Monster Hunter Nemesis

  “Uh huh.” Durant kept squeezing the rubber doughnut until the burning in his forearms was too much. Then he switched hands. I got an email.

  “I know it’s only been a few days, but we can’t afford to wait to replace the men we lost. It isn’t like we’ve got a shortage of out-of-work combat vets who’d love a job.” Armstrong was a retired Army colonel who had originally gone into private security contracting. Once he’d learned about the lucrative world of professional monster hunting the switch had been a no-brainer. His career had left him with plenty of contacts suited for this line of work. “You know, MHI has a fancy memorial wall with silver plaques on it. It says Sic Transit Gloria Mundi. Supposedly it’s good for morale. We’ll make one . . . but it’ll be bigger. I want gold plaques. Make a note, we need to think of a saying in Latin. Something ballsy but profound.”

  “Yep. Profound.” Durant didn’t really pay much attention when Armstrong got spun up about surpassing MHI. The email was a PUFF alert from the Treasury Department. There had been a major revision to the Perpetual Unearthly Forces Fund table. There were even a few informational attachments included. What interesting new creature am I going to be paid large sums of money to kill today? He began the download.

  “I need to talk to the CFO, but we’ll need hiring bonuses, and we need to upgrade our equipment. Did you see the shit the MCB had there?” Armstrong asked wistfully. “If we’re going to grow, then we need more capital influx. New contracts are great, but that doesn’t help our short term cash flow. I’ve got to wine and dine these investors’ panties off. Don’t worry, Shane. I can bring the charm.”

  But Durant was busy reading the new PUFF table. The new entry’s identity was a bit of a surprise. Then he saw the bounty number. “Whoa . . .” The rubber doughnut fell on the floor and rolled under the couch.

  “What is it?” Armstrong asked.

  “Only the largest PUFF bounty in history.” Durant showed him the phone.

  Armstrong’s mouth fell open. “To hell with the investors! Call up everybody.”

  Berlin, Germany

  “Vater!” The airport was crowded, but his youngest daughter spotted him quickly. Hannah always had a good eye. He very much hoped that she would not follow in his footsteps, and would instead lead a long, peaceful life, but if she did choose to be a Hunter like her father, then her keen observational skills would be very useful.

  Hannah ran up and wrapped her arms around his legs the second he stepped off the escalator. Klaus Lindemann dropped his suitcases, scooped up his daughter, and hugged her tight. “I’m so glad to be home. I missed you, Hannah.”

  “We heard your conference in America turned out to be very scary!”

  “Yes. I will tell you all about it.” Someday. Until she was older he would only give her the edited, adventurous, happy version of the events, where Grimm Berlin had helped battle a horrible monster and had saved the day. He’d leave out the part where Hugo’s head had been hacked off with a rusty sword by a monster ripped from his own nightmares. “Oh my. You have grown so big.”

  “You were only gone for a week!”

  “Leaving you always feels like an eternity.” His men were getting off the escalator behind him. Some of them had family waiting as well. All of them waved at Hannah as they passed. She was so adorable that she was almost Grimm Berlin’s mascot. “Now, where is your mother?”

  “She had to take Matthias to the potty. What is America like?”

  “It is very big and very loud. Everyone is always smiling.”

  “I like smiles.”

  “Of course. You are five. But Americans smile too much. They smile even when they do not mean it.”

  “Their faces must hurt.”

  “Indeed . . .” He noticed that some of his men were talking. Miesen was reading to them from his tablet. Apparently something interesting had happened.

  Miesen saw his employer and hurried over. “Klaus, you need to see this.” He handed Klaus the device. “Hello, Hannah.”

  “Hello, Ryan.” Then she hid her face against her father’s shoulder.

  “Did you meet the MCB man Franks at the conference?” Miesen asked.

  “Yes. He struck me as a rather unpleasant type.”

  “No surprise. It turns out that he’s not even human.”

  Klaus scrolled through the attachment. “The American government was employing a flesh golem and now he is a criminal. Interesting. He’s originally from Darmstadt. Well, I hope they do not attempt to blame his madness on us.”

