The Monster Hunters

by Larry Correia

  “Holly, it’s wonderful to see you,” Joan exclaimed excitedly as she virtually tackled Holly in a hug. “And this young man must be . . .” She turned to Trip. “Jones. Let’s see, James, no, John. It was something biblical.”

  Trip smiled and extended his hand. “They call me Trip, ma’am.” She grabbed his hand and pumped vigorously.

  The male Dr. Nelson let go of me and surged toward Trip. “Ah, yes. I’ve heard about you. Read your file, zombie attack survivor out of Florida. You were the schoolteacher who was forced to dispatch all his students with a sledgehammer!”

  “Pickax,” Trip corrected, slightly embarrassed.

  “Marvelous! That must have been very distressing . . .” The Nelsons were looking him over excitedly, just sensing that he had to have all sorts of angst and trauma that they could write a paper on. They couldn’t help themselves. They had done that to me the first time I had met them too. “Really, you need to sit down and have a chat with us . . . time permitting, of course.” They simultaneously glanced over as the car door slammed. Franks had gotten out and was adjusting his clip-on tie. Lucius was flummoxed. “It can’t be . . .”

  “What’s he doing here?” Joan demanded, pointing at the Fed. She raised her voice. “I want him off our property immediately!” Franks approached, scowling. She increased in volume and pitch. “Get him out of here before any patients see him.”

  “Doctors,” Franks stated coldly, “I’m here on official business.”

  Both Nelsons were clearly agitated at his presence. “Your official business can kiss my old white ass, you simpering, feculent, no-good, hell-spawn fascist!” Lucius shouted. “You have no business here.”

  “I see you guys have met . . .” I said.

  “You disgusting pig. You filthy-murdering bastard!” Joan shook her fist in the air. “I’m calling security.”

  “Forget security. I’m getting my rifle,” Lucius shouted, turning back into the asylum. “Jackbooted Nazi!”

  “We gonna do this the hard way?” Franks asked.

  I had no doubt that he wouldn’t hesitate to pummel two senior citizens just for kicks. “Whoa!” I shouted loud enough to scare some birds out of a nearby tree. The Nelsons stopped yelling. “Everybody calm down. What’s the problem?”

  “He’s the problem!” Joan shrieked.

  “Yes, I caught that part. I already know he’s an asshole, but specifically.”

  Lucius was enraged. “Half our patients wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for this man and the others like him. The MCB intimidates witnesses and survivors. They murder anybody who dares spill the beans about their little secret. Monster victims need love, and support, and therapy, so they can return to their lives. But the MCB takes survivors and punishes them instead.”

  Joan cut in. “The last thing these people need is for their own government to come along and tell them they’re insane, that they imagined the whole thing, or if there’s any forensic evidence, they cajole the victims into silence. Do you have any idea what kind of damage that does to people?”

  “It’s like locking up a rape victim because she might make the town look bad!” Lucius sputtered. “It’s preposterous. It’s absurd!”

  “It’s policy,” Franks answered.

  “That didn’t work at Nuremburg and it won’t work for you,” Joan spat. “I may not know everything, Agent Franks, but one thing I do know for certain is that you’re going to burn in hell.”

  Franks nodded, ever so slightly. “Been there. It’s overrated.”

  “Enough,” I said. “Lucius, Joan, please. I know this sucks, but we really need your help. I need to speak with somebody in your care. I’m stuck with Franks.”

  “It’s really serious,” Holly said apologetically. “We wouldn’t ever had brought him if we had realized.”

  Joan shook her head. “I know you didn’t realize what you were doing, because you’re far smarter than that, Holly. I have patients inside, patients whose loved ones this man has actually murdered. I took an oath not to do any harm. I can’t let him inside my facility.” She was adamant.

  This was getting nowhere, and I had to get to Carlos. “Franks, I need you to stay in the car.”

  “No.”

  I knew better than to waste my time arguing with him. Cutting down a redwood tree with my teeth would be more productive, and probably faster. “Doctor, please, we’ll go fast. Your patients will never even know we’re here.”

  “He’s not coming in here without a warrant,” Lucius stated.

  “I don’t need a warrant,” Franks responded.

  “Why, you rotten—”

  “Okay!” Holly jumped in. “How about this? While we’re sitting out here making a scene, some of these patients you’re worried about are going to come and see what’s going on, and they’re going to see this scumbag,” she jerked her thumb at Franks, “and they’re going to freak out. So how about we go someplace else, with no witnesses, and you bring out the one patient we need to speak to? Everybody’s happy.”

  The Nelsons looked at each other, obviously not happy.

  “It isn’t to help the government,” I said. “It’s to help me, personally. A Hunter named Martin Hood has returned from the grave. He’s already tried to kill my entire family and he will not stop until he gets me too.”

  That confused them. “Marty?” Lucius said. “Marty Hood? There’s no way. He was one of the good ones. He was a great kid. You must be mistaken.”

  “Well, that’s what we need to find out. This might be for nothing, but I have to know the truth. Please help me.”

  Joan sighed, exchanging glances with her husband. Lucius adjusted his mighty suspenders. They had been married for forty-plus years, and had reached that point where a lot of communication was unspoken. Lucius responded for them both. “Very well, Owen. We’ll bring the patient outside. Whom do you need to speak to?”

  “Carlos Alhambra.”

  Joan crossed her arms. “Then I’m afraid you’re wasting your time. Carlos hasn’t spoken to anyone in decades.”

  “He’ll speak to me.”

  The spot that the Nelsons picked for our use was a gazebo on the far side of the lawn. None of the patients would be outside this early, and if any patients were at the windows, we would be far enough from the building that they wouldn’t get a clear look at us. Franks would be just a random big dude in a bad suit, not the man who personally murdered their fellow survivors who couldn’t keep their mouths shut.

  A morning mist was rising from the Alabama River. Separating it from us was a wrought-iron fence. Most of the patients at Appleton were here voluntarily, but there were a few who weren’t, and there were others screwed up enough to decide that the river was a great place to take a header into. Tall trees, draped in Spanish moss, surrounded us. It was actually a very peaceful moment and I took the time to savor it, because what was coming next was probably going to suck.

  “So, how have you been?” Lucius Nelson asked.

  “Other than the whole death cult thing, pretty good actually.” The two of us were sitting on a bench inside the gazebo. Franks was wandering through the trees, probably checking the perimeter. Holly was fifty feet away, throwing rocks over the fence into the river to watch them splash. Joan had left to retrieve Carlos, and Trip had gone with her. “You guys are coming to the wedding, right?”

  “Yes, yes, of course. I’ve known Julie since she was a baby. We wouldn’t miss it for the world. We’re rather fond of her, you know. And I would probably be dead if it weren’t for you.”

  That was embarrassing and I felt that it was mostly untrue. “I didn’t do anything that any Hunter wouldn’t have done.”

  “Exactly,” he smiled, then gestured toward Holly. “And how has she been? We haven’t seen her in months.”

  “Holly? Well, as far as I know, she’s okay . . . I didn’t know she was getting professional help. I know you probably can’t talk about it, doctor-patient privilege, and all that, but if there’s ever
anything that I can do to help her, just let me know. She’s my teammate and my friend, and finding out that she’s still hurting, still needing help . . . is just terrible,” I said truthfully. “Though after what she went through, who could blame her?” I added quickly, not wanting to offend the good doctor over the importance of his counseling.

  He laughed. “Getting help? Son, she is the help.”

  “Huh?”

  “That young lady is a volunteer on her days off. She comes in and helps out with the patients, visits, listens to them talk, plays Ping-Pong and checkers. She’s especially good with the little children. She’s wonderful, really brightens everyone’s day, and we’ve been sad that she’s been too busy lately, but such is the life of a Hunter. She understands these people, and they love her for it.”

  “Holly? Really?” That was a new one on me. It sure didn’t fit the image that she tried to cultivate. I wondered why she never told us.

  “Oh, here they come,” Lucius pointed back toward the asylum. Joan was leading the way, and Trip was pushing someone in a wheelchair. “Now don’t be disappointed when this doesn’t work. If Carlos actually communicates I’ll be absolutely shocked. He’s been in a total stupor for decades.”

  “How bad is it?”

  Lucius shook his head. “In layman’s terms, he’s checked out, toasted, brain turned off, a borderline vegetable. All he has done for years now is hum simple children’s songs. Carlos was one of the smartest, bravest men I’ve ever known. I was proud to consider him a friend. And then one day, this happened. No medical explanation for it, no brain damage, no serious physical trauma, nothing.”

  “No idea what caused this?”

  “No. He went on a mission, but only his body came back. I don’t . . . I . . .” He lifted his glasses and wiped under his eyes. “Sorry.”

  “I understand.”

  Trip pushed the wheelchair up the ramp and into the gazebo. Carlos was wearing a red bathrobe over a white gown. He was frail, with atrophied muscles, hands so thin that you could see bones through the papery skin, and hair that was buzzed short on his pale skull, probably for ease of maintenance by the staff. His head was lolling slowly from side to side as he stared at his lap. He was humming but I did not recognize the tune.

  Doctor Joan took a cloth from the back of the chair and wiped the drool from his chin. His blank eyes gave no indication that he was aware of any of this. I got off the bench and squatted in front of the wheelchair.

  “Hello, Carlos. My name’s Owen Pitt. I’m a Hunter too. We need to talk.” No response, obviously. “I need to talk to you about Martin Hood. I believe that he’s the one who did this to you and I need your help.”

  “I don’t think he can even hear you, dear,” Joan suggested gently. “He’s shown zero reaction to stimuli since he’s been here. We’ve run every test you can think of.”

  I reached out my hand to touch his, but hesitated. I had talked about ripping the memories right out of his head, but now that I was in his presence, I didn’t feel so confident in my rightness. It seemed awkward and invasive. This was a man, a fellow Hunter, and I had no clue what I was doing.

  “You think this is a good idea?” Trip asked, sensing my hesitation.

  “No, not really,” I snapped. “You got a better idea?”

  He shrugged. “Well, if you’re going to do it, do it before Franks comes back.” Trip was right. I didn’t want the government to know that I had inherited any abilities from the artifact.

  “Do what?” Doctor Joan asked, concerned for her patient.

  “Owen can read minds,” Trip said, then held his finger in front of his lips to indicate that it was a secret.

  “Really?” Lucius was fascinated, probably sensing another paper.

  “I don’t know how it works. It isn’t every time I touch somebody. It seems to be a combination of when they’re thinking about a particularly strong memory while I’m also interested in that same memory. I think . . . I picked this up from the Old Ones somehow.”

  “Well, scientifically, that sounds like a crock of shit,” Joan said.

  “But we’ve seen some weird things,” Lucius added. That was the beauty of working with former Hunters—very flexible minds. “Is it dangerous?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “If they need to be remembering, how’s that supposed to work with somebody who doesn’t think about anything?” Joan asked sensibly.

  I didn’t really know that either. Maybe if I wanted that memory enough for both of us . . .

  “Franks is coming back,” Trip said.

  Aw hell. I touched Carlos’ skeletal hand.

  * * *

  Well, this is certainly different.

  The world was vast, only there was no world. Just a void. An infinite space of nothingness. The void had no boundaries, no beginning, no end. There was no light, no dark, no color. Infinity stretched on forever.

  “Who are you?”

  “I’m Owen,” I answered. “With MHI. Who are you?”

  “I don’t remember,” the voice was male. “What are you doing here?”

  “Where is here?”

  “I don’t remember that either . . .” the voice answered, confused. “But I’m not alone. It lives here too.”

  “Carlos, is that you?”

  But then that first voice was gone. And something hideous took its place. This voice was different, screeching like bagpipes made out of rotten entrails and filled with broken glass. My mind rebelled against the unnatural force.

