Monster Hunter International, Second Edition

  "I've got a question," Trip asked. "How come Grant didn't sound the alarm? I woke up when I heard Owen shouting."

  "Probably snuck up on him," I lied. In truth I had a pretty good idea of what had happened. Probably something similar to what Susan had tried on me, only Grant had probably not realized what was going on until it was too late.

  Holly knew the truth. "Vampires can be seductive. You saw what she was wearing. She probably floated in as mist, put on some of Julie's things, and bit Grant when he thought he was going to get lucky. Then she tried the same thing on Z here . . ." She pointed at me. "So did you score with your friend's dead mom?"

  "It sounds gross when you put it that way." It didn't do me much good to lie at that point. "I got to second base before I realized she wasn't breathing," I stammered with no small amount of embarrassment. "Hey, I thought she was Julie." And then I felt really stupid for saying that. Luckily she was still standing far enough away to have not heard.

  "Way to go, Big Guy." Sam punched me in the shoulder. "If you had been a little dumber, you could have put a whole new meaning to 'staking' vampires."

  "That's horrible," Trip said as he pressed a bag of ice against the side of his head.

  "Whatever. She would've bit you next," Holly said.

  "Probably not. I would have sounded the alarm," he answered.

  "Sure you would have . . . church boy."

  "No really, I've never . . ." He caught himself. "Uh . . . never mind."

  "No way." Holly sounded stunned. "Are you saying . . . No way. You're what? Twenty-seven?"

  Trip looked very uncomfortable.

  "Saving it for marriage?" Milo interjected, looking alien with his massive beard poking out from under his night vision. "Good for you, Trip." At least he had the Mormon contingent's approval.

  "I didn't know you Rastafarians did that kind of thing," Sam said. "I figured you all partied."

  "Baptist," Trip said quickly.

  "Oh, I just figured with the funky hair and whatnot. You should shave that thing then. You would look good." Sam spat into the gravel. I made a mental note never to listen to the fashion advice of a man with a mullet and a puffy trucker hat.

  "Yeah, you would look like Shaft," I added helpfully. "Not the old one, the new one."

  "Chicks dig that on a black dude. Be sure to get yourself laid then, kid," Sam told him with great confidence.

  "But . . . Wait . . . It's a personal choice, damn it," Trip sputtered.

  "Okay guys. Here's the plan." Thankfully Harbinger interrupted. He lit a cigarette as he approached. It was back to business. Julie looked sad, but resolute and determined. The director just looked angry. "Back to base. Gear up. We will form an assault element. We're going to meet the Feds in Natchy Bottom in the morning. Milo, load up everything you can think of. Julie, Sam, you two contact every other team in the country. Have them drop whatever they're working on and get back here now. Our team hits the Bottoms, everybody else hits the local outbreaks." He pointed at me. "Newbie squad, take a car. Take Gretchen back to her people."

  I had almost forgotten about the small woman. She was so quiet, and cloaked in her shapeless robes she nearly disappeared in the shadows. Harbinger bowed toward her in a sign of sincere respect, and said something in her language. It sounded like gurgles and clicks to me. She replied, gravelly and deep.

  "Thank you, Gretchen. You bring great honor to your clan," he said and turned back to me. "Get her home. She isn't a warrior, but she performed like one tonight. MHI will always be in her clan's debt. There is a little road just north of the compound. Follow it. She'll show you the way. Don't get jumpy if they get weird on you, remember they're our friends."

  The group dispersed to their tasks. I grabbed Julie by the arm. "Wait." I didn't know what to say, but I needed to say something.

  She turned around, great dark circles under her eyes. "What? What is it, Owen?"

  "I'm sorry about your parents, and I'm sorry about Grant . . ."

  She raised her hand and cut me off. "No. No you're not."

  "No, I . . ." I stammered.

  "You wanted Grant dead, didn't you?" she snapped. "Well, looks like you got your wish." She spun and walked away.

