The Monster Hunters

by Larry Correia

  “Good luck, everyone,” Julie said. “You know what to do.”

  “I taught you guys how to fight. Don’t screw up,” Sam ordered the Newbies. Everyone stood up from the table and began to disperse. He shouted one last set of instructions for his parting charges. “And if the going gets tough, and you get the urge to quit, just remember that we get paid real good for this shit!”

  “We finish this today,” Harbinger stated to no one in particular.

  I hoped so. It was Thursday morning. Friday night was the full moon and the end of the world. I wondered if I would still be alive to see it.

  I waited for Julie in the hallway, standing nervously in front of the wall of memorial plaques. A bright new one had been set on the wall for Jerry Roberts. I was wearing my full armor, festooned with weapons and ammunition. I was ready for war.

  But I was not ready for what I needed to do next.

  Julie strode down the hall, also fully armed for battle. Her M14 was slung over one shoulder, and a row of sharpened stakes was lashed to her webbing. Her long hair had been tied up beneath her hockey helmet, and she had replaced her glasses with shatterproof prescription goggles. She was angry and determined, and no vampires or cursed conquistadors were going to stand in her way.

  She saw me, and attempted to smile. She failed miserably.

  “Hey, Owen. Look, I’m sorry you had to see me freak out back there at the house, and I’m sorry I snapped at you. That was just a lot of emotion for me, you know. Grant’s probably dead, or worse. Dad is dead, and I didn’t think that I would mind that, but I do, and Mom . . .” She shrugged.

  “I know,” I said simply. “If Grant’s alive, we’ll find him. And I’ll help you deal with Susan.”

  She changed the subject. “How are your ribs? Franks beat the hell out of you.”

  “Fine,” I lied. It hurt to move. Plus I had huge bruises on my neck from her mother. “How’s your shoulder?”

  “Fine,” she lied. I grinned. That got her to smile.

  “Look, Julie . . . I just want to say . . . you know . . . in case I don’t make it . . .”

  “I know,” she answered sheepishly. “Don’t talk like that.”

  I reached down and touched her hand. I very gradually took it into my own. “I . . . I . . .”

  She squeezed back. “I know. I really do. But I can’t deal with that right now. Too much other stuff going on. Besides, we’re going to live through this. Right?”

  I looked down. I was not so sure. The others had not felt the power of the Cursed One like I had. They did not really understand the evil that he contained. I had a bad feeling that we were not going to win.

  She leaned in close and kissed me on the cheek. “Thanks,” she said.

  My heart skipped a beat. “Okay,” I said. Not being a very eloquent man, that was the best that I could manage. She must have realized what she had done, but she did not move away. Instead she came a little closer. We stayed like that for a few seconds, neither of us knowing what to say.

  “See that?” She nodded at the sign above the memorial wall. “Do you know Latin?”

  “No.” I had seen the plaque my first day here, but I had not understood what it meant.

  “Sic transit gloria mundi.” She explained, “When Caesar would address his people, in all his glory, in his splendor, with his armies, and his riches, there would always be a functionary standing by his side, whispering that saying in his ear. It’s a reminder. It means: The glory of man is fleeting. Do you know why we have that carved here?”

  “Because we can get killed anytime?” I answered. “It keeps us humble?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “That’s a hell of a philosophy.”

  “It really is. It means that all of our glory, all of the good we accomplish, we had better enjoy them now, because we are one heartbeat away from losing it. We live fast, and we usually die young, but it sure is glorious while it lasts. Monster Hunters don’t have time to waste.”

  “What are you trying to say?”

  “You’re not real bright for a genius, are you?” Julie stood close to me, armor against armor. She turned her head slightly and closed her eyes. “Shut up and kiss me.”

  I did.

  It was glorious.

  I took her in my arms, weapons clanking into each other. Time ceased to exist. The whole universe consisted of just her and me. Life was good. The kiss seemed to last forever.

  “Ahem.” I was jolted away from her soft lips. “Time to go, kids,” Harbinger stated as he walked past us. “Helicopter is prepped. Feds are already en route.”

  “Yes, sir!” I shouted, very embarrassed.

  “Be right there, Earl,” Julie said, looking flushed. She waited for him to disappear. “I need to sit down.”

  “I don’t want to feel like I’m taking advantage of you with all of the stuff going on and, and your parents, and Grant, and . . .” I stammered. She kissed me again, quicker this time.

  “This isn’t about any of them. Don’t talk about it. . . . We had better get out of here.”

  “Sure.” I didn’t want to let go of her.

  “Go, I’ve got to grab something. I’ll be right there.” We parted. She smiled. I grinned like an idiot. I walked away, looking back over my shoulder the whole time. She did the same. I finally had to quit when I walked painfully into the drinking fountain. I waved stupidly. She disappeared around the corner. I started to run. It turned into a sprint. I could not help myself.

  I passed Harbinger through the double doors, ran the few hundred yards to the runway without slowing, vaulted through the open door of the Hind and took a seat. Milo and Sam were sitting across from me, already strapped in. I gave them a big thumbs-up.

  “Let’s kill us some monsters!” I shouted over the already turning rotors. The two seasoned Hunters just looked at each other and shrugged.

  The distant sky in the east was beginning to turn orange. Dawn would be here soon. It was going to be a great day. I could tell.

  Chapter 21

  We lifted off from the compound and headed northwest at over a hundred and twenty miles an hour. Even at that speed, we had about two hours of flight time. I sat next to Julie. She had winked at me when she had strapped in, but did not say anything that the others could hear. Harbinger studied us stonily, but after a few minutes of uneventful flight, he used the opportunity to get some sleep. Trip and Holly stared out of opposite windows, apparently lost in thought. Milo and Sam argued about what Sam’s new team logo should be, either a frog or a walrus. Either way it was going to have a cowboy hat. Lee read a book until he became violently airsick, then he too went to sleep. Skippy left the music off of the intercom, probably in deference to the early morning hour, not that the internal engine noises of the chopper weren’t already deafeningly loud. His brother Ed took the co-pilot’s seat. He was dressed like a ninja, except for the tinted Bolle goggles.

  When nobody was looking, Julie reached over and took my hand. She held it for most of the flight.

  I did not know if she felt the same way about me as I felt about her. Looking at it logically, she barely knew me, and in the last twenty-four hours her world had been turned upside down. Was this sudden affection for me the result of feelings that she already held, or were they instead caused by her need to have some sort of anchor?

  Either way, I was fine. I could deal with being an anchor. I was certainly heavy enough. Screw logic. It had no place in relationships anyway. I just enjoyed holding her hand.

  The rhythmic strumming of the helicopter made me tired. I could understand why, since I had only had a few hours of sleep that night. And it had been a stressful night to say the least—check that, it had been a stressful week. On Saturday I had been drowned, beaten and shot. Sunday I had been slapped around and had some teeth knocked out. On Monday I got to go to the dentist and, sadly, that had been the most relaxing time of the whole week. Tuesday had resulted in a van wreck and road rash, and I had gotten my ass kicked last
night by, first, a vampire, and then used by Franks as a punching bag. Who knew what today would bring? Interestingly enough, the full moon was going to be Friday night. Exactly one week from when this all started. It had an interesting sort of symmetry to it, or it probably would if I lived to enjoy it.

  A week ago I had been ready to quit. Scared that I was doing the wrong thing. Scared by the violence that I kept leashed up inside. But those things, that darkness, it was what had kept many of us alive over the last few days. My pursuit of a regular life was a lie. I could see that now.

  My place was here. I was a Monster Hunter.

  By the time we flew over Hayneville, I was asleep.

  I saw the mysterious Tattooed Man. He was driving a car down the nearly empty freeway. The person sitting next to him had been the vehicle’s previous owner, neck snapped like a twig when the Tattooed Man had decided he needed transportation. His bare foot was on the gas, and he kept it just under the speed limit to avoid attention.

  Black eyes stared straight ahead, fixed in the direction of his target. He drummed his fingers absently on the wheel. He was close. Very close. The anticipation of regaining his charge was great, and the excitement of approaching battle was building in his ancient soul.

  He knew I was watching him. He was close enough now for that. The tattoos on his face withered as he spoke, knowing all too well that I could hear him despite the barriers of space and time. His archaic form of speech was thick and accented.

  “I care not about thy war. The artifact is mine to protect, and do so I shall.”

  Who are you? I thought.

  “Look upon me and see thy doom, cursed man. Thou shalt die by my hand.”

  Why?

  He paused, the unnatural ink swirling around his blunt features. He seemed surprised by my question.

  “Thou knowest not?”

  No.

  “Thou knowest not of thy fate? Of thy place in this world?”

  Nope.

  He laughed at me. A booming, hearty laugh. It was without real emotion, as any human feelings that had once inhabited this hardened creature had passed a long time ago. Rather, the laughter was an ingrained reflex at hearing something so seemingly preposterous.

  “Surely thou hast some knowledge?”

  No. I’m getting pretty sick of this myself.

  “Then I shall be saddened to take the life of a warrior whose heart is without guile. Alas, it must be. For that I am sorry, but thou must surely die by my hand. I shall do my best to make it swift and glorious.”

  I don’t want to fight you.

  “Thou hast no choice,” he stated flatly. “’Tis my duty.”

  I had my fill of people and monsters threatening to kill me.

  Bring it on, bitch.

  His face cracked into a wide grin, the swirling markings formed a sympathetic jaw around his lips. “Ahh, there be the spirit. We shall wage us a fine battle.”

  He continued driving as my spirit lifted from the moving vehicle. The sun was rising on the freeway behind us. I recognized the city in the background.

  Montgomery.

  The dream world.

  “Hello, Boy.” The Old Man greeted me as I approached the destroyed church. “Hurry, hurry. Time is much short. Cut off last time.” He looked agitated, limping toward me, using his cane as support in the light but slick snow.

  “Mordechai, who the hell was that joker?” I asked as I stepped over some rubble and scattered bricks. Either I had not noticed before, or perhaps the Old Man had not put them there before, but there were thousands of shell casings scattered on the ground or pocked into the snow.

  “Who?” he asked, perplexed.

  “That big tattoo-faced guy. The Guardian of the artifact or whatever.”

  He hurried over, his face drawn into a look of concern. “You spoke to this man?”

  “Yeah, just now. Didn’t you see?”

  “No.” He shook his head, his Star of David bouncing wildly off of his thin chest. “He is here? Now?” The Old Man sounded very worried.

  “I think so. I think he’s in Montgomery.”

  “Is bad. Much much bad.”

  “He said he has to kill me.”

  “Afraid of this I was. Listen to me, Boy. You are brave and strong, but no match for him. If he comes, run.”

  “So let me get this straight, you’ve got no problem with me taking on the Cursed One and seven Master vampires, and gargoyles, and wights, and who knows what else, but you want me to turn and run if I see this tattoo-faced, funny-talking freak?”

  “Yes.” He shook his head happily. “Glad you understand, Boy. Now come, time is short, and still much you have to see. I will do what can, but not know if have time enough.”

  “Why is he so dangerous? How can he be any more dangerous than Lord Machado?”

  The Old Man put his hands alongside my head. “Not him who is dangerous. I worry about you who is dangerous.”

  “Huh?”

  He squeezed my head and looked me in the eyes. I think he was trying to convey the seriousness of his advice. “Never mind. See him. Run away. Not strong enough to face. Bad things happen. Now shush. Much memory to show before fight.”

  The dream world faded away.

