Monster Hunter Legion

  The bird seemed rather nervous. “Edward, why do you have a chicken?”

  Edward tucked the chicken carefully under one arm. “Sacrifice . . . For tail row-tor spirits.” Then he walked toward the trailer. It took the befuddled Trip a second to realize that was where he had been heading to begin with and he followed along.

  Lindemann paused by my side. “Your administrative assistant is an odd sort.”

  “Chicken theft? That’s totally going on his next evaluation.”

  CHAPTER 7

  While Trip checked the trailer, I investigated the shop. Between the German’s explosive device and Milo’s mad minute, every light in the place had been busted, so I used my flashlight to maneuver. We had really trashed the garage, and everything that could break, had. I poked around behind the tool chests and shined my light down into the oil pit, but the only other spiders I could find were the normal, itty-bitty kind, and even then, chucking a small bomb into an enclosed space did wonders for cleaning out the cobwebs.

  The bathroom hadn’t been cleaned for years, but it didn’t matter anyway, since the toilet had been pulverized into porcelain shards by a few 7.62 rounds. The water tube had been severed and was spraying the grimy remains. Through the now broken door, the small convenience store was in even worse shape. It had been a dark little place to begin with, and the only thing left on the shredded walls was a girly calendar from the nineteen-eighties. A rack of engine oil and antifreeze had been completely obliterated, and the nasty puddle filled most of the tiny space. Broken glass crunched under my boots as I circled the counter, where I found the rest of the proprietor.

  I had to look away, and considering what I do for a living, that’s saying something.

  Something moved in the entrance. Startled, I spun around and lifted Abomination.

  It was only a man. I quickly turned Abomination’s muzzle aside. “Don’t sneak up on people like that.” Even with my flashlight pointed to the side, plenty of light bounced back for me to see that he was young, probably in his late teens or early twenties, Asian, fit, with a short, neatly parted haircut, no armor, but dressed in unfamiliar olive drab fatigues. The style of his clothing tipped me off. Some of our rival Hunters had arrived. “Who are you?”

  The young man stared at me and didn’t answer. Considering all of the foreign companies Stricken had unleashed on this place, he probably didn’t speak English. I had met a lot of people today, but I didn’t recognize this one. “You speak English? Who are you with?”

  “With? I’m with . . .” He blinked a few times, confused, then rubbed his face, like he was just waking up. “I don’t know. Nobody, I guess. I’ve got to find her.”

  His English was fine. “Who are you looking for?”

  He moved slowly, unsteady, as if really seeing the destroyed store for the first time. He looked past me and saw the pile of limbs and organs that had recently been a person. “It’s happening again.”

  “What are you—” Then I realized that he was unarmed, or at least with nothing that I could see. Because of the military cut of his clothing, I’d assumed he was a Hunter, but why come here without a weapon? Was he a local who’d just blundered in? But he didn’t seem shocked or disgusted to see the body, just disappointed. “Who are you?”

  “Z?” I turned to see Trip coming through the doorway from the garage. “Who’re you talking to?”

  I turned back around and the young man was gone.

  Running for the entrance, I stepped in the puddle of oil, slipped, and nearly went down, but I skidded along and made it to the door. I stepped outside, looked both ways. He was gone. Ten feet into the parking lot and I could see around the police car, and . . .

  Nothing.

  “You okay?” Trip asked as he followed me outside.

  “I was just talking to a guy. He was right here. Asian kid, about this tall.” I held one hand out at shoulder height. I turned back around, but the cold desert was empty. “I thought he was one of the other Hunters.” Nervous, Trip took his night vision monocular out and used that to scan the parking lot. I looked behind the tow truck but the stranger was gone. “Weird.”

  “If we had a normal job, I’d laugh it off and say you imagined it, but . . .”

  “Flexible minds,” I repeated MHI’s unofficial motto as I rubbed my face with one glove. I could’ve sworn I’d been having a conversation with a real person. Maybe Lacoco had hit me harder yesterday than I’d thought. “Hell if I know.” Trip looked like he was eager to show me something. “What’ve you got?”