  “They have declared he is no longer exempt. He is officially a monster. Keep reading.”

  When Lindemann got to the bounty amount, he couldn’t believe his eyes. “Two hundred and fifty million dollars . . . This has to be a mistake.”

  “That’s over one hundred and eighty million euros.” Miesen’s eyes were wide. “Can you imagine?”

  “Is that a lot?” Hannah asked.

  “Yes, Hannah. I am afraid it is far too much.”

  “I checked. They updated the PUFF table. It matches.” Miesen was a very good Hunter, but his perceptions were colored by youth and enthusiasm.

  Klaus was still not convinced this wasn’t a typo, and if it wasn’t a mistake, then that did not bode well. “Does it originate from the same source as our Nachtmar bounty?”

  “That was a huge sum.”

  “It was a lot of money for a giant spider, but it was nothing for what we eventually faced. If that crafty albino feels the need to put such a ridiculous amount on this Franks, then I know something is wrong.” Like most of the Hunters who had been at ICMHP, he’d come to hate the man known as Stricken. He’d paid Grimm Berlin well for their victory, but then had left them to die in the aftermath. Besides, Grimm Berlin had donated the Nachtmar bounty to the families of the Hunters who had died at the Last Dragon. It was not so much, once it was spread out among that many grieving widows.

  “That bounty was wired into Grimm Berlin’s bank account quickly. There’s no reason to think this will be different. Think of what we could do with that!”

  The word had spread. All of his Hunters had drifted over to listen. The men were waiting for him to make a decision. Their spouses did not understand what was going on, but they had seen this look before. Around them, thousands of normal people went about their business, blissfully unaware that the men who protected them from the supernatural were here, facing a sudden, difficult decision. “Ah, Miesen, we were just there. I’ve not even kissed my wife yet.”

  “Do you wish us to stand down, Klaus? You know we will defer to your wisdom.”

  They would follow his orders without question. That was what happened when you were one of the most experienced Monster Hunters alive. “No . . . We will go back.”

  Miesen raised his voice. “You hear that, everyone? The biggest bounty ever will be ours.”

  There were some exaggerated weary groans, but also an undercurrent of excitement. There were also some very angry wives and some Hunters who had some explaining to do.

  “Gather around, men.” To Klaus Lindemann, it wasn’t even about the money. With such a reward, there would be quite the competition among the world’s best Hunters. Whoever succeeded in this endeavor would become a legend. The men were listening. “The Nachtmar surprised us. This time we will be ready for anything. I want everyone that is not actively on a mission to report for duty. Tell them to get here now. Kurt, go get us a flight. I want something fast and I want it ready as soon as possible. Christian, call the armory. Have them bring a full complement of equipment. Anything that the US State Department will not allow across the border, we will arrange for a replacement to be purchased in America.”

  Even a five-year-old could sense the sudden tension. “What’s going on?” Hannah asked.

  He hugged his daughter tight. “I’m sorry, Hannah, but I must go away again. There is work to be done.”

  Macau, China

  Michael Gutterres watched the vampire stagger into the narrow, trash-st
rewn alley. The creature was so glutted on blood that it had become clumsy. Anyone who saw the vile soulless beast would probably just think it was a fat drunk.

  There was a radio inside his motorcycle helmet. It gave him more bad news. “Michael, the other Secret Guard went to the nightclub. I’m afraid we were too late. It has already fed and escaped.”

  “I know. I’m following it now.”

  “Would you care for my assistance?”

  The vampire disappeared into the shadows. “That won’t be necessary, Father. There’s only the one. Go home. It’s late.”

  “That is not wise. It may be young, but it is still a vampire. We are tracking your signal. The nice young men from Switzerland are on their way to assist you.”

  “I’ll be done by the time they get here.”

  “God be with you, Michael.”

  He drove the motorcycle to the end of the street, parked it, and got off. The area was mostly deserted. The market was closed. Most of the streetlights were out. He took off his helmet and listened. He was fairly certain the vampire was alone. If there were multiples, that would just make them more likely to attack. Good. He was tired of chasing this one.

