The Monster Hunters

  “Hold pig steady . . . dum dum dum . . . ra ra ra . . . yeah. Pig. Pig! PIG!”

  Chapter 12

  That night I slept in my comfortable and familiar bed at the MHI compound. The barracks were clean and roach free. I passed out within minutes of getting home.

  My dreams were confusing. I saw an enormous cargo plane take off from an airfield somewhere far in the bleak north. It was a giant, unfamiliar, four-engined monstrosity, bellowing smoke and noise. Inside, the plane was packed with boxes, cargo and even some recently butchered livestock. A man stood near the rear door of the huge cargo plane. He did not need to hold onto anything, despite the uneven vibrations and turbulence, and I knew that he would stand the entire long trip. Unmoving, arms folded, legs wide, thick fur cloak covering most of his features, black eyes staring unceasingly in the direction of his destination.

  His face was a mass of black tattoos, giving the illusion of a leering skull. In my dream the ink on his skin moved.

  I got back from Montgomery in time to catch most of the meeting. The dentist had fixed my two broken teeth. Half of my face was numb and tingly with Novocain and I could not help but poke at my cheeks to feel the weird pressure. They were using the conference room from my dream. All of the experienced Hunters were there, including Raymond Shackleford III himself. The few Newbies who it had been felt were ready for action were sitting around the huge wooden table. Holly Newcastle smiled and gave me a little wink as I tried to sneak in. I sat as far away from Grant as I could. Grant and his nose bandage studiously ignored me.

  Julie was speaking. She stood at the head of the table to give her briefing. “Dr. Jonas Turley was considered one of the premier experts on the religion, art and history of the ancient civilizations of this continent. He wrote over twenty books on those subjects, and has done research and been a major part of archeological digs from Alaska to Argentina. I got to hear him speak once at in Birmingham. The man knew his stuff.”

  “So why did the bad guys go directly to his house and beat him and his wife to death? They tore apart all of his possessions looking for something, something important. I’ve got an idea as to what.” She let slip a brief moment of pride as she made us wait for the answer. “While Pitt was bluffing that he was going to blow up the Antoine-Henri, Darné said that this Lord Machado had some sort of artifact and that he was going to take it to a Place of Power to use it. Dr. Turley had done a lot of research concerning ancient religious sites. His last book was about that very subject, and the word in the academic community was that his next paper was going to be an exhaustive catalog of sites and what their importance was. My theory is that the bad guys went to his house for information. They are looking for a particular place, this ‘Place of Power,’ so they can use their artifact.”

  “What does this artifact do?” the senior Shackleford asked.

  “I’m the historian; ask the psychic.” She pointed at me.

  “I’m no psychic. I just have a strange old Jewish man that visits me in my dreams and takes me on wild and crazy adventures—hey, that sounds like a children’s book.”

  “What does the artifact do?” repeated the head boss patiently.

  “I don’t really know. But I was told that the evil comes. The Cursed One will bring it. We stop it if we can, if not time will die.”

  “Time will die?”

  “That’s what the Old Man told me. I saw a storm coming. It brought Armageddon with it.”

  “I see. That would probably be bad. Carry on, Jules,” Mr. Shackleford ordered.

  Julie continued, “We need to figure out what this Place of Power is. Then we can get there first and set a trap.”

  “For seven Master vamps? How are we going to pull that off?” Sam asked. “We got any nuclear weapons stashed?”

  “Well, actually—ouch!” Milo started to speak and Harbinger painfully kicked him under the table. Whoa. I had no idea what we had stashed in the basement, but I wasn’t even willing to consider that. I forcefully banished the thought of Milo Anderson armed with a thermonuclear weapon out of my brain.

  “We will think of something, but right now we need to gather information. We need to find out where Turley’s places are, and which one is the right one. We need to keep an ear out for any sign of these monsters, and we need to keep searching the archives until we find out who Lord Machado is and what this artifact does.”

  “No luck with the search yet,” Albert Lee told us. In the last few days he had become our unofficial librarian. “There are a lot of books down there, and no offense, but your cataloging system absolutely sucks.”

