The Fed hesitated, not really wanting to answer. “I suppose so.”
“Full access to fulfill our contracts?”
“Agreed.”
“My teams can move freely?”
“Fine.”
“Call off OSHA, the EPA? Fish and Game? ATF?”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
“IRS?” Harbinger removed the cigarette and blew smoke out his nose. He absently scratched himself. “I bet some certain committee heads are loving us right about now. Probably even the senators who need to approve the appointment of the next head of the Monster Control Bureau.”
Myers looked like he had a foul taste in his mouth. “Fine. I’ll call off the heat. You’re golden for now. But when your people screw up again, your asses are mine.”
“Buddy, you should never tell a naked man that his ass is yours,” Harbinger said, totally deadpan. Franks snorted. I think it was almost a human laugh. Myers whirled around and glared at his subordinate. “I’ve just got one question for you.”
“What?” Myers snapped, visibly agitated.
“Once the battle started, and everything went down here, how come you guys didn’t just nuke the place to be sure?”
“Who says we didn’t try?” Myers answered cryptically. He turned his back on Harbinger and stomped away.
“Hey, Franks,” Julie called out to the silent Fed.
“Yeah?” he grunted.
“I heard that you guys didn’t cut my dad’s head off. I heard that you let him turn, and that he escaped.” Julie asked. There was a current of anger in her voice. “Because if that was true, I would be . . . disappointed. So, is he still alive?”
Franks took his time composing an answer. His cold eyes studied us.
“No.” He nodded grimly, and then followed after his boss.
We watched him go.
“Think he’s lying?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” Julie answered. “I’m sure we’ll find out soon enough.”
“I know one thing for sure,” I said slowly. The others waited. “I know we need to get Earl some pants.” The king of the werewolves laughed.
We stopped by the National Guard soldiers to thank them for their help in the battle. Sergeant Gregorius was offered a business card and invited to come see us if he was interested in a lucrative career in beating down evil. Turns out that Boone had already done the sales pitch, and the big soldier had already volunteered for the next Newbie class. I was not surprised. For people like us, Monster Hunting was a calling.
The compound was somber that day as we held fifteen funerals. The fallen were decapitated, cremated, and their remains sent back to their families along with whatever the made-up excuse was for that particular Hunter. Sometimes having a job that had to be kept secret from most of the world was a real bummer. The team leads had to make the phone calls, and I did not envy them at all. The next few days were quiet ones. There were far too many new plaques on the wall.
We watched the news anxiously, just like everybody else in the world. Gradually the panic over the missing five minutes died down, and people, being people, moved past it. Cults were formed, wars were started, nut cases blew stuff up, books were written, theories published, and everyone came away with their own interpretation of the events. As for MHI, we just kept our big mouths shut.
Milo’s wedding reception had mutated into one heck of a party. The compound had been decorated and looked pretty festive for a paramilitary fortress hidden in the backwoods. It was good to have many of the MHI staff united again, this time under much happier circumstances.
The Amazing Newbie Squad sat around a table off to one side in the boisterous cafeteria. Holly was in the process of getting wasted. Trip was frowning in disapproval. Lee was tapping his cane on the floor in time with the music. The dance floor was crowded, and Milo and his new bride appeared to be dancing a cross between the hokey pokey and the funky chicken.
“So are you going to take Earl’s offer?” I asked Lee, shouting over the noise.
He sighed, distracted from the spectacle. “I suppose. I’ve been on exactly three missions and been injured on all of them. Doctor Nelson says my leg is going to have permanent nerve damage.” He held up his cane and shook it. “I can’t be out there beating monster ass with you guys anymore, so I would be a sucker not to take it.”
“Good. You’re the best man for the job. The archives will be in good hands,” Trip stated. He looked strange with the shaved head, but the dreads had to go to make room for bandages after the battle at DeSoya Caverns. Personally, I thought Trip looked better. Apparently Holly thought so as well.
“Trip, you sexy geek. Damn it, let’s dance.” She stood up and grabbed his hand. He began to protest weakly, but he was no match for a determined Holly. I had to laugh as she dragged him out on the dance floor. They made a weird couple.
“Hey.” I felt a hand fall on my shoulder. It was Harbinger, looking slightly inebriated and unusually happy. He tossed a small object on the table. “Here.”
“What’s up, Earl?” I asked as I picked it up.
“It’s official. Grant’s turned in his resignation. Moving to Hollywood to consult on a big horror movie or some nonsense.” He snorted. Grant had not been his usual cocky self since his kidnapping, and he had never spoken about what he had seen or experienced while in the vampires’ clutches. I was not surprised to see him go, but I was surprised to discover I might actually miss him. Almost. “Sam’s heading out to set up the new team in Denver. So I’m really shorthanded.”
I studied the little flat object. “And this way you can keep an eye on me?”
“Promise not to destroy the world or anything and we shouldn’t have a problem.” He winked at me and left. I twirled the patch between my fingers.
I would wear the green happy face with pride.