  Lord Machado’s memory was sharp and refined for this night, etched deeply into his mind.

  This pyramid was much larger than the others, but had been partially buried by earthquakes and mudslides in the distant past, and then mostly reclaimed by the jungle. The stones were crumbling with age, and the once-intricate carvings were weathered to the point that they were no longer clearly recognizable. Now the pictures looked more like squid and crab things going about their business than the pictorial people that they must have been at one time. The remaining architecture seemed unfamiliar and somehow alien.

  Many months had passed while the priestess had instructed me in her dark arts. I had learned much, and seen things not meant for human eyes. I had communed with dark forces, and my education had continued until finally I felt ready to unleash the power. The time had come for me to reclaim my birthright and fulfill the prophecy. I was ready. The priestess Koriniha was at my side. A small contingent of her selected priests led the way up the steps. A squadron of my most trusted and loyal soldiers remained to guard the base of the pyramid.

  The priestess leaned in close and spoke softly into my ear. “Your men are scared, Lord Machado.”

  “They do not understand what we do. But they are loyal. They will do as they are told. They would follow me into the very pit itself if ordered, for I am their general. And they know their place.”

  “That is good. But not all of your soldiers are so loyal. There has been no word of your chief captain.” She sounded mildly worried. “We cannot afford an interruption during the sacrifice. The Old Ones would be offended.”

  She was right to be concerned. A small group of men, led by one of my best captains, had disappeared, most likely deserted. The giant of a man, called Thrall, had hired onto the expedition as a mercenary. He was from some small country to the northeast, and had barely even spoken our language at the time of our embarkation, but he had proven himself to be a fierce warrior, whom the men would follow without hesitation. I had been reluctant to promote him, but he was far too capable to have been wasted as a mere musketeer.

  Unfortunately, his primitive upbringing had made my own superstitious men seem like philosophers in comparison. He had been against my initial conscription of the native forces, and he had been adamantly opposed to staying in the city, rather than sacking and burning it to the ground. I had my suspicions that he had been in league with the now-departed Friar de Sousa as well. The divinations of the priestess had confirmed his treachery and the fact that he had been a holy man amongst his forgotten people. Doubtless my consorting with dark forces had driven him away.

  It would not matter, even if the captain had fled for the sea. By the time he would be able to send a message of my treachery back to agents of the crown, it
would be too late. My powers would be granted tonight. “No need to worry, my love. The good captain is no threat to us.” I had dispatched a force of soldiers and conscripts to chase the deserters down and execute them. “It is under control.”

  “Excellent, my lord, but should it prove necessary, I summoned some protectors for our ceremony tonight.”

  The top of the ancient structure was flat except for a single raised dais. The altar had a funnel protruding from its base, giving some clue to its dark history. Giant braziers of flaming coals had been placed on the corners, illuminating us with flickering light. The pagan priests went immediately to their respective stations. Large stone demons squatted around the altar. One of the carved statues turned its head and regarded us with blank stone eyes. Dust shook from it as unnaturally long arms flexed nonexistent muscles. It was a mighty beast.

  “What manner of creature is that?” I hissed.

  “They are here to protect you, Lord Machado. Once you unlock the power of the Old Ones, you will be able to create these animations as you see fit.” The stone creature turned away, satisfied that I was its new master. I could only imagine the army that I could command with creatures constructed from the rocks of the earth itself.

  A small group of the feather-robed men were already waiting before the altar. They stood aside and kneeled as we approached. One of the priests said something in his language to the priestess.

  “The sacrifice is ready, lord,” she told me. A young man was stretched upon the altar, his wrists and ankles bound with heavy cords. Rather than fearful, the man appeared defiant. He said something in their strange language. I could tell he was cursing me.

  “He is a hunter of the Ewaipanoma of the jungle and the Ahuzoitl of the rivers, a protector of the innocent, and a great warrior. The Old Ones demand such a sacrifice.”