  Trip held up a DVD case. “You love B-movies. Seen this one?”

  “Terrorantula? Nope.” The cover shot was a girl in a bikini being menaced by a bad CGI spider. I flipped it over and read the back. “Shocking tale, special effects masterpiece . . . a mutant spider terrorizes a camp for wayward girls. Rated R for horror, violence, language, and nudity. Terror. Tarantula. Terrorantula. I’ll have to add it to my Netflix queue.”

  “The DVD was still in the machine. I think this was our victim’s entertainment last night. You seeing what I’m seeing?”

  I looked at the picture again. “No way . . .” It did have an uncanny resemblance to the dead thing next to the trailer, though the real one was scarier.

  “That’s what I said. Coincidence?”

  “If he watched Jaws the night before and got eaten by a shark while surfing in the shark-infested ocean, that would be a plausible coincidence. But Terror-friggin’-antula in the middle of Nowhere, Nevada, which isn’t exactly known for giant spiders? What are the odds of that?”

  “We’ll have to ask Lee. Dude dreads giant spiders. I bet he knows right off the top of his head, but odds? Astronomical?”

  “Trip, I know it offends your tender Baptist sensibilities when I use profanity, but what the fuck is going on here?”

  Trip pointed to the north. “Choppers inbound. We can always ask the MCB.”

  * * *

  The Monster Control Bureau arrived a few minutes later, blasting in with two Blackhawks and a single Apache helicopter and doing their whole usual dramatic entrance, slide down the ropes and yell at everyone bit. I warned Lindemann and his men about what to expect, so we were prepared to go peacefully. The MCB response wasn’t nearly as ham-fisted as I was used to, and the responding agents didn’t even make us lay face down in the snow while screaming commands at us. I suspect that was because Agent Archer was the first one down the rope and he recognized me right away. Lindemann started to explain what had gone down, but things got really complicated when several Nevada Highway Patrol cars came in, sirens blaring, and the Feds started fighting with the locals, who were really pissed off and anxious to find their man in distress.

  The MCB kept the cops away from the giant spider, but they allowed me to at least tell the cops that we’d airlifted their buddy out. However, they did it with an agent standing in my shadow to make sure I didn’t say anything about any monsters. Monsters? That’s crazy talk! Things began to calm down when the responders got word that Holly had radioed their dispatch and reported that they were on the way to the hospital.

  After that, the scene became a circus. Several bullet bikes were stopped at the south roadblock, ridden by Hunters who’d snagged the fastest thing they could in Vegas. Paranormal Tactical arrived next in several SUVs with tinted windows, having broken a lot of speed limits to get here. From a distance, I witnessed Armstrong arguing with Agent Archer when the MCB wouldn’t let them through the barricade. Earl’s group that had come in the jet arrived from the opposite direction, riding in two borrowed pickups. They got stuck at the roadblock on that end. I sent Trip and Edward to meet them. Trip snuck the DVD with him, and Edward still had his kidnapped chicken.

  I had somebody else I wanted to speak with first.

  Agent Franks was inside the store, squatting next to the body, examining the carnage. Two other agents were taking pictures. I figured that since they hadn’t thrown me out yet—since officially I’d been here for the assist—talki
ng was worth a shot. “Looking for any useful replacement bits? His left foot still seems to be in pretty good shape.”

  Franks stood and glared at me.

  “How’s that work, though? Do you have to try to find new feet in the same size? Because otherwise buying shoes would be a real pain the ass. Excuse me, I’d like these, but in a size ten for the right and a size thirteen for the left. I bet the shoe store hates you.”

  “Escort Pitt from the premises,” Franks told his men, then went back to his examination. “If he resists, shoot him in the face.”

  “Well, that’s fairly specific.” Before the first agent could reach me, I quickly said, “I wanted to talk about a mythological horse.”

  Franks held up one hand. His men paused. “Leave us.” The agents knew better than to question Franks, gathered their cameras, gave me the stink-eye, and walked out, making quite a bit of noise on the broken glass. “What do you want, Pitt?”

  “Your radio on?”