It was a few months later, right after Harbinger’s team had returned from a difficult contract in the Philippines. Julie and I were at the Shackleford ancestral home. I had volunteered to help her work on the renovations to the old house. I was not particularly skilled at home repair, but I could do manual labor with the best of them. Mostly I loved the opportunity it gave me to spend time with her. I had bought an engagement ring, but so far I had not worked up the courage to actually ask her. Wrestle with ancient evil, fight aswangs, blow up lindwyrms, or fish for luskas? No problem. Ask the woman I love to marry me? Terrifying.
We were sitting in the formal living room. The paint was drying, and I had to admit that it was going to look great. We had returned the missing portrait of Raymond Shackleford Jr. to its spot on the wall. We weren’t expecting guests, and having the blank spot kind of ruined the symmetry. I had joked that we should just paint a beard and glasses on Earl’s picture so that we wouldn’t have to worry about taking it down when company came over. I could tell that Julie had been tempted.
It was about 11:00 p.m. when there was a loud knock on the door.
“Somebody’s here,” I said stupidly.
Julie was startled from the couch. She reached above the mantle and took down the hidden shotgun, tossed it over to me, and without thinking, I caught it. She took down a carbine and checked the chamber. “Perimeter alarm didn’t sound,” she said quickly.
“Aw, hell.” I pumped the 870 and started for the front door. “What now?”
The front entryway smelled of wood glue and sawdust. I approached the door and signaled silently for her to cover me. Julie moved to the side, and took up a position behind one of the interior columns.
I unlocked the five heavy deadbolts. The ornate doorknob was unusually cold under my fingertips. I kept my right hand on the grip of the shotgun and kept it ready. I turned the knob and yanked the door open. I stepped back, ready to fire.
Nothing.
I sliced the pie, slowly cornering around the opening. The porch was clear. I shined the weapon-mounted light into the darkness. I could not see anything in the yard or in the parking area.
&
nbsp; “Did we just get doorbell ditched?” I asked.
“Wait, there’s a note.” Julie approached cautiously. A small white envelope had been shoved under the door. She cradled the carbine in her arms as she tore it open.
“Careful,” I cautioned.
“Don’t be such a wuss.”
She unfolded the note, adjusted her glasses, and read silently. Julie frowned, her pretty features drew into an anxious knot, and she absently rubbed the unnatural black line on the side of her neck, a habit that she had picked up when she was nervous.
“What is it, honey?” I asked. She passed the note over.
The letter was handwritten. There were two separate messages on the single sheet of paper, with two very different writing styles. The first was almost perfect calligraphy.
Dear Julie,
We just wanted to drop you a note to let you know that we are doing fine. Your daddy is adjusting to his new lifestyle rather well. He has a real flair for it. We have been traveling, and seeing the world, just like we always talked about doing, but never found the time. Now we have all of the time in the world.
We want to offer a truce. I hope there are no hard feelings about the little incident we had. As a mom I just want what is best for all of my children. Now I see that you need to live your life on your own and make your own decisions, no matter how foolish they may be. You need to learn from your own mistakes.
I wish that I could be at the wedding. I like this Owen. He is a good man. He will be a good husband. If you are wondering what wedding, silly me, I have to realize that you can’t read minds. Your poor boyfriend broadcasts his thoughts so loudly that I could pick them up from Mexico. The ring is in the armory. It is rather pretty. Congratulations.
One last offer, as you grow old and approach your mortal end, or if your health is fleeing and creeping sickness overtakes your body, if you choose not the cold embrace of death, call upon me, and I will come. You are my daughter and my offer of immortality still stands. Until that time, if you avoid us, we will avoid you. Search for me and I will kill you and destroy everything that you hold dear with a vengeance terrible beyond your imagination.
Love,
Mom
P.S. I love what you’ve done with the old place.
The second message was shorter. The writing was blocky and erratic.
Hey Kids,
How’s everything going? I hope y’all are well. I’m doing good. Susan is doing good. We are having lots of fun. I’m still real sorry about the whole thing with the lying and sending you to your deaths in Natchy Bottom, but I had to do it. I hope you understand. No hard feelings. See you around.
Love,
Dad
P.S. Kid, treat my girl good or I’ll rip out your heart.
I folded the note, stuck it in the envelope and passed it back. Julie crumpled it into a ball and threw it out the door. I slammed it closed.
“And to think that regular people bitch about their in-laws,” I said. “I figure I’ve got to hold some sort of record on this one.”
Julie set her gun against the wall. She fell into my arms with a sigh. I held her tight. “Do you still think normal people suck?” she asked me.
I thought about it for a moment. “Yes. Yes, I do. Normal people suck. Monster Hunting is where it’s at.”
“Good. I agree.” We kissed, vampire mother-in-law be damned. “So where exactly is this ring?”
“Downstairs,” I replied nervously. I had had it for weeks. The thought of her saying no was terrifying.
“Owen . . .”
“What, Julie?”
“Yes.”