  Headlights temporarily brightened the street, but then the delivery truck rolled past. Even if anyone had seen his face, his ancestry was Portuguese and Chinese, and that would not be memorable here at all. His order was supposed to work in secret. Gutterres started for the alley.

  The cell phone in his pocket buzzed. He checked it. Normally he wouldn’t answer while working, but this was from a number which could never be ignored. Gutterres answered it, but kept walking. Talking would simply make him look distracted, and thus more vulnerable. That vampire had looked so bloated that it would probably be lethargic, but the creatures tended to be territorial, so it wouldn’t tolerate a human poking around its sleeping area.

  “This is Gutterres.”

  There was no greeting or preamble. His contact spoke in Italian. “Agent Franks may have broken The Deal.”

  Every member of the Secret Guard knew about Franks. In a world where everything had its place, he was an uncertain anomaly. “Are you certain?”

  “It appears that way. We need you to go to America.”

  Gutterres entered the alley. It smelled like blood and death. A mangy cat ran past his feet. “Where and when?”

  “He was last seen in Washington. You will depart on the next flight.”

  He kicked a tin can down the alley to make sure he was making plenty of noise. “I need to finish something first.”

  “The flight leaves in an hour.”

  There was movement high above him. Something was clinging to the brick wall. Vampires loved to strike from unexpected angles. He moved one hand inside his shirt and took hold of the sharpened stake tucked into his belt. “That’ll do.”

  “Timing is everything.”

  “It always is,” Gutterres answered as the vampire dropped soundlessly from its perch. Gutterres spun around and drove the stake upward with all his might. The point slammed through the creature’s sternum before the weight landed on Gutterres’ upraised arms, knocking him back into the garbage and filth.

  He did a shoulder roll and came back up in an instant, drawing his pistol, but the vampire could do nothing but hiss and twitch as thick ooze spurted from the hole in its chest. The entry wound was lower than he’d hoped, but part of the heart had still been pierced, and it was enough to immobilize the beast. As long as a stake was through its heart, it was mostly powerless, and that was what mattered.

  Gutterres found the blue light of his phone in the garbage, picked it up, and brushed it off. “I’m sorry. I missed that last part.”

  “There is a complication. A bounty of two hundred and fifty million American dollars has been placed on Franks’ head. You will not be the only one looking for him.”

  “Wow . . . That’s crazy,” he said as the vampire reached for him. Gutterres stomped on its hand. It let out a screech.

  “Our organization is not exactly hurting for money, but we will not turn down any funds.”

  “His Holiness could use that to buy a new Popemobile.”

  “What?”

  “I was kidding, Monsignor. Send me all the information we have on Franks.” He would need something to read anyway, because that was one long flight. The vampire stretched out one claw, trying to grab his shoe again so Gutterres kicked it in the face. “I’ll take care of Franks.”

  “God bless you, my son.” The call ended.

  Gutterres turned back to the fallen vampire. It was trying to pull the stake out, but he’d finish it off long before it would have the chance. There was a sound from the far end of the alley. Someone had just thrown the tin can back his way. He scanned the darkness as the rattling can came to a stop at his feet. Two pairs of red eyes were watching him from behind a dumpster. The vampire hadn’t been alone after all. “Stop right there, fiends.”

  “Who are you to demand anything of us?” one of the young vampires whispered in Cantonese.

  “I am a Knight of the Secret Guard of the Blessed Order of St. Hubert the Protector.” Gutterres pulled a simple wooden cross from his pocket and held it up. “And I am here to cast you from this world.”

  They did not cringe at the sign of the cross. “That thing means nothing to us.”

  “You misunderstand the point of a symbol of faith then.” He walked toward the vampires. “You’re abominations, of course it doesn’t matter to you. What matters is how much it means to me.”

  The alley filled with light.