  Franks moved his hand over and shut it off.

  “Stricken? Know him? Really white fella, kind of scary. Controls a shadow government agency and throws millions of dollars at monsters worth a couple thousand bucks. Ringing any bells?”

  “Ought to ring your bell . . .” Franks muttered, not bothering to look at me. “I know of him.”

  “I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting him in person either, but you know about this job he sent us all on . . . Did you hear the part where he said one of his teams went missing?”

  Franks stopped poking at the body for a moment to shake his head in the negative.

  “Interesting, don’t you think? Assuming he was telling the truth, a Unicorn team, including a werewolf that Earl Harbinger insists is remarkably talented, went missing. You heard about any more of these spiders?”

  No response. I took that as another no.

  “You’d think they’d stick out, rampaging and all. So just this one little critter takes out a strike team made up of PUFF-exempt monsters, massacres a truck stop full of people, then runs thirty miles an hour to come down here to eat this guy. Odd.”

  “Your point?”

  “Just wondering. Is the MCB as in the dark about this as we are?”

  “I see fine in the dark. You don’t. You still owe me a kidney.”

  Accidently shoot a guy once and he never lets you live it down. “I’ve got the organ donor sticker on my driver’s license. I’ll make sure to put you in my will. Agent Franks gets my kidneys. I hope you’re not in a rush to collect.”

  Franks stood up. “Keep pushing and find out . . .”

  “Stricken is who got Myers demoted. Right?”

  Franks stepped over the body and began walking to the garage.

  “Franks, wait.” Luckily, he paused, because I probably couldn’t have stopped him if I’d wanted to. “Myers is a scumbag, but we both know that everything he did, no matter how stupid or ineffectual it was, was to defend this country. This new guy, I don’t know what his deal is. All I know is something strange is going on. Not just in this particular case, but all over the world. Myers knew that. He could see the pattern. I know you can, too. Now you’ve got a puppet for a boss and a shady character calling the shots. We’ve both been to the other side. We know what’s out there. I don’t want them—”

  “Do you ever get to the point?”

  I suppose by Franks’ taciturn standards I’d just given a speech. “Okay, fine. I’m offering my help.”

  Franks seemed to think about it at least. “Noted . . .” Then the big agent simply left the room. The two agents that had been waiting a polite distance away returned to take their photographs.

  So much for trying to be nice. Not that I particularly wanted to throw my lot in with Franks, but this whole situation was making me uneasy. Change was in the air, and not in a good way. Distracted by thoughts of the day’s odd revelations and new questions, I walked down the road in the dark, making my way to where the rest of MHI was parked at the police barricade. It was time to go home; well, Vegas was close enough to home for now. At least it was warmer there. After the stomach-churning ride up here, I was happy to volunteer to drive a car home. Hell, I’d walk.

  The sound of shouting stopped me in my tracks. It wasn’t fearful or surprised shouting, which were the sorts that Hunters tuned into the fastest because it usually meant that something was coming to eat you, but rather this was officious and angry shouting, which wasn’t as dangerous, but nearly as interesting. I stopped to listen, and when I couldn’t hear exactly what was being said, I put in my electronic hearing protection and cranked the volume all the way up.

  Two figures were standing next to the garage under the few remaining lights of the elevated sign. I was standing in the center of a dark road, so I could see them a bit, but they couldn’t see me at all. The hulking one in all the body armor was obviously Agent Franks. The thinner man in the trench coat was unfamiliar, but he was the one doing the shouting.

  “—stuff it! I don’t care what Myers would’ve done. Myers is out. This is a Task Force mission now! If you don’t like it, call your new boss. Stark will tell you the same thing. Stay out of our way.”

  “Sir,” Franks didn’t so much as raise his voice, but he still managed to sound dangerous. “With all due respect—”

  The other man was oblivious to just how lethal Franks could be. “I don’t want your opinion, Agent. MCB is glorified crowd control and I don’t see any witnesses here for you to intimidate. Man your little roadblocks and write your press releases. If we need a trigger pulled, we’ll call you. Until then we’ll do the heavy lifting.”

