The Monster Hunters

by Larry Correia

  “Z!” Holly screamed. I grabbed my hand. Blood drizzled down my arm. Trip tore my hand away and began dumping a bottle of water on the wound. There it was, clear as day, a serious bite mark.

  Stupid, stupid, stupid. “Oh man . . .”

  “Skin’s broken!” Trip shouted. “Gretchen! Help!”

  Zombie bite. One hundred percent fatality rate.

  The healer pushed her way through the crowd. I started to rise, but she pushed me down with shocking strength. I could see the reflection of the wound in her mirrored glasses.

  Impossible. It can’t be.

  “Can we cut his arm off?” the Utah Hunter asked.

  “Oh, hell,” I whimpered. But it beat the alternative.

  Edward stepped forward, sword in his hand. I cringed, knowing that with that two-foot razor blade I wouldn’t even have to take my armor off. The orc warrior looked to Gretchen for wisdom. If she gave the go-ahead, there would be no hesitation.

  Gretchen shook her head. Ed lowered the sword.

  “Amputation doesn’t work,” Holly said, her voice flat. I knew that she had an eerie ability to fall into a state of utter calm when she was really freaked out. “Just causes blood loss that kills the subject faster. The contamination spreads instantly through the nervous system.”

  I was hovering between disbelief and panic. Such a stupid Newbie mistake . . .

  Sam kicked the body. “Maybe it wasn’t a zombie,” he said hopefully. “I’ve never seen a zombie animate that fast after death.”

  There was laughter. It seemed strangely out of place. The crowd around me all turned toward the unnatural sound. The group parted enough that I could see. The cultist with no arms was sitting up. “Of course you haven’t seen anything animate that fast, fools.” The squid amulet on his chest was glowing. His eyes were open but rolled back sightless into his head. “You’ve never dealt with my art before. Well, well, well, now isn’t this just a happy bonus.”

  Hood. Somehow he was channeling himself through the dying cultist. Multiple guns lifted to eliminate the new threat. “Hold your fire!” I screamed. The Hunters didn’t shoot, but they didn’t lower their weapons. “What do you want?”

  “I warned you, Pitt. Now you’re coming into my world, whether you like it or not. The plague is in your blood now, chap. Game over.” The voice came from the cultist’s mouth, but the lips didn’t move.

  I struggled to my feet. “Liar!”

  “Your body will try to fight it at first. As we speak, your temperature is rising, trying to battle the infection. Within a second of introduction it began taking over, traveling down every nerve, every vein, artery, and fiber. Your very DNA will be torn apart. Once your brain tissue is overwhelmed, the transformation will be complete. Your heart will stop and the only thing that will matter then is finding your next raw-flesh meal . . . Welcome to the family.” I stumbled toward the cultist. “Look at that, dead man walking.” Hood laughed again.

  “Marty?” It was Myers.

  The lolling head turned vaguely in the direction of the Fed. “Hello, Dwayne.”

  “No, it can’t be,” Myers sputtered. “What are you doing?”

  “Fulfilling my destiny. You were my best mate once and one of the few who truly mourned me. I appreciate that. I always will. But you’re in my way now, so you’ll step aside if you know what’s good for you.” The cultist’s head flopped forward, chin against his chest. “Nothing personal.”

  Hood wasn’t here just to gloat. “What do you want?” I asked.

  The body jerked, throwing the head back hard on the neck, rolling around on the shoulders. “Perceptive. I’ve won, but now the question is, to what degree will be my victory? Killing you, especially in such a horrid way, fulfills the letter of my orders, but I want to also fulfill the spirit. I have a covenant to live up to, and I don’t make promises lightly. Come to me, Pitt. That way I can turn you over to the Great One itself. In exchange, I’ll return your brother.”

  “How do I know he’s still alive? I don’t even know you’ve got him for sure.”

  The blood-soaked mud before the cultists ignited in a small flame. The flame traveled in a circle, like an old-fashioned dynamite string. The flame reached its starting point, forming a tiny circle. There was a pop and a splash in the mud. The flames flickered and died in the breeze. There were several small objects resting in the puddle.

  Fingers.

  “I’m sure Dwayne can print those for you if you like, but trust me, they belong to your brother. And he certainly won’t be playing the guitar ever again. I never liked that kind of music; too—oh, what’s the word I’m looking for?—Brash? Offensive? I prefer the classics. . . . Your call, Pitt. Die alone, hiding in your compound, or die for something useful. Give your life in one final act of mercy to free your brother and slake the thirst of my impatient god.”

  My pulse thundered in my ear. My face was flushed with heat. “Where?” I hissed.

  “Return to this place in exactly one hour. It will take that long to prepare a portal large enough. Do not attempt any trickery. Only one person will be able to pass through the portal. Don’t bother sending through a bomb—I’ll see it coming and not open the gate on my side. Personally, I won’t be close enough to the portal for it to matter anyway. I’ll only open the portal for you. And as punishment I’ll send your brother to the other side for the amusement of the Dread Overlord in your place. Do you agree to my terms?”

  I was going to die. Mosh didn’t have to.

  “See you soon,” I answered.

  The cultist dropped limply to the ground as Hood’s consciousness left him. Just to be on the safe side, several Hunters shot the body in the head.

  It was quiet for a long moment as everyone in the clearing stared at me. It was just starting to sink in. I’d been bitten by a zombie.

  “You can’t do this,” Sam said. “It’s suicide.”

  Agent Archer joined us, pushing rudely past the orcs. He had a device similar to the blood sugar testers diabetics used in hand. “Hold still,” he said as he pushed the needle against my neck. It made a hissing noise at it stabbed me. He pulled it away and studied the little screen, biting his lip. The whole group was totally silent, watching Archer and his little box for about thirty painful seconds. My stomach hurt from the fear. All I could hear was my breathing. A little red light began to flash on the tester. I lowered my head as the group began to murmur.

  I’m dead.

  Strangely, I was calm, staring at the mud. “No such thing as suicide if you’re already dead, Sam. How long do I got?” I asked. The Hunters exchanged glances. “How long?” I shouted.

  “Calm down, Z. Maybe it was . . . something else.” Trip said. “Maybe it’s wrong.”

  Archer cut in. “It’s not a lycanthropy test. The zombie infection tester is always accurate.”

  My mouth was totally dry. I was so terrified it hurt to talk. “How long?”

  Myers spoke up. “The longest a healthy person has ever lasted after being bitten was five hours. Most are done in under two depending on the severity of the . . . well, you know . . .” He wouldn’t look me in the eye. He studied his shoes. “Sorry.”

  The old Hunter, Cody, carefully picked the fingers out of the mud. He also pulled up a short piece of rope. It had to be related to how the Condition’s teleportation magic worked. “Maybe we can use this somehow?” I had no idea how, but he carefully stowed the rope too.

  It was settled. “I’m going after my brother. Can you put a tracking device on me?” I suggested. Maybe my sacrifice didn’t have to be in vain.

  Myers pointed at my armor and then at my shotgun. “Already done. That’s why we gave your gear back to you in Mexico.”

  I should have known. Any act of kindness from them had ulterior motives. “Well . . . hell . . .”

  My friends were scared. They all knew that I was doomed. Nobody knew what to say.

  “Let’s get back to base. I’ve got an hour. I’m not going out without a fight
.”

  * * *

  Time was running out.

  MHI had taken a beating. Several Newbies had died during the attack, as well as one team lead, Williams, out of Kansas City. We had six others with serious injuries and over a dozen with various degrees of damage. The injured had been evacuated to the hospital in Montgomery. We were also missing our most experienced Hunter, since Earl was down with a demon trying to devour his mind. A group of us had gathered in the conference room to come up with ideas. Frankly, I didn’t have any. More Hunters arrived every second. Word had spread quickly.

  I hadn’t even had a chance to explain to Julie what had happened, but by the time I had gotten back to the compound, somebody had already informed her of the zombie bite. She hadn’t left my side since. It was a good thing that we were so preoccupied, because I honestly had no idea what to say. Sorry, honey, gonna die soon. Gotta go take care of some business. Sorry you’re cursed by evil.