  “And a lot of the archives got burned in ’95,” Sam said.

  “About ’95? When do we get to hear the story?” I asked.

  Harbinger shook his head. “We’ll get to it, but later.”

  “There is one person who knows all the stories in the archives better than anybody,” Milo suggested. “We could go ask him. If anybody would know who Lord Machado is, it would be him.”

  The experienced Hunters gave each other incredulous looks. Milo’s suggestion went over like a lead balloon.

  “No way,” Harbinger ordered with some force.

  “I forbid it,” Mr. Shackleford said.

  “Milo, don’t be stupid,” Julie snapped. She visibly paled at whatever the red-bearded man was suggesting. I had never seen anything shake her like that before.

  “But if this artifact is really going to end time or blow up the world or whatever, don’t you think it is worth the risk?” Milo argued. “This isn’t just a normal case. We’re talking about some serious stuff. He’s mad at all of us, but he would talk to Julie.”

  “But I don’t want her to talk to him. He’s dangerous,” Harbinger stated flatly.

  “Earl, he’s still her dad. He wouldn’t try to hurt her.”

  “I’ve got ninety-seven dead Hunters that say otherwise. End of discussion, Milo. Don’t bring it up again.”

  Milo leaned back in his chair and rested his palms on the table. “Fine. Forget I said anything. Just don’t blame me when the world blows up.” The conference room was uncomfortably silent. Julie just stared at her hands. And I had thought that my family had problems.

  “We do have other options.” Harbinger broke the silence. “We can talk to Turley’s colleagues. See if any of them know anything about a Place of Power. He had to confide in somebody. We’ll need to be discreet though, or the Feds will find out. When I called and told them about the seven vampires, they knew right where to go.”

  “They could have tracked us there,” I said. “The Hind does stick out a bit.”

  “Possibly, but I don’t want to assume that. Even if they did, they’re probably in the same boat we are and they will be interviewing the same people. Word gets back to Myers and we’re screwed.”

  “We could knock Pitt out, and see if he has any more dreams,” Grant offered.

  “Or I could try to divine the future with your entrails. I hear that works with chickens,” I replied. He glared at me. Julie shook her head in resignation. I had never promised to play nice.

  “There are some other sources we can go to though. There are others out there who are more in touch with . . . uh, I guess you would say the magical world and all of this Place of Power mumbo jumbo. Or if Lord Machado is evil enough, they may even be able to sense his location,” Milo suggested. “We could pay a visit to the Elf Queen.”

  “Not a bad idea. If we bring a good enough offering she may speak to us,” Julie said.

  “Whoa. Back up. Wait just a minute. Are you trying to tell me there are really elves?” Trip said.

  “Yes, Trip. There are elves,” she told him. I refrained from asking if they lived in a magic tree and made delicious cookies.

  “Like as in J.R.R. Tolkien elves?” Trip asked again. His eyes lit up in wonderment like a kid who still believed in Santa on Christmas morning.

  “Old JR was quite the character. He learned from a few British Hunters who knew their stuff
. Always hanging around them and picking their brains about languages and whatnot,” the senior Shackleford wheezed. “He did tend to romanticize things a bit in his writing, however.”

  “I can’t believe it,” Trip told us. “It’s just that this whole time all I’ve learned about is horrible ugly things. Evil things and dead things that hurt people. I mean I understand that our job is to fight them, so we have to know them, but I didn’t know that there were good and magical things too. This is great!”

  “Son, just remember. Old JR did tend to exaggerate to spin a good yarn. Real life ain’t always like the books or the movies,” Mr. Shackleford warned. He glanced at his antique watch. “We got time. Sounds like somebody is taking a trip to the Enchanted Forest. Go with them if you must, Mr. Jones. Milo, it was your idea so you’re in charge. Take Pitt too, I reckon he’s the psychic.”

  The Hind set down in Booneville, Mississippi a few hours later. Our target was actually closer to the town of Corinth, but Skippy refused to land any closer to the Enchanted Forest than we had to. He did not share his reasons, and Milo Anderson, who was leading our little expedition, did not feel the need to argue about it. Luckily for us there was a place in town to rent a car. Sadly, the only available choice was a Ford Escort station wagon. The air conditioning wheezed, hissed and died before we had gone five miles heading north on 45.