  Franks wasn’t deterred. “This smells like Decision Week—”

  “The Task Force will make that determination after we inspect the evidence. Not you. Mr. Stricken wants you back in Las Vegas. You’re too stupid to make policy decisions.”

  I was shocked that Franks didn’t simply reach over and pull the man’s arms off. I wasn’t aware that you could insult Franks that directly and live. But Franks stood there, absolutely motionless and just took it. How powerful were these Unicorn people?

  “Director Myers was deluded. The president made his call. They keep you around to kill things, Agent Franks, not for your brains. You’re a relic. You’re a monster that’s been given too long of a leash. Your handlers have given you too much leeway for too long. You’ll shut up, get in line, and do what you’re told. Get that through your thick, armor-plated skull, and we’ll all be better off.”

  “You need me,” Franks said, so quietly that I could barely pick it up.

  “If it was up to me, we’d dismantle you and bring back the Nemesis Project.” The stranger was actually stupid and prideful enough to laugh at Franks.

  Franks’ manner changed. Just a little shifting of his stance, but I could sense the sudden danger from where I was. Franks had just switched from Obsequious Government Employee Mode to Kill Your Ass Mode. This ought to be good. The new guy must have caught the subtle difference too, as the laughter quickly died. The agent gently placed one large hand on the stranger’s shoulder.

  “Mr. Foster . . . I’ve been ordered to tolerate you people. If you ever mention Nemesis around me again that tolerance ends, along with your life.” He said it in such a way, so casually, that there was absolutely no doubt he was telling the truth. “Tell Stricken that I’ll follow the president’s directive, but the next STFU toady that annoys me leaves in a bag.” Franks must have given a little squeeze because Foster yelped in pain. “Understand?” Foster nodded vigorously and scurried away. It was amazing how fast roles could reverse with good old-fashioned threats of serious bodily harm. Franks turned, looked right at me, and began walking my way, taking long, angry strides.

  Uh-oh . . .

  I thought about running, but if he was mad at me, it wouldn’t have done any good. I stood my ground. “Franks.”

  He stopped in front of me. “Pitt.” It was obvious that he’d known I was listening. Well, he had just said he cou
ld see in the dark.

  “So, what’s Project Nemesis?”

  “Classified.”

  “Decision Week?”

  “Classified.”

  “Okay then . . .” We both stood there awkwardly for a moment. I looked around the desert, stuck my hands in my pockets, and began to whistle.

  Franks seemed pained. “Still want to help?”

  That had to have been difficult for him. “Sounds like you’re thinking about doing something through unofficial channels.”

  He shrugged.

  “Depends. Will the president be upset?”

  “I’ve killed ogres smarter than this administration,” Franks answered unexpectedly. Rather than wait for my answer, he began walking toward one of the parked MCB helicopters.

  It was a difficult and dangerous choice. Get involved in power struggles that were way over my head and maybe get some answers, or stay put and miss out on information relating to some very strange and potentially world-altering events. I really didn’t have a choice. Being a Monster Hunter isn’t just a job for some of us, it’s a calling. I was a meat shield for the entire human race. Innocent people were alive because of the hard choices I’d made and the risks I’d taken. It was a track record that I’d like to keep.

  I’m such a sucker. I followed him.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Classified.”

  It was shaping up to be a long night.

  CHAPTER 8

  I left a message with Julie telling her that I would be out of pocket for a bit, couldn’t say where I was going, how long I’d be gone, but not to worry, I’d explain later, and that I’d find a ride home. It says a lot about our relationship that that wasn’t a particularly strange call by our standards.

  The MCB Blackhawk was downright plush compared to my usual ride. Okay, it was still pretty Spartan, but I didn’t see anything wrapped in duct tape. Agent Franks sat across from me. Of course, he didn’t feel like talking, and he just sat there with an F2000 rifle resting on his lap. The pilot and copilot were the only other people on board. Franks had given them a few instructions and we’d taken off, heading east. I couldn’t tell what direction we’d gone from there because it was dark and the rare lights out the windows didn’t reveal any landmarks.