  Instead I was standing at the front of the room while Milo used black electrical tape to tie row after row of green glow sticks to my armor.

  “Telekinesis keeps taking out flashlights, but if he pops one of these, it just covers you in more diphenyl oxalate and hydrogen peroxide,” Milo explained.

  “Glowing crap,” I said.

  “Yes, glowing crap. Remember, you’ll need to crack and shake when you need them.”

  “How am I supposed to do that?”

  “Roll around or something.”

  “You look ridiculous,” Sam said.

  “Got a better idea?” I snapped. Knowing that you’re counting down toward certain death makes you tense.

  “Three hundred pounds of C4 shaped into a giant Owen doll,” he muttered.

  “Hood won’t go for that. Nothing big or elaborate. We’ve already shot him, burned him, and blown him up. Even if he sees I’m armed, he’s cocky. He’ll think he can take me, so he’ll let me in. Then maybe I can figure out a way to kill him.” It was stupid, but it was the best that I had, and going quietly wasn’t my style.

  Holly had cleaned the bite, applied a bandage and wrapped my hand. It was an utterly useless gesture. What was I going to do, get an infection?

  “Has anybody ever lived through a zombie bite?” asked Trip.

  “Never . . .” Julie said. “I’ve never . . . never heard . . .” Her voice broke badly. “Sorry.”

  I reached over and squeezed her hand. I only had to be strong for an hour. She had to be strong the rest of her life. I was trying to not show it, but I was already feeling the effects of the bite. My stomach ached and my head hurt. My eyes grated in their sockets as they moved. It was like I was coming down with a bad flu.

  The small length of rope was lying on the table. I had no idea where the fingers had ended up. On the bridge at Buzzard Island, Bia had thrown a bigger piece of rope on the ground, and it had turned into some sort of portal. That piece had also apparently led back to the shadow man’s lair. Esmeralda was studying the cord intently.

  “Do you really think we can figure out how to activate that thing?” I asked.

  “Maybe,” she replied. “I’ve heard of these things before. I read about them somewhere in the archives a long time ago. Where’s Lee, already?”

  “I’m coming,” he shouted from the hallway. Our librarian hobbled in a moment later. He dropped a heavy book and a bunch of half-burned papers on the table, so preoccupied that it was as if he didn’t even notice the rest of us. “I’ve got it. I cross-referenced it under dimensional gates.” He opened it with a thump. “It works on the same principle, like a portable version of the door in DeSoya Caverns.”

  “That’s awesome,” Sam responded. “Can we turn it on and dump a strike force in the bad guy’s lap or not?”

  Esmeralda held up the rope and touched the ends together. It only made a tiny circle. “You got a team of attack leprechauns around here I don’t know about?”

  Sam punched the wall. He wasn’t taking this very well. I was still strangely calm. Julie’s little brother entered the room. He paused long enough to nod at me, but then looked away uncomfortably. It was like being a guest at your own funeral. A lot of people were struggling right now.

  “The damaged papers are what’s left of Ray Shackleford’s notes that got burned during the Christmas party. There were things in there about portals. And this old book has a section on them too.” Lee began flipping pages. “I’m trying to figure out if we can tweak this one, make it bigger or something, or even if we can turn it on, but this book was written hundreds of years ago. It’s not exactly easy to understand, and I’m having to use a computer translator, unless any of you guys speak Renaissance German.”

  Milo looked over. “At least that one’s got pictures . . .”

  There were other pictures before Lee got to the magic rope section and one of them looked familiar. “Lee, stop. Go back a few pages . . . There. Milo, check that out.”

  Milo looked up from his glow sticks as he bit the end off the tape roll. “Hmmm . . . that’s kind of like our ward stone.”

  Lee looked at it, puzzled. “That’s what that is?”

  Of course, he had never seen it. “Yeah, that’s it. What book is that?”

  Lee flipped it over. “If I’m reading this right, Principles of Alchemical Artifacts and Unnatural Philosophy. It has stuff about teleportation, animating corpses, alternate dimensions, immortality potions, that kind of thing. . . . It was written by somebody named Konrad Dippel.”

  That name rang a bell.