Epilogue
Special Agent Dwayne Myers, interim head of the Monster Control Bureau, had in fact called in his “final option” when they had discovered through the actions of MHI that the Place of Power was just outside of Childersburg, Alabama.
As the moon had approached its zenith, the B1 bomber on station over Alabama had been ordered to release its payload of a single low-yield tactical nuclear device. It was only a five-kiloton weapon, but it would have been of sufficient strength to slag the area immediately around the DeSoya Caverns Park. Had “final option” gone according to plan, it would not have stopped the Old One’s plot, since the pocket dimension was separated from the normal world until the final close of the ceremony.
When released, the bomb had a clear path to impact. It was programmable to air burst for maximum surface devastation, or to strike the ground first, for more penetration. Since Special Agent Myers believed the target to be inside the underground cave, he had ordered the bomb to strike as deeply as possible before detonation.
By the time the bomb had traveled its course, the rift between worlds had been prepared. The sphere of evil energy had grown to mammoth size. The Old Ones could not cross the rift into our world, but matter from our world could enter into theirs. The five-kiloton nuclear weapon passed cleanly through the rift and entered the plane of the Old Ones.
The resulting explosion split the individual atoms of a legion of the Old Ones’ elite troops, and the edge of the blast singed the carapace of the Overlord itself. This was a grave offense.
It called upon its minions to sally forth and destroy the human world utterly, but in those final moments, the rift closed, cutting off entrance for another five hundred years.
Greatly offended by this slight, it called upon its many servants, demanding an explanation of how the feeble mammals had been able to actually cause a small bit of harm to an Old One. The 10,000-foot-tall crustacean commanded them to discern the cause of the explosion.
The minions searched, trying to discover what foul creature could do such a thing. Though their contact with the human world was limited, they were able to piece together a few clues. They were mostly incorrect and confused, but they were happy to give their Dread Overlord an answer, hoping to keep from being flayed alive for eons. It did not take kindly to failure.
They reported back that the attack must have come from a lone human. It was a single mammal who had dared to launch a feeble atom weapon into their plane of existence. The Dread Overlord was joyous to hear that the perpetrator had been identified, so it only devoured a few dozen of its minions. They were digested painfully for an eternity. It ordered a message sent to the world of the humans. There were still ways to send information, and there were a handful of servants on the human world able to listen and obey.
The message was sent across space and time:
To all minions of the Overlord. Find and utterly destroy the human Hunter known as Owen Zastava Pitt.
Monster
Hunter
Vendetta
Chapter 1
It was less than a year ago that the illusion shattered and I got my welcome to the real world. Up until that point I considered myself perfectly average, living a normal life, with a regular career. That all changed the night my accounting supervisor turned into a werewolf and tried to eat me. Now there are basically two ways to deal with such a problem. Most people confronted with something so hideously impossible tend to curl up into the fetal position and die. On the other hand, those of us destined to become Monster Hunters simply take care of business. He almost ended my life but I tossed him out a fourteenth-story window. He died, I didn’t. That makes me the winner.
After that initial encounter I was approached with a job offer. Apparently survivors like me aren’t that common, and as a result killing a monster is a real résumé builder. I was recruited by Monster Hunter International, the premier eradication company in the business. We protect mankind from the unnatural forces that come crawling out from our darkest nightmares, and in return, we get paid the big bucks.
It wasn’t that long after I started my new job that MHI came up against an unfathomable evil from the past. It took everything we had to survive, but in the end, the Cursed One was defeated and I literally saved the world.
I was employee of the month.
The biggest chupacabra in the pack was onl
y four feet tall, but what they lacked in mass, they made up for in sheer ferocity. Being unable to get to their dinner was making them even surlier than usual. The peasant girl had been futilely tinkering with the engine of her broken-down Chevy Vega when the first chupacabra had come sniffing onto the jungle road. Her screams at seeing the little demon-lizard-insect thing hop down the dirt lane like a demented miniature kangaroo had driven it into a frenzy, and she had barely managed to dive into the car ahead of its snapping jaws. Her continued cries from behind the locked doors of the old rust bucket had attracted the rest of the pack, and now there were a dozen of the creatures clambering on the car.
Chupacabras do not normally attack people. The puncture tubes that jut from their mouths could pierce a human skull like a screwdriver through a milk jug, but instinctively they stick to preying on small animals. Once a chupacabra pack has tasted human blood, however, they absolutely will not stop, and killings become more and more frequent. From what I have seen in this business, people must be either extremely tasty, or addictive, like monster crack.
The creatures were scratching and clawing at the car’s windows and roof. The girl just kept on screaming. She had a remarkably good set of lungs for this kind of thing, which is why we’d picked her. Her cries spurred the monsters on, and they all began to shriek as well, echoing across the dark jungle canopy for miles.
The four-footer jumping up and down on the hood of the Vega was pissed. It had to be the pack’s alpha male, and it couldn’t figure out why the glass wasn’t breaking. I watched it carefully through the night-vision monocular.
The Monster Hunters Page 59