  “Now when we get to the Enchanted Forest, don’t speak unless spoken to. And try not to stare at them. They find that insulting.”

  “Because they’re so beautiful?” Trip asked.

  “Uh . . . probably something like that.” Milo was driving. I was in the passenger seat, knees crushed uncomfortably into my chest. Spacious interior leg room my ass. Trip and Holly were in the backseat. When it came to monster research or interviewing Dr. Turley’s associates, most of the Newbie squad was pretty useless at the compound. Lee was having a great time exploring and organizing dusty books and journals back at the archives. He had found his niche. As for the rest of us, we were still working on that. I decided that the hole in my gums was done bleeding and I spit the wad of gauze out the window. The Novocain had worn off and my face hurt.

  Milo continued speaking, stroking his beard absently. Today he had removed the beads and was going with just a simple braid. He had dressed up for the occasion with a purple paisley shirt and green pants. “Let me do the talking. Etiquette is very important to their people. If they ask a question, answer it, but don’t try to make small talk. They can be very touchy and secretive.”

  “I bet it’s because they’re so ancient and wise,” Trip said. Holly put her finger in her mouth and made a gagging noise.

  “Hey, laugh all you want, but I grew up poor in backwoods Florida, with an immigrant, single mom. I’m the only person in my family who learned to read, and that was only because of comic books at first, and then fantasy novels and an active imagination. I got addicted to them when I was a kid and read like crazy. I must have read thousands of them. So I’ve been reading about elves and that kind of thing for twenty-plus years. I can’t help it if I’m excited.”

  “You were a geek,” she said.

  “Well, I guess.”

  “I bet you played Dungeons and Dragons in a friend’s garage.”

  “Well, yeah.”

  “Nerd.”

  “Hey now,” Trip protested.

  “Since you were such a nerd, how did you manage to get so buff?”

  “Well, one day I learned that I could run really fast with a football, paid for college.”

  “Still a nerd at heart though, aren’t you? Oooh, magic elves.” She actually mimicked him rather well. “Happy fairy magic wonderland.”

  “Holly! Quit picking on the nerd!” I shouted.

  “You should talk, spreadsheet boy.”

  “You kids, don’t make me stop this car!” Milo said as he turned on the radio and cranked the volume as high as it would go. The channel was Spanish language love songs, but it succeeded in finally drowning us all out. The miles flashed by. Deep green trees and farms, cows and goats, interspersed with patches where out-of-control kudzu vines had managed to kill off all of the native vegetation. Kudzu was the real monster of the South. The open windows only served to circulate the hot, damp air. Sweat rings formed in my armpits and spread down my chest, quickly soaking through my dress shirt.

  We stopped at a Piggly Wiggly in Corinth. Milo did not explain what we were doing. We three Newbies bought sodas and tried to stay in the air conditioning as long as possible. Milo purchased a shopping cart full of supplies and loaded them in the back of the station wagon while a large fan distracted the rest of us. He had to honk the horn to get our attention.

  Milo drank a Sprite while we headed out of Corinth. He pointed out a spot on the map. “Here is the Enchanted Forest. The locals pretty much know to leave it alone. Now for future reference, this area over here is known as Natchy Bottom. Do not ever go there. MHI has had a few cases in the Bottoms over the last hundred years. There are some places on Earth that you just shouldn’t mess with, some out west, a couple in Maine, one in the New Jersey pine barrens, places that are just pure evil. That is one of them. That place is just plain bad. The people that live out there are pretty strange and keep to themselves. Heck, they didn’t get electricity until the late ’90s. There is some crazy stuff back in those woods that you just don’t want to mess with.” He did not elaborate further.

  We took a series of turns, heading deeper and deeper in the hills. The few scattered houses we passed became shoddier and older as we went. The last few houses we saw were so dilapidated that it was surprising that anyone was able to live in them, but lights were on, and dogs roamed the trash-filled yards. The woods grew thicker, older and darker. It rained briefly out of the clear, hot sky. The rain was warm, and quickly passed, serving only to increase the already brutal humidity.