  The compound was not that far away from the Shackleford home. We took Grant's car. The interior was immaculate and the XM stations were all preprogrammed for classical music. At least I could hear again; Gretchen's purple goo had worked well. Trip and Holly were in the back seat, and Gretchen rode up front. I passed the lane leading to the compound, and slowed down as Gretchen pointed out a tiny path cloaked in trees and moss. The narrow road was so overgrown with vegetation that the headlights only cut a small swath before us.

  "This is it?" I asked her. She nodded, a movement barely perceptible beneath her robes. It was just after 3:00 a.m. but she was still wearing her mirrored shades. The Mercedes bumped through the foliage, and the undercarriage scraped as we dipped into the deep ruts. I rolled down the window. The chirping of insects was rhythmic and strong. A trio of cow skulls had been tied around a tree with leather cord. I knew that it was a sign that we were on Skippy's property. "I love what you've done with the place."

  Gretchen clicked approvingly. We continued down the lane, deeper and deeper into the dark woods. Though the compound was only a few miles away, we seemed totally isolated from the world. The trees here were tall and the forest primeval. Glowing eyes reflected back at us as raccoons scurried away.

  "This is kind of creepy," Trip said.

  "It isn't so bad," I answered. Then something huge sprinted across the road through the headlights. It was massive and covered in black fur, and it was gone in an instant. "What the hell was that?" I shouted as I stomped on the brakes. The Mercedes halted on the packed dirt, leaving us in a cloud of red dust. I rolled up the window without thinking.

  "Deer?" asked Holly.

  "That wasn't no damn deer," I said. It had looked more like a scurvy bear crossed with a lion. Maybe I had not been getting enough sleep. Gretchen said something unintelligible and made shooing motions for me to continue onward. Apparently, whatever the animal had been, it was of no serious concern to her.

  Flickering lights appeared in the distance. Campfires. Big ones. We slowly rolled forward until we saw the structures of a tiny community. Perhaps village would be the best word. The little houses were clustered tightly together into a rough semicircle. Surprisingly enough the homes looked nice and well cared for, despite the strange decorations of skins, bones, hides, antlers and feathers that decorated all of them. The fires emanated from large basins that had been set at the compass points around the village. There was a central area between the homes, with what appeared to be some sort of shrine or religious stage.

  A black-clad figure appeared in the headlights and waved as we approached. I recognized Skippy from his gait. Other figures appeared from the homes, all of them shorter than average, and several squat ones that must have been children. Many of them were hurriedly pulling on their masks or hoods. I parked the car next to some older-model pickup trucks. Before I had even shut the engine off Gretchen had bailed out of the vehicle and went running toward her husband. He picked her up and swung her around as they joyfully embraced. Several of the others joined them in a massive group hug.

  I stepped out of the car. The air smelled of delicious roasting meat. The sounds that I first thought were angry noises, actually were laughter coming from the reunited tribe. Some of the children began to play a game, running and chasing after each other. Skippy left the group when he saw me. Many of them studied us curiously from behind their tinted goggles or mirrored shades.

  "Noble One . . . Thank . . . you . . . bringing . . . Grtxschnns . . . Gret chen . . . Home." He bowed down until his balaclava touched the ground. I bowed back.

  "Thank you, Skippy. Gretchen saved our lives tonight. She healed our many wounds. And her faith and bravery turned away a Master vampire. If it wasn't for her, many Hunters would have died."

  "
She . . . brings honor . . . to clan?" He rose and spoke loudly in his language. There were some gasps of astonishment as they stepped away from Gretchen, and then bowed to her. I could not see her features, but by her mannerisms, I was guessing that she was slightly embarrassed by the display. After a few seconds they rose and went back to their merry greetings. Finally Gretchen was able to break away and approach us, the rest of the tribe following closely behind her, until finally the whole group was assembled quietly in front of the three of us.

  Gretchen pointed at Trip, and said something to the others. There was much oohing and ahhing, and then they bowed toward him. Skippy's people were big on the bowing.

  "Uh . . . what's going on?" he asked, running one hand through his dreads nervously.

  "Dark Hunter . . . you fought . . . gub mint . . . agents . . . to protect Gret chen?" When he said government, the tribe booed.

  "I guess," he answered.

  "Agents beat you . . ." He pointed at Trip's face. "For protect her?"

  "Yes. Really, it was no big deal . . . I—"

  Skippy cut him off. He turned back to the tribe and loudly proclaimed: "Smrslal! Smrslal Aiee!" then to us, "Dark skin Hunter, Brother of War Chief, and . . . Girl. Bring great honor. My clan . . . you one with . . . us. With honor . . . No need for hide."

  Skippy reached up and removed his glasses, revealing bright yellow eyes sunk deep into grayish-green tissue. He carefully folded and put the shades in a pocket, and began to remove his balaclava. One by one, the others did so as well. Even the little children removed their hoods, some needing the help of their mothers.

  We had gained the trust and respect of the tribe. Honoring us as equals, they revealed their true selves. Their skin was bumpy, mottled, mostly green, some gray and some brown. They were either bald, or some with wispy white hair. Their lower jaws protruded, and tusklike teeth stuck past their lips. Most of their noses were squat, though some were raised up more like snouts. The eyes were yellow or pale blue, set under thick bone ridges and short foreheads. Their ears were long and pointy, and most if not all of them had facial piercings of bone or gold.

  "Holy shit," Holly mumbled.

  "Orcs," Trip said in awe. "I don't believe it."

  Skippy's pointed teeth ground together above his wide jaw, in what I believed was a smile. His yellow eyes twinkled as he clapped his hands above his head. "Urks! Yes. Clan of Gnrlwz, fist of North. Spear of . . . Doom. Now clan of . . . M H I. Harb Anger . . . give us home. Give us work. Now are family. Join us . . . eat meat . . . dance." He pointed at one of the others, who immediately turned and ran for what I thought was a shrine. The younger orc knelt and fiddled with something on the backside of the edifice, and massive hidden speakers started blaring. Metal. The orcs were playing heavy metal.

  "JBL. Kick Ass . . . Sound system," Skippy grunted at us. "Come! Party!" The entire tribe began to either bang their heads, dance wildly, or jump up and down with their hands extended above their heads, pointer and pinky fingers extended in the devil horns of classic rock. The children formed a mosh pit and began to slam each other about. The mothers looked on approvingly.

  "Skippy, I wish that we could," I shouted back over the sounds of Static X. "But we have a mission. We need to fly to Natchy Bottom in the morning." The orcs danced. Giant wolves howled in the nearby forest. Of course, that explained the thing that had crossed the headlights. You can't have orcs without wargs.

  Skippy nodded. "Skip understand. I be there . . . Together . . . crush foes. Must take . . . care of clan . . . Then come. To fly into battle." He bowed again. I returned the honor. "Thank you . . . Noble One."

  "Great honor, Skippy. Thank you." We parted. I returned to the car.

  Holly climbed into the front seat. Trip stood transfixed at the rear door, staring at the clan in wonder, as some of the giant wolves wandered out of the treeline and into the light of the fires. Little green children ran to crawl up on the horse-sized animals, playing with what to them were basically family pets. Pets with jaws that could snap a deer in half, but pets nonetheless. Skippy returned to Gretchen and they knocked their tusks together in what was probably the orcish equivalent of a kiss. I started the car. Finally Trip broke away from the sights and got in.

  We drove down the lane. The raucous music died away as the distance increased. We did not speak. Trip stared out the window in silence. The Mercedes bumped and scraped as we bottomed out. It would take a pretty dedicated explorer to bother with this back road and now I could see that that was by design. It was a strange and secret community, but obviously one built upon strong family bonds of love. My spirits were lifted from my brief visit to Skippy's people.

  Finally Holly spoke. "Well, Trip. Satisfied now?"

  "Huh?"

  "Remember when we met the elves?"

  He did not answer. But none of us could forget his disappointment on that day.

  "Remember when you said that since there was so much secret evil, there had to be some sort of secret good to balance it out?"

  "Yeah," he answered slowly. I could not see him in the darkened car, but from his voice I could tell he was smiling. "I guess there is . . . I guess there really is."

  "See, I told you so," Holly said in smug satisfaction.

