The Monster Hunters

  Finally we entered a huge space, deep in the bowels of the earth. I could not tell how big it was, but my meager torch could illuminate but a small portion. The floor was smooth and slick, and I had to be careful to maintain my footing. Water drizzled down from above, splashing upon my armor. The air was heavy, and did not taste like air that should be breathed into the lungs of men. It was salty, and the cavern smelled faintly of decaying fish.

  Koriniha led me toward the center of the vast darkness. We walked for miles. I realized that if she had so desired, she could have run out of the circle of torchlight, and I might not have ever found my way out. A lesser man might have felt fear at that, but not I. The temperature dropped until I could see my breath. The floor became softer, and my boots left impressions in the oily surface. The priestess halted in front of the first landmark we had happened upon in the otherwise featureless room.

  It was an obelisk of black metal, tall enough to disappear into the darkness above, yet so thin that I could not comprehend how it could stay upright. The object had been inscribed with strange writing. Not like the now-familiar picture writing of the civilization above, but something rather far more complex. The runes appeared to move under the flickering light of the torch. A small, unadorned stone box sat in a tiny alcove of the obelisk. It hurt my eyes to look directly at it, as if I had stared into the sun.

  “What is this thing? Is this the key? Tell me now,” I ordered.

  She smiled at me wickedly, dark eyes flashing red in the torchlight. “Yes, Lord Machado. This is the key to unlock infinite power. The very power of the Old Ones themselves, and they have been waiting for one such as you.”

  “Such as I?”

  She placed her delicate hands on my bearded cheeks and her eyes bore into mine. They seemed to flicker unnaturally in the light of the sputtering flames.

  “Yes, my lord. The Old Ones left this device. It is ancient. Older than this world. It is an item of such power that it was never intended to be used by mortal man. It is a device intended for the service of what you know as angels or demons, and even then best left alone even by them. Yet every five hundred years, a man will be born, a mortal with the power to use this device and bend it to his will. You are this man, you are the one who has been prophesied by the Old Ones.” As she spoke, I felt the air rush past as if something incomprehensibly huge had just taken a breath.

  “Tell me this prophecy, woman.”

  She took her hands from my face and gestured at the obelisk. The runes changed, and were now written in the Latin letters I had learned as a youth.

  He will come

  Son of a great warrior

  Taught in the skills of the world

  Yet drawn to the sword

  His very name taken from

  The weapon of his fathers

  Given a quest by the crown

  To defeat an impossible foe

  Possessor of visions

  Ally of dark forces

  Friend of monsters

  Leader of men

  Only he will have the will

  And the power

  Through his love of another

  To break time and the world

  The words resonated with me. I was the one meant for the power and the greatness. My family name came from the very ax now strapped to me, the very weapon used by my forefathers. My father had been a great general. As one of the younger sons, I had been sent away for an education, expected to manage the family fortune, yet I had failed, and become a soldier and eventually a commander. My task was to pacify this land for the crown and deliver its treasure unto my king and its inhabitants’ souls to my mother church. I had visions of leading my host to glory. As for darkness, I had no doubt that my concubine and her cabal of heart-removing priests and their rivers of sacrificial blood would serve that purpose.

  “So what does this mean? What must I do now?” I asked. The priestess did not answer. She reached into the alcove and removed the small rectangular box. She shouted something in her language, and the rush of air changed direction as if something massive had just exhaled. I held out my hand, and she placed the box gently in my palm. It was small, but unnaturally heavy. I shuddered as cold shivers pulsed down my arm. “What is this?”

  “It is the key, my lord. Alone, it is an object of mighty strength, capable of great magic, but when you are prepared, I can take you to the proper place, a Place of Power. There you can utilize it to inflict your will upon the entire world. No one shall stand in your way. The world will be yours.”

  “Is that all?”

  “There is but one last thing to fulfill the prophecy, my lord. You must do it through love of another. You are a lover of power, but not of people. You must do so to utilize the artifact. Love is a notion of the weak, yet through it great power can be unlocked. It is a tool to be used as needed.”

  “I have a wife and children in Lisboa, will that not suffice?” I did not have time for weak notions such as love or mercy. Not when there was plunder to be taken, and lands to be crushed. A wife of good blood was a political necessity and a way to produce heirs, nothing more.

  “Perhaps not, my lord. But I will provide a way.” The priestess untied the front of her robes and let them fall to the slick floor. “I can be your love. Together we can rule the world.”

  The damp wind picked up again, almost as if the cavern itself was filling unseen lungs, far greater in intensity this time. My torch was blown out, plunging us into darkness.

  I was sitting on the steps of the church, once again in my own body, and seeing the world through my own eyes. Reliving the Cursed One’s memories left me feeling unclean. The Old Man had gone back to his carving, gently flicking the blade of the knife over the small block of wood. Chips were falling onto his homespun pants. Even if the clear winter sky around me was a figment of my imagination, it was a far nicer place than the mysterious, unnatural cavern.

  “Why are you showing me these things?”

  “So you understand. Is important.”

  “What is important? That Machado was an evil bastard when he was human, so bad that even the Aztecs or the Incas or whoever they were prophesied him coming, and that some mysterious Old Ones wanted to give him a magical whatchamacallit to blow up the world?”

  “You not have name for that people. They are gone. World not know about them today. Is probably for best. But there is more, Boy. You must pay attention more.”

  “Pay attention to what more? He was about to score with the evil priestess chick. That was pretty hard to miss,” I replied.

  “Young people. Mind always in gutter. No, more important things to learn.”

  “How about you just tell me how to kill him?”

  He shrugged. “I not know.”

  “Who are the Old Ones? The Elf Queen mentioned them also.”

  “Very bad. Very much bad. I not know. But they here long before us. Not supposed to be. But they are—how you say?—trespassers. They want nothing more than to kill world. They kill anything they not can have.”

  He used his coat sleeve to brush aside the snow on one of the steps, creating a clear spot. He placed his carving on the smooth surface and spun it. The little top made it only a few turns before flopping over. It looked like crap and was horribly unbalanced. He was not very good at whittling.

  “Your top is broken.”

  “Is not ‘top.’ Is dreidel. Fun little game. Should be made out of clay. But I try wood.” He picked it up and went back to carving. “No laugh, Boy, is harder than it looks. Time for you to go. You wake up now. Be careful of big red thing. No want to crash.”

  “What big red thing?”

  “You see.”

  I woke up disoriented and confused. I was lying on some sort of gurney, and I cracked my face painfully into a white metal cabinet when I sat up. Julie was a few feet away, also lying on a stretcher. Her shirt had been cut away, and a much better bandage had been placed on her shoulder. She was still out. A siren was blaring. We were in the ba
ck of an ambulance.

  “What the hell?” I said, as the ambulance turned far too sharply and I bounced off of the wall. Mad laughter came from the front.

  “Hang on, kid. It’s been a while since I’ve driven last. You know, with being locked up and all that.” Ray Shackleford honked the horn and screamed out the window. “Watch out, moron!”

  I squeezed my way through the narrow space and into the passenger seat. I had to push aside a big black duffel bag. I was glad to see that it was the bag that held my armor and personal gear, including spare magazines and grenades for Abomination. My shotgun was sitting on the dash, sliding crazily back and forth as Ray jerked the wheel. The speedometer showed one hundred and five miles an hour. I had not known that an ambulance could go that fast.

  “What happened?” I shouted over the siren. Ray’s gray hair was flapping madly in the wind from the open window. He was grinning maniacally, and having far too much fun for an escaped lunatic.

  “You passed out. Can’t say I blame you. You look like shit. Julie had a cell phone in her pocket. It started ringing so naturally I answered it. It was Earl.” The crazy man laughed. “Old son of a bitch was a bit surprised to find himself talking to me. Didn’t expect that one bit. Well, anyway . . .” He swerved around a truck and into oncoming traffic, dodged a station wagon, and jerked back into the correct lane. I cringed. “As I was saying, Earl called, said that the Feds were heading this way fast. They put out an APB on me and both of you. He said not to go to the hospital because the Monster Control Bureau guys were already en route, and not to go back to the compound because the place was already crawling with Feds. So I’m supposed to take us someplace safe to hide out.”

  “You didn’t kill any of the paramedics, did you?” I gestured at Abomination.

  “Oh no. I’ve never killed a human being . . . on purpose, at least, so I ain’t gonna start now. I bluffed our way out. Told them I was an escaped mental patient.”

  “Gee whiz? I’m surprised they believed you.” I had not realized, but he was wearing sweats and a bathrobe. With the matted hair, and the unkempt beard, he looked the part. Plus when I had passed out he had been singing the theme song from the Monkees.

  “I know. Imagine that.” He scratched himself as we tore down the road.

  “Julie needs medical attention.”

  “Earl has arranged for some. Don’t worry. We’re going home.”

  “But the compound is covered in Feds.”

  “Nope. You’ll see. Earl said ‘Go to your house, Ray. You can remember how to get there. Just go home.’”

  Ray turned to look at me as he explained. Crazy people must use the Force to drive or something. “We’re going home. It’ll be just like old times. All the kids, Ray the fifth, Julie, even little Nate, they can play in the tree house. And Susan will be there too. It’ll be great. We can have a barbecue.”

  “Ray. Watch the road.” I noticed flashing red lights ahead. He was no longer living in the same world; instead he was taking a little trip down memory lane.

  “Maybe there’ll be an Alabama game on today. Roll Tide. That would be fun. Maybe even the Alabama versus Auburn game. Best game of the year. Yep, I lost a lot of money on that one last season, I tell you what.” I realized that the flashing lights originated at a train crossing. The crossing arms were coming down.

  “Train. Ray, brake. Hit the brakes!”

  He turned and studied it absently. “Yep, train. How about that? You like hotdogs or hamburgers? Susan might have even marinated some steaks if we’re lucky.” I watched in horror as the train came into view. The engine was enormous and red. We were not going to make it in time.