  Cazador, Alabama

  Earl Harbinger lit up a cigarette. He tried not to smoke in the conference room out of professional courtesy, but it had been a stressful day. They’d only just gotten back to the compound, and already their world was getting flipped upside down again. His team were gathered around the conference table, every last one of them staring at the piece of paper sitting in the middle like it was a snake that was about to bite them. In a way, he supposed it probably was.

  It was the largest PUFF bounty ever, and it was being offered as part of a special, one of a kind deal. A quarter billion bucks . . . He may have been one tough son of a bitch, but he was still vulnerable to conventional weapons. There was no crazy magic, no weird effects, ancient curses, or mystical bullshit. It was just a lone flesh golem. Normally, taking that on would be a no-brainer.

  But this was Franks they were talking about.

  Holly Newcastle broke the silence. “That sure is a lot of money . . .”

  Owen Pitt pounded his fist on the table. “We can’t spend it if we’re dead!”

  The room went back to being unnaturally quiet.

  On the surface, this was straightforward. Franks was like him. They were special, but they still had to abide by certain rules. When something like them strayed off the reservation, then it was open season. If the tables were turned, and Earl had murdered some innocent people, then his PUFF exemption would be revoked, and Franks wouldn’t give a shit about their history. Franks would do his best to put Earl in the ground.

  Earl took a drag from his cigarette. “I want everyone’s opinion.”

  Milo Anderson had just got back from his cadaver delivery at the body shack, and hadn’t even bothered to take off his rubber apron. “We know Franks.”

  “We know he’s an asshole,” Holly muttered.

  “Well yeah, but he’s the good guy’s asshole. Wait. That’s not right. I mean he’s one of the good guys,” Milo said. “Nominally . . . Okay, sometimes. Probably a little.”

  Milo was something of an idealist, and even he was having a hard time thinking of Franks as good.

  “Come on. We know Franks has done some pretty awful things to innocents.” Trip Jones especially didn’t have any patience for the MCB’s witness intimidation. It offended his sense of honor. Earl liked having Trip on his team because it was good to have a Hunter with an actual conscience. “Is him murdering a bunch of Feds really that farfetched t
o anybody?”

  There were a lot of shrugs and shaking heads at that.

  Julie Shackleford reached out, grabbed the paper, and pulled it over so she could read it again. Earl noted that she’d not offered her thoughts yet. He knew Julie didn’t like Franks much. He was the walking embodiment of all the ways the MCB had screwed them over. He’d expected Julie, with her mind for business, to be intrigued by this bounty. Maybe being pregnant was making her soft, hormones and whatnot—either that, or she’d love to take a shot at Franks herself, but knew that her husband would flip out about her participating. This was Franks they were talking about after all.

  “Franks is too dangerous,” Owen said.

  “You’re scared of Franks,” Holly said. “You’re letting that color your perceptions, Z.”

  “Oh, bullshit. If somebody’s not scared of Franks they haven’t been paying attention.” Owen snapped.

  “Well, you shouldn’t worry because you’re not going anyway,” Holly pointed down.

  Owen had one arm and one leg in a cast from Las Vegas. “This? No. I’m worried for any poor, dumb Hunter stupid enough to get suckered into taking a shot at the title. Look, I’ve spent more time with Franks than any of you. He’s a killer. No matter how hard you think he is, you’re still underestimating him.”

  “Admit it. He’s grown on you,” Trip said.

  “He’s saved my life a couple times. I’d go so far as to admit grudging respect.”

  “Yeah, you might like him some, but the minute the government decides that your weird psychic thing makes you dangerous, who do you think they’d send to kill you?” Trip demanded.

  “Franks,” Owen admitted.

  “Or what if they decided they didn’t like Julie carrying the Guardian’s curse? Or they didn’t think Earl should be exempt anymore? Or they don’t want to look the other way for our orcs anymore. Who will they send?”

  “Franks.”

  “Exactly. And not just for hypotheticals about you guys, they routinely send him to beat witnesses into submission. No matter how much he’s helped us in the past, it isn’t because he’s got a heart of gold under all that hate, it’s because he was following orders that happened to not include killing us. He murders people, Z.” Trip was really sticking to his guns on this one. Earl was impressed.