The Monster Hunters

  “They’re jerk-offs?”

  “Besides that.”

  I thought about it for a moment. I watched as one of the Feds scurried behind a patch of stunted trees. He scanned around him nervously, the barrel of his stubby F2000 poking around quickly as he heard the splash of a small swamp animal. Relieved, he quickly moved on.

  “Some of them are terrified,” I answered.

  “Bingo. They’re quiet. But that means they can’t talk to their team. That means that their minds are totally on their surroundings. And if you ain’t noticed, we’re strolling through one of the most evil places in the world. A place like this gnaws at your mind. You start to see things out the corner of your eye. Pretty soon you’re seeing ghosts, and I ain’t talking about the friendly kind like you’ve got riding around in your head. I mean the bad kind that are jealous of the living, and want you to be just as miserable as they are. While those Feds are getting nervous and jumpy, their minds playing tricks on them, when it comes time to throw down, we’re going to be just fine. That’s why you see my team shooting the bull.”

  “It keeps their minds off of all this.” I gestured at the drizzly blackness. As I concentrated on the swamp, I could feel the chill, the cold, the eons of hate, and the ancient evil that lay under the murky water. I looked away and turned back to my team. “I’m with you.”

  We continued on, drenched by the splashing mud and the drizzling rain. It was summer, but it was probably only forty degrees inside Natchy Bottom. I was shivering beneath my heavy armor. I did not envy the smaller Hunters who lacked my insulating body fat. Who’s laughing now, skinny people?

  The deeper we got into the swamp, the darker and more sinister it grew. After an hour of walking, the radio finally crackled. We had previously tuned into the Feds’ secure frequency. “This is Alpha team. We have a contact. There are some huts on a little island. One hundred yards south of us. They appear to be inhabited. Huts have some sort of light source, and there are some cooking fires. Over.” Our team halted, waiting for more information. I used the opportunity to spray more bug repellent onto my exposed skin.

  “This is Delta,” replied Myers. “Investigate. Proceed with caution. Over.”

  Harbinger scowled and his nostrils flared as he sniffed the air. Our leader looked uneasy as he studied the surrounding swamp. He looked to Skippy and Edward. The orcs studied the air. Skippy shook his head in the negative. Harbinger got on the radio.

  “Belay that order, Alpha team. Do not make contact.”

  “MHI, get off my radio net,” Myers snapped.

  “What color are the lights in those shacks?” Harbinger asked. “I bet they’re green.”

  “Uh . . . This is Alpha. The lights are green. I repeat green. Over.”

  “Fall back, Alpha. Fall back unless you want to get the marrow sucked out of your bones.”

  “This is Delta. Alpha, ignore that order and check out those structures. Over.”

  “Myers, you dumb ass. Pull your men back or you’re going to lose a whole team. And then we’re going to have to waste a day messing with the things on that island, and they don’t have anything to do with what we’re after. Alpha team, listen up. If you step foot on that island, you’re dead men. By the time we get over there, they’ll have skinned you and eaten your eyeballs right out of your heads.” He let go of the mike, and then thought better of it. “Over,” he added.

  “What are they, Earl?” Julie asked with some concern. He just held up a hand and waited for Myers’ response. A minute passed.

  “This is Alpha. What should we do, sir? Over.”

  Finally Myers responded. “Fall back, Alpha. Ignore the structures for now. Mark them on your GPS for future investigation. Over.”

  “It’s your funeral,” Harbinger said into the radio.

  “What are they?” Trip asked nervously.

  “Humboldt Folk,” he explained. Most of the Hunters looked at each other in confusion. Only the senior Hunters nodded in understanding. “They just want to be left alone is all. Alpha team is lucky they didn’t set foot on that island. The Folk don’t let trespassers leave. Ever.”

  “No, Earl. You forget something. We’re real lucky our team isn’t the one that happened across it,” Julie corrected him. “They wouldn’t leave their circle to attack Alpha. They’re all male. For us they might have made an exception.”

  “What do you mean?” Trip asked quietly.

  “The Folk tend to run real short on fertile females,” Julie answered. She quickly checked her weapons. “Holly, if you get attacked by some strange-looking people with a green glow about them . . . save your last bullet for yourself.” She was not joking.

  “What are they?” Holly asked. She held her .308 Vepr and scanned the surrounding trees.

  “What were they is a better question,” Harbinger responded, “and that’s a story that I’m going to save for when we’re standing in a warm, sunshiny place. Come on, team, we’re wasting daylight.”

  Somewhere in the distance strange animals cried.

  Chapter 22

  Hours passed as we trudged deeper into the heart of the evil swamp, yet we had not gone very far. The going was slow in Natchy Bottom. It was afternoon, and the rain had not let up. The water level had risen, and walkable land was becoming scarcer. All too often we were forced to wade through the murk, unseen things grasping at our boots, mud sucking us down. At this point we were all so coated in filth that it was becoming difficult to tell who was who.

  The shorter Hunters had it particularly bad, often having to wade through water that came up over their chests, and being forced to hold their weapons above their heads. At one point Lee slipped and disappeared beneath the water, and did not come up immediately. Sam dived under and retrieved him, bringing the other Hunter up sputtering and choking. Lee swore that the roots had not wanted to let him go.

  I noticed that the mood of the group had become darker and more somber. The further we went into Natchy Bottom, the more it seemed to suck at a person’s happiness and will to live. It really was a bad place. I could feel that something was watching us. Unknown insects crawled or slithered inside my clothing.

  “Stop,” Harbinger ordered. The team complied, weapons at the ready. “This is it.”