  We assembled in the meeting room. Harbinger was preparing to brief us. We would be taking off within the next half hour. It was 4:00 a.m. Every available Hunter was assembled, including the untested Newbies, all of Harbinger's team, Dorcas and the senior Shackleford. The conference room was crowded. Every other member of MHI in the country was currently en route.

  I sat down at the conference table next to Milo. He grinned when he saw me. The man was always in a good mood.

  "So did you get to meet Skippy's people?"

  "Orcs," I answered. "That was pretty cool."

  "Yeah, they're good folks. Homo-Ogrillion. We were hired to go into Uzbekistan and eradicate them. Turned out that they weren't so evil after all, so we brought them all home. I'm glad we did."

  Harbinger called the briefing to order. It took a few moments for the group to quiet down. Apparently word of the attack and all the gory details had spread quickly. Julie was sitting next to her grandfather, and his burned face was drawn into a tight grimace of pain and anger. I could not imagine how the man felt. Even if you had distanced yourself from a child who committed horrible crimes, he was still your child. And now he had lost that son.

  Harbinger cut right to the chase. "Everybody knows about what's going on, and you've already heard about what happened earlier tonight. One former Hunter is dead. One current Hunter is missing. Turns out that one of our own is a Master vampire in the service of the Cursed One. We have a deal with the Feds. One team is going to go with them to Natchy Bottom to deal with the main bad guys. Every available Hunter is on the way. As they arrive, the rest of us will break into groups and handle the following undead outbreaks." He pointed at the map of the Southeast that had been taped to the wall. It was dotted with red tacks.

  "Auburn, Gadsden, and Forestdale, Alabama; Columbus, Georgia; Pulaski, Tennessee; and Pensacola, Florida. Those are all confirmed vampires or wights. Boone's team just cleared out some new creations in Atlanta. I felt bad calling them up since some of his men are still hurting from the freighter, but they rose to the occasion. And we have unconfirmed reports in Florence, Tupelo, Dothan, Fayetteville, Russellville and Demopolis, though those might just be regular missing persons, but I wouldn't bet on it."

  He paused long enough to take a drag off his cigarette. I had not seen him smoke indoors around the other Hunters before, but I was guessing that he was under more stress than normal.

  "As other teams arrive they will be diverted to those trouble spots. This is our turf, so local law enforcement knows us and is helping out. National Guard, same thing. Mostly they can be used as perimeter security, but if you think you can trust them, press them into service as well. We don't have time to screw around, so if you find where the vamps are sleeping, just blow i
t straight to hell. We don't have time to stake and chop and all that. If they're in a mine, collapse it. If they're in a building, burn it down. If you need to, borrow a tank from the National Guard. If they're inside something that you can't justify blowing up, then do what you have to do."

  "How many threats are we talking about?" Sam asked.

  "Potentially hundreds." There was some murmuring and swearing at that, from everybody except the untested Newbies who had not yet seen a real undead. "We always thought that vampires were limited in the number of new creations they could make. That was always our theory on how come they didn't just bite everybody and overrun us. Looks like we were wrong, at least when it comes to Masters. We're looking at a few different threats here, so let me break it down. Somehow the CO is able to bring people back as wights. Then we have two kinds of vamps, the regular new creations, where somebody is just killed and comes back as one, and apparently a stronger, smarter type, made by biting the victim, and then giving them some of the Master vampire's own blood and power."

  "Like Darné?" I asked. The former French Hunter had been amazingly fast and seemed to be in full control of his faculties, unlike the more animalistic creatures that had been the other vampires.

  "Most likely. So we're talking about some serious bad asses. Plus we know that he can animate gargoyles as well, though there have not been any sightings of those since the ones that Pitt and Julie killed. Nobody knows how long it takes to create one of those, or even how many he brought over to start with."

  "What do we have?" Milo asked.

  "Counting us and the Newbies, we have about twelve teams of Hunters. Six people in the hospital or on medical leave. Seventy total personnel available," Julie answered.

  "Seventy-one," her grandfather said from the head of the table. He pulled a well-oiled S&W 1917 from under his sweater and put it on the table with a clunk. "I ain't sitting this one out."

  "But, Grandpa . . ." Julie said.