  I shoved my way over into the driver’s seat, squishing Ray painfully into the door. I stomped my boot down on the brake and I fought for control of the wheel. The tires locked up with a squeal, leaving behind plenty of rubber and smoke. Ray tried to fight me. I elbowed him violently in the forehead, snapping his head back against the seat.

  Keeping the van under control while braking and fighting for the wheel against an insane man while barreling toward a train is not a pleasant experience. Luckily the ambulance had some decent brake pads installed. We broke through the wooden safety rail with a slow crack, and skidded to a halt, our front bumper inches from the sparking train wheels.

  “Car-jacking! Car-jacking!” he shouted in my ear as he tried to stick his thumb in my eye.

  Ray kept fighting, unaware that I had just saved his life. He tried to choke me with the seat belt, so I elbowed him in the face until he stopped moving. It took three good blows to his noggin to put him out. I’ll admit, I enjoyed that part. I put the van in park and crawled back out the passenger door. I went around, deafened by the roar of the train only scant feet away, opened the door, after a moment found the switch to kill the highly annoying siren, pulled Ray’s unconscious body out of the driver’s side and set him on the gurney in the back. There were straps to hold down thrashing patients, and I applied them snugly.

  Julie stirred. Her eyes fluttered open.

  “Owen. What’s going on?” she mumbled sleepily. “Wait a second,” as she realized that her shirt was cut open and she was only wearing a bra beneath. “Pervert.”

  “Hey, blame the paramedics. Listen, Julie. I don’t have time to explain. We need to get you someplace that your dad called home. Earl is going to have help for you there.”

  She was obviously high on painkillers or something that the paramedics had given her. She smiled absently. “Hey, what happened to Dad?”

  “Uh, he got sedated. Look, can you give me directions? Earl said for us to go home, not the compound, but someplace your dad would think of as home.”

  “Sure . . . I can find home. Where are we?”

  “I don’t know. Look, I’m going to help you to the front seat. You just stay awake and tell me where to go, okay?”

  “Okay. Can do. And look, next time you want to see me naked, just ask. Don’t cut up my clothes. That’s creepy . . . and I liked this shirt.” Her eyes closed and she went back to sleep.

  I carried her to the passenger side, as gently as was possible, careful not to disturb her wound or bandages. I buckled her into place as the last of the train cars passed. Julie stirred and mumbled something.

  “What?”

  “I know this place. We’re near Greenville. Just keep going.” Her speech was slurred, but she did not appear to be losing any more blood. I decided that if she started to look any worse I was going to take her to the nearest town and doctor. Keeping from getting arrested was not worth her life. Hopefully I would not have to make that choice.

  I put the ambulance into drive and continued down the road.

  Chapter 16

  The home that Ray Shackleford had been referring to was an enormous old plantation house nestled in a beautiful patch of woods and streams. It was far off of the main drive and isolated from the rest of the world. The home had been opulent at one time, but had fallen into disrepair. Thick Doric columns, cracked with age, lined the front porch. Moss and vines were growing up some of the walls, but it appeared as if some recent efforts had been made to paint and restore the old place. There was a black sedan parked near the dry fountain in front of the home.

  I parked the van near the entrance, honked the horn, and jumped out to help Julie. She had remained semilucid for the remainder of the short trip, but she was pale and did not look very good. Despite her feeble protest that she could do it herself, I picked her up in my arms and carried her onto the porch. She was not light by any means, but rather heavier than she appeared because of lean muscle. She winced in pain as the pressure changed against her wound. The main door was open, leaving only a screen.

  “Hey! Anybody there? We need help,” I yelled.

  “Z. Thank goodness.” It was good to hear Trip’s voice. The screen door opened and he stepped out. A smaller figure stood behind him, totally cloaked in what appeared to be a black burkha. “Come on. We have a spot ready. Earl said Gret
chen here’s as good as any doctor.” The robed figure nodded. Only a small patch of her face was showing through her hood, and even then her eyes were covered with large mirrored sunglasses. She gestured for me to follow.

  I cradled Julie’s limp form against my chest as we hurried down the entry hall. The interior of the home was undergoing serious renovation. Flooring had been pulled up and was in various states of repair. Some walls had been painted, while others were a work in progress. Sawdust and miscellaneous tools littered the floor.

  Gretchen led us across the spacious parlor, through a huge dining room complete with chandelier and twenty-foot table, down a small hallway, and into what was probably meant to be a guest bedroom, though right now it looked a bit like an extemporaneous field hospital. A small table had been moved into the room, covered by a white cloth, and littered with strange surgical-looking implements and jars filled with unknown fluids. Gretchen nodded toward the bed and I placed Julie down as gently as possible.

  Julie’s eyes peeked out from under heavy lids.

  “I can’t see,” she said.

  I began to panic. The blow to her head . . . had it blinded her? Was Julie going to lose her sight? She was a lover of art, and an amazing marksman. Going blind would kill her. I grabbed her hand and squeezed.