  I looked around. It looked just like every other patch of gray-and-black muck and mutant trees that I had been looking at all morning. I would certainly hate to get lost in here.

  “Yes. Everybody stay quiet. No sudden moves. Don’t point your weapons at the Wendigo.” He got on the radio. “Franks. Call a halt. This is the place. I’m going to make contact.”

  “This is Delta. I want my men there with you. Over.” Myers’ voice was distorted, and hard to hear through the static.

  “Alpha, Bravo, set up a perimeter. Charlie with me. Hold up, MHI. Over,” Franks stated over the radio.

  “All right. My favorite person in the whole world,” I muttered. “My good buddy Agent Franks gets to hang out with us.” My tongue unconsciously probed the gaps in my gums from where he had smashed out my teeth.

  “He ain’t so bad for a bureaucratic killing machine,” Trip said.

  “I heard he once burned a busload of nuns ’cause he thought there was a zombie on board,” Sam added.

  “No, those were orphans,” Milo corrected.

  “He’s actually kind of cute in a psychopathic way,” Holly said.

  “Eww,” I responded. “That’s sick.”

  “Hey, some girls go for that side-of-beef thug look.” She winked at Julie. I could tell our sharpshooter’s cheeks turned red beneath the coating of grime. Personally, besides the muscles, I did not think that I looked like Franks at all. I was, after all, much better looking. Well, in my opinion at least.

  “I said quiet,” Harbinger admonished. The team settled down. Charlie team materialized out of the mist a few minutes later, moving like ghosts. Franks looked like Swamp Thing, coated in mud and moss. He made a few rapid hand signals and his team disappeared into
the trees.

  “Okay,” he grunted as he knelt in the mud amongst my team.

  “Y’all sit tight. I’m going over there.” Harbinger pointed out a small clump of land, almost tall enough to be dry. “I’ll be right back. Franks, you’d best keep your men under control.”

  “Don’t worry,” the quiet man stated. Harbinger nodded and moved quickly away, sloshing through the mud, stepping on roots and semisolid land whenever possible.

  “How’s your stomach?” Franks asked as he studied the terrain.

  “Sore. How’re your nuts?” I whispered back.

  “Fine.” He shifted his gun in his big hands. “I killed the last guy who tried to kick me like that.”

  “Hey, asshole, if we’re comparing notes, I think you’ve hit me a lot more times than I’ve hit you.”

  “Will you two shut up?” Julie hissed.

  Harbinger had reached the island. He hung his Tommy gun in the branches of a tree, set down his revolver and grenades, and finally stabbed his bowie knife into the trunk, leaving it there vibrating slightly. He left his weapons behind and walked slowly up the mud hill. At the summit he sat down cross-legged, back toward us, and waited.

  “Probably a stupid question at this point . . .” Trip whispered. “But what’s a Wendigo exactly?”

  “A shaman who was cursed for committing an unforgivable act, usually something cannibalistic. Doomed to walk the Earth forever, guardian of the land and its original inhabitants,” Julie answered softly. “It’s a horrible fate.”

  The swamp grew still. The rain stopped. The constant croaking and chittering of amphibians and insects abruptly died. The tiny bit of light that we had been getting through the canopy went away, leaving us in near darkness. A shiver ran down my spine. It felt almost sterile and impossibly lifeless.

  An eerie illumination slowly rose from the other side of the hill, highlighting Harbinger as he sat perfectly still. Something moved in the unnatural light. Something huge. Impossibly tall, but startlingly lean. All we could see was a silhouette of billowing skins, ten feet tall, with antlers like a deer rising from the center of its elongated head. An alien figure out of nightmares. It was not of this world.

  The thing stopped before Harbinger. Our team leader did not move. I realized I was holding my breath.

  The antlered being was motionless. Its long limbs folded tight against its body, giving us no clue as to its unnatural structure. I could not see the Wendigo’s facial features, and for that I was thankful. If they were conversing we could not tell. Other shapes moved on the island, giant hulking things, bristling with hair and mud, just outside of the circle of pale light. A horrible smell drifted across the water. I gagged involuntarily.

  After a few minutes of silence the Wendigo turned and drifted off of the island. The hairy beasts ambled away, disappearing into the swamp. The gray light died. The rain began to pelt us again. Gradually the light returned to its natural levels and frogs began to croak. The swamp returned to normal, or at least as normal as a place like Natchy Bottom could be.

  “That was the Wendigo,” Julie told us. “The other things were skunk-apes. Swamp Sasquatches. It protects them, keeps them away from our world. They are why I didn’t want your people”—she nodded at Franks—“to just come in here and blow the whole place up.”

  “Just big monkeys,” the Fed grunted.

  Julie started to reply, but then bit her tongue. Arguing with Franks would be like beating your head against a block of granite.

  “Uh-oh,” I said, “that don’t look good.” Once the mysterious being had gone, Harbinger leapt to his feet and slid down the hill, grabbed his weapons, and came leaping across the water, splashing toward us as fast as he could.

  “It’s a trap!” he shouted in our direction.

  “Alpha, Bravo. Go hot,” Franks ordered.

  Harbinger skidded into us, breathing heavy. He looked like he had seen a ghost. I suppose in a way he had.

  “The Cursed One ain’t here. The vampires ain’t here. But they summoned something else. Something is waiting for us. It was a trick.” He turned to Franks. “We need immediate extraction and air cover.”

  The silent Fed did not argue. “Delta, this is Charlie. We need immediate evac. Over.”

  Nothing.

  Franks repeated his request. Still no response. A regular man would have looked concerned at being stuck near the crossroads of all badness, in the middle of an ambush set by creatures of unspeakable evil. He shrugged, apