of the vehicle. I hugged it against my bloody chest and crawled for the exit. There was no way I was going to be able to make it in time to save Ray, but I was going to try.

  The monster crouched, building energy in its powerful legs, wings spread a full forty feet across the road. Ray was tucked easily under one arm. The man was not even struggling. Julie was still out. I pulled myself along, trying to think of something, anything, which I could do to stop the monster.

  The gargoyle shook as the heavy bullet struck its head. The weight of the impact was enough to jar it. The boom followed a split second later as the sound caught up. I pulled myself out of the van, shotgun lifted ahead of me. I had no idea where the bullet had come from. The second mystery shot collided with the creature’s upper arm, splattering liquid stone from a pierced joint. It spasmodically dropped Ray Shackleford to the pavement. Ray lay there, unmoving.

  I flipped the selector to full-auto and dumped twenty shells of alternating slugs and buck into the monster as I charged it. The shot was mostly useless, except for the few pellets that struck joints. The slugs, however, carried quite a bit of energy, and disoriented the creature further. I snagged Ray by his arm, and dragged his limp form away from the monster. If I could get him far enough away, I could use my grenade. The mystery shooter fired a third shot, striking the monster in the neck. The gargoyle raised its hands to the injury as rock splashed forth.

  I dragged Ray back by Julie and dropped him. I turned toward the monster and aimed Abomination, fingers seeking for the 40mm launcher’s heavy trigger. I did not know for sure if we were safely out of the minimum safe range for the blast radius, but I did not have much choice. The gargoyle reared up, wings spreading in a roar. I pulled the trigger.

  There was barely enough distance for the grenade to achieve the rotations necessary to disarm its safety mechanisms. The heavy shell impacted just under the gargoyle’s chin. The thump of the explosion shook me and I was pelted with stone and bits of superhot liquid. The gargoyle fell backward in a cloud of dust and fragments. Its chest was ragged, blasted and scorched. />
  It shrugged off the impact and wobbled to its feet.

  “Aw, crap.”

  It took two hesitant steps, weeping cracks spider-webbing across it, before it shattered like a dropped glass, stone clattering onto the pavement in a spreading pool of silver.

  I knelt beside Julie. She was breathing, and the clotting agent and the bandage seemed to be working. Her pulse was decent, not great, but decent. Her head wound looked pretty ugly. Ray was mumbling something and waving at the air.

  “Hey hey we’re the Monkees, and we like to monkey around!” he sang. I resisted the urge to put my size 15 boot through his head.

  “Are you folks okay?” a voice called. The man was older, and had a thick southern accent. He came walking tentatively from the nearby farm, an embroidered NRA hat on his head, and an enormous bolt-action rifle in his hands. “What in the hell was that thing?”

  “Gargoyle. Animated monster. Bad mother.”

  “Damn.” He saw Julie, bloodstained and unconscious. “My wife called the cops and told them to send the paramedics. They’re coming out of Camden, but they should be here right quick. Brother, you look like you need them your own self. You look like hell.”

  I looked down at my road-rashed arms. Blood was welling from several spots around embedded gravel and there were a few spots that appeared to be totally devoid of skin. It really stung. Thus far I was showing a bad tendency to get my ass kicked in this job.

  “That was some good shooting back there,” I told him. “You saved us. Thanks.”

  “Yup. I was in my living room when you crashed. I saw it right out my window. Saw the big monster thingy hanging on the side so I grabbed my big gun.” He shook the heavy rifle. “Four-fifty-eight Winchester Magnum. And to think my wife told me, Carlyle, you don’t need no damn expensive elephant gun. What’re you going to do with an elephant gun? Harumph. Women . . . Showed her.”

  Amazingly enough my wallet was still in my pants. I thumbed through it until I found the business card with the little green smiley face with horns. I had not had the chance to get my own made up, so Harbinger’s would have to do.

  “Tell you what, Mr. Carlyle. If you ever get tired of farming and want to kill monsters for a living, give this guy a call. Tell him Owen Zastava Pitt sent you. I’m gonna pass out now.” I wearily slumped down next to Julie, ignored Ray’s babbling, and settled in to wait for the ambulance. I was unconscious in seconds.

  Chapter 16

  The Old Man was waiting for me on the steps of the bombed-out church. He was whittling away at a small block of wood with a tiny pocketknife. The world of the destroyed town was once again whole and complete. Battle-damaged, but at least there were no gaps of nothingness. Snow crunched under my bare feet, yet it was not cold. In my dream, I was not in pain. I received a scowl and a firm finger-shaking as I approached.

  “Boy. You not very good at this job. Werewolf scar you. Wight paralyze you. Fall off boat. Vampire beat you. Policeman beat you. Gargoyle chase you, and now you fall off car. Moving car at that. Maybe I think we should have picked some other person.” He continued shaking his finger. He reminded me of my Czech immigrant grandfather—easily exasperated, and often having a hard time expressing it. “You can no seem to help. You are like, how you say . . . punching bag. You say, hey monster, here I am. Hit me in head.”

  “Look, I’m pretty tired of getting my ass kicked too. You want to pick somebody else to bug, feel free.” I sat down beside him on the steps. I could not tell what he was carving. One thing was for sure, he did not appear to be very good at it.

  “I need to get back. Julie needs me. I need to wake up.”

  “Sorry, Boy, not can do. You are hurt. Need time for body to rest. You must take time for other things now.”

  “I’ve got an idea then. How about some straightforward answers for a change?”

  “Bah.” He spit in the snow. “You want answers. I give you answers. I try to help you, Boy. Some thing I not can say, I can only show. Is hard to do, you know.”

  “Why did the Cursed One go after Julie’s dad?”

  He shrugged. “He is just like you. Always wants the straight answers. Just like you, even has the same questions.”

  “Where’s the Place of Power and when’s he going to use it?”

  “See. What did say? Same questions. How am I supposed to know this thing?”

  I picked up a rock and hurled it against some rubble. I was rewarded with a crash.

  “Boy. You are mad, yes? Very angry?” I nodded. The Old Man paused in his carving for a moment and patted me gently on the arm. “You are mad because girl is hurt. Old doctor is hurt. And some of crazy people get smooshed by gargoyle, yes?”

  I did not respond. After a moment he got tired of waiting for my answer.

  “Hunters must learn, not can save everyone. Sometimes not can save own self even. Is just how it is . . .” He trailed off. “Bah! Enough talk. Time is short. You wake up soon. I try to show you more memories.”

  “Not anything recent, I hope,” I said fearfully. My brief encounter with Lord Machado’s mind had left me very uneasy about that idea. I did not want to risk that again, because I had a sneaky feeling that I might not wake up from it.

  “No. Is old memory again. Much safer. He probably not know about this. I not strong enough to try new memory. Too dangerous. Put worms in your head. Eat your brain out.”

  I did not dare ask for an explanation of whatever the hell that was supposed to mean.

  “Listen, Boy, hard to explain. This Cursed One, I not can show you things that are in his mind now, for he will know. But these other things, they are long ago in his past. Buried like body in ground. He not pay attention to them now anymore. So we sneak in for look, he not know. You shut up and learn.”

  “How can you do that?”

  He scowled as he searched for the words. “I stuck here, because of stupid artifact. Because of Cursed One, I not can move on. Trapped for long time. Cursed One forgot about me. But he—how you say?—underestimates things I do to try stop him. I sneak chance to talk to you, to help. He not expect that. Now shush. See what you have done with questions? Waste much time.”

  He set aside his carving, folded his knife, carefully put it away, and placed his hands on my face.

  “Let’s do this thing,” I said, with more courage than I actually felt.

  The blasted town faded away.

  Lord Machado’s memories. I settled into them like an actor taking on a role. I was immersed into the senses of a man who had long since ceased to be a man. The memories were hazy, fragmented, but the important things had engraved themselves deep into the Cursed One’s mind.

  The priestess Koriniha led me deep beneath the pyramid. I followed, hoping to find answers to my questions. My reign over the city was a success thus far. Treasure filled my coffers, and my small army was training a much larger army of local conscripts. She had been good to her word: the city did not just abide me as a conqueror with an iron fist. They were treating me like their true king, and perhaps, dare I say . . . their god. I could grow used to being worshipped.

  She had told me of her dark and secret knowledge. The priestess’ offer had been intriguing. Eternal life and strength. An immortal army under my command. Powers so great that not only could I control this new land, but I could return to my old, and take upon me the very birthright that was taken from me. If the words of Koriniha were even partially true, I could return home and take the very crown, and the crown of any kingdom I desired.

  I desired all of them.

  King Manuel the Great? I would show him who the great one really was. Philip and his blasted Spaniards would be next. After that, why not all of Europe, forcefully united under my banner. If a fraction of the dark secrets the priestess had whispered to me were true, then all of that would be a simple task to accomplish. And from the signs that she had shown me, I believed her to be telling the truth.

  I followed her farther into the darkness. The priestess’ hi
ps swayed beneath her thin robes. She was a wanton creature, beautiful and cunning, wise in many arts unknown in my homeland. I had already taken her as my concubine, as was part of our initial agreement. It had been a very beneficial arrangement indeed. It had legitimized my rule over this people, and I enjoyed the benefits befitting a man of my station.

  The torch in my hand flickered and spat as damp winds traveled down the tunnel. I had a brace of pistols in my belt, fresh matches stored in a wax-tight pouch, and the very ax that was the source of my family name slung over my back, yet somehow I still felt uneasy. There was darkness under this pyramid, not just darkness of the eyes, but a darkness of the soul.

  Friar de Sousa had attempted to warn me away from the priestess and her strange cult. I had discovered him trying to send a messenger back to our ships on the coast. The note had been intercepted. The Jesuit had been worried that I was descending into madness and following a pagan religion, and especially damning, he wrote of the riches of the city and how I had thus far kept our expedition a secret from both the crown and the church. He had been a kindly man, wise and merciful, and his knowledge of languages had been a valuable tool of conquest. It had saddened me momentarily when I hsd ordered him burned at the stake. Of course to keep that fact from the men, I had blamed it on the locals and had had five hundred of their priests executed, supposedly in retribution. Appearances had to be kept up, after all.

  Some of the men had been suspicious, but as long as I kept them supplied with riches, I was not worried about their loyalty. Sacks of gold would satisfy even the most pious amongst them. The crown’s military governor had no knowledge of our expedition’s location, so my troops were effectively sealed from the outside world. My secrets were my own to keep.

  We walked for what seemed like hours, always down, always descending. The walls changed from stone and mortar into natural rock, and then finally into something else. Something that I had never seen before. Slick, soft and oily, almost pulsing with its own strange energy. Out of the corner of my eye it would sometimes seem as if the very walls were moving.