  Finally we stopped in front of a small sign. It read enchanted forest in big letters, and trailer park in smaller letters underneath.

  “Probably a trick to keep outsiders away,” Trip told us. Milo sneezed loudly as he had an allergy attack. The Escort’s tires crunched over pea gravel as we entered the Enchanted Forest.

  It looked like a trailer park to me, and a run-down one at that. The trailers were rusty and old. Cardboard served as windows in places. Garbage and beer cans were strewn everywhere. Milo swerved around what appeared to be a pile of used disposable diapers. There were a few old cars, but it had been a long time since they had been mobile. Most of them were up on jacks or cinder blocks, tires long since rotted away. There was no life to be seen other than a couple of mangy dogs trying to stay in the shade. I could hear the sound of televisions through some of the open doors. Somewhere a baby cried.

  Milo stopped the car in front of a double-wide trailer with a no-longer-used giant satellite dish rusting in front. A rudimentary porch had been built out of scrap lumber. A recliner and a big faded couch were on the porch, and a fat, greasy dog was sleeping on the cushions. We exited our little vehicle. Heavy black flies landed on us to check if we were edible.

  “Wha chu want?” a voice shouted from inside.

  “We bring gifts,” Milo replied.

  “I didn’t order no free Bible off o’ the TV, so git,” the voice replied.

  “We are here to speak with the Elf Queen.”

  It was quiet except for the sound of a professional wrestling match blaring on the TV. Trip looked hopeful. Holly adjusted her pistol under her shirt. She still wasn’t used to packing heat, and she kept touching it nervously. Finally the owner of the voice appeared in the doorway.

  He was tall and very skinny, wearing a stained wife-beater tank top and a puffy trucker hat. His blond hair was long and stringy. His fingertips were stained yellow from nicotine, and his teeth were crooked when he smiled. His features were fine, and sharply pointed ears stuck out from under his mullet. “Well, if it ain’t some Hunters. Come to see the Queen. Well, she be busy, so git, ’fore I sic the dogs o
n ya.” He pointed at the fat dog on the couch. It regarded us sullenly, but it must have decided that it was too hot to growl.

  “We have brought gifts,” Milo said casually. He opened the back of the little station wagon. The trailer park elf regarded us with suspicion in his beady blue eyes before he stepped off the porch and looked at our purchases from the Piggly Wiggly. He whistled when he saw the contents. Milo had bought several cases of Budweiser and ten cartons of Marlboro lights.

  “I’se go get her. See if she wants to speak at chu.” He grabbed a carton of cigarettes, stuffed it under his tank top, and headed for the trailer. We could hear him yelling from the yard. “Rondel! You’se got company.”

  Trip’s face had fallen a bit, but he still looked hopeful. “It’s all just a trick to keep away outsiders,” he assured himself.

  “Dude, he looks like Kid Rock with Mr. Spock ears,” Holly whispered. “He sure ain’t no Orlando Bloom.”

  The elf returned. He was unnaturally graceful and long-limbed, but other than that and the ears, he made a convincing redneck. “The Queen will be out in a sec. Y’all have a seat,” he said, pointing at the couch. The dog didn’t move. It had gone back to sleep.

  “Git offa there. We’s got guests.” He kicked the dog with his bare foot. It woke up, stood, and urinated all over the cushion. He kicked it again and it scurried off of the porch, tail between its legs. “Sorrys ’bout that,” he said as he flipped the couch cushion over so we could sit on the dry side.

  Milo gestured for us to sit. I reluctantly sat on the old couch, so as not to offend the elves, but leaned forward as much as possible to keep a minimal amount of contact between my pants and who knows what. Trip, who was a mild germaphobe, did not look so good.

  “I think I’ll guard the car,” Holly stated. Milo shook his head sternly, and after a moment’s hesitation she sat next to me. Our elf host excused himself and went back into the double-wide. Milo, being the experienced and wise Hunter that he was, sat on the steps. He sneezed violently.