  THIS IS MY SHELL. FIND YOUR OWN.

  “What are you?” I challenged.

  No answer.

  Talk about weird, but I didn’t have time for this. I needed to find information on Hood. Just having that thought seemed to cause the world to change. “I know that name,” said the first voice. “I know Hood.”

  Now I could see; there was light, space, dimensions and gravity, as a blurry scene unfolded before me. A group of people, obviously Hunters, though their gear was outdated and their team patch was unfamiliar. There was no sound, but the scene was obviously one of welcome, as the group greeted a new member. The extraneous details of the scene were fuzzy gray blotches. The Hunters’ faces were just . . . blank. Pasty blurs of flesh where their features should have been. Only one of the men was clearly visible, the new guy, and the scene focused in on him. He was an overweight young man, with a mop of curly hair, wearing a vest that barely fit over his stomach. His attitude was jovial as he smiled and laughed with the others. The scene slowed, the Hunters’ movements became sluggish, until they quit moving entirely.

  I had a physical form again. I walked between the frozen Hunters, a three-dimensional snapshot from time. Stopping in front of Hood, I studied him. I recognized him from Dorcas’ memory. He had acne scars and looked nothing like the tough guy who had attacked me. In fact he didn’t look like much at all, just a fat, goofy dude about my age.

  “I remember this . . .” said the voice, and this time it came from directly behind me. I turned. One of the Hunters in the scene was speaking. Unlike the others, he still had details. His armor was olive drab, crisscrossed with leather bandoleers of shotgun shells. He was fit, strong, with a skinny beard and a thick head of dark hair just peppered with gray. Hispanic, probably about forty, he was a handsome man, but his eyes were sunken, haunted. I could only barely recognize him as the fragile person who I had met in the real world. “I remember this. It hasn’t taken them all away.”

  “What hasn’t taken them?”

  “Feeder,” he answered, as if that were obvious. “Are you here to help me?”

  “Yes,” I answered, not having any clue how I was supposed to do that. “Where is this Feeder?” Carlos held one finger up and placed it against his temple. I nodded.

  “Don’t worry. It’ll come for us soon. Whenever I remember something, it comes and eats it. I have almost nothing left.”

  “It eats your memories?”

  “More like it consumes, partially dig
ests, and then pukes them back in pieces all over my brain. I’ve only saved a few. I’ve forced myself not to think about them, but I know they’re there. When I remember something, it’s gone forever. All the happy ones are gone.” He held up his left hand, indicating a wedding ring. “I was married, I think, but I don’t remember her. He destroyed those early, since they were the first ones I thought of when I was trapped. Once those were gone, then he took the regular ones. I couldn’t fight him. He’s too strong. He’s always hungry.”

  I could only listen, horrified, wondering if my own were in danger while I was here.

  Carlos stepped between the frozen bits of memory. His whole body was trembling. “I don’t remember any of my life. I know what things are, and what words mean. I guess he can eat the meat, but not the bones. I don’t remember ever experiencing anything. I know what food is, but I don’t know how it tastes, you know what I mean? I’ve got almost nothing.”

  “How’d you save this one?”

  “Oh, he let me keep the bad ones, the ones to taunt me, to laugh at my failure. Everything else I’ve ever experienced is all twisted and broken, but not these. I can relive the mistakes leading up to the end of my life whenever I want. In fact, that’s the only thing that I can do. This thing living in my head is a malevolent motherfucker, that’s for sure. If I could take any joy out of the ones he’s left me, then I’m sure they’d be consumed along with all the rest.”

  “Once he takes everything, what’ll happen to you?”

  “Maybe then he’d just let me die. . . .” he said wistfully.

  This poor man’s mind was being devoured, but the thing doing it was leaving the memories about this one particular Hunter for a reason. “Martin Hood did this to you, didn’t he?”

  He walked past me, through the crowd of distorted figures, and stopped, staring into the frozen eyes of young Mr. Hood. “Will you help me?”