  Julie might have been in a state of shock, but she was also our best historian. “He was an alchemist, one of the really talented ones, a peer of Isaac Newton. It’s possible that he would know how to make this teleportation thing work, if we could just decipher his notes.”

  “That’s just awesome trivia, but it doesn’t help us save Earl,” Sam spat. “Sorry, Z, I appreciate what you’re doing. Futile noble gesture, man, but I can’t stomach letting you do this on your own.”

  “I know, Sam. If we’re lucky the Feds’ tracking device will work and you can come avenge me.” I grimaced. I had to hang in there; everybody here needed me to stay tough. I couldn’t break down yet. “Wait a second.” I raised one hand. That disturbed Milo, who was busy shoving road flares in every pouch on my back. “Why’s that name familiar? Dippel?”

  Julie thought about it for a moment. “Well . . . Dippel’s experiments on cadavers were carried out at the castle with the same name as the doctor in the book. A lot of people think he’s the man who inspired Mary Shelley.”

  “Who?” asked Holly.

  “The woman who wrote Frankenstein,” Trip answered.

  It clicked.

  “Get Agent Franks.”

  We located Franks at the hangar where the Fed choppers were currently parked. The MCB had taken over the building and turned it into their command post. This pissed off a lot of Hunters, but the Feds played by their own rules and we were in no shape to argue. The main doors were open and I barged directly past the guards there. One of them moved to stop me.

  “I need to see Agent Franks.”

  He automatically looked back into the open space. A twenty-foot-wide white tent had been put just inside the hangar door. There were figures moving around on the other side of the thin fabric. “I’ll have to check.”

  A voice came through the fabric. “Let them in.” Myers appeared around the corner of the tent. “How are you feeling?” he asked awkwardly. Knowing that I was ready to kick the bucket any minute had at least made him slightly humble.

  “Oh, I’m just peachy. Thanks for asking.” The dead automatons had been stacked neatly on the hangar floor in rows. Multiple agents were ripping them apart, looking for clues. “Where’s Franks?”

  Myers studied me for a moment. “He said you knew . . .” Then he glanced at the half-dozen or so Hunters standing behind me. “They wait here.” Julie stepped up to my side. She didn’t need to say a word as she gave Myers a look of utter coldness. He nodded o
nce, understanding that she wasn’t ready to leave me yet. “Fine, but what you’re about to see is classified way beyond top secret. You have to take this to the grave with you.”

  “At least that won’t take me long!” I exclaimed sarcastically. Julie visibly flinched. It made me feel guilty.

  We followed Myers into the hospital tent. Several gowned and masked individuals were clustered over an operating table. Around them were beeping machines and a cart with various clean red organs stacked on it. The medical team parted as I approached. Franks was on the table. Myers had to look away.

  The big man was a mess. His chest was cracked wide, held open with some sort of stainless steel device. A doctor stepped back, holding what appeared to be a damaged lung. Shockingly enough, Franks was awake and propped up on pillows. The fact that I could see his internal organs didn’t seem to bug him any.

  He slowly turned, eyes lingering on the bandage encircling my left hand. “Looks like I failed.”

  “Yeah, you did,” I responded. “But let’s make it count for something.”

  Franks dipped his head slightly. That was probably the closest thing he’d ever made to an apology.

  “I need someone to help Lee and Esmeralda figure out how to reactivate Hood’s teleportation device. We have a book that talks about that kind of device, written by somebody named Dippel. I have a feeling that you know something about his work.”

  The big man closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, I could see that they were still different colors, the blue one probably donated by some poor sucker from the concert. “Know his work? I am his work.” Franks then addressed the doctor. “Wrap it up.”

  “But, sir, you still need another kidney, and you’ve also sustained damage to several major muscle groups. We need more time.”

  Franks looked at my hand again. He knew we were out of time. “Start stapling.” The medical team complied immediately. Before they folded his chest closed, I noted that his physiology diverged wildly from anything I had ever seen in a biology textbook. There appeared to be extra organs and his ribcage was more of a hardened plate with flexible bits than separate bones. It was seriously weird. Franks caught me staring. “The taxpayers paid for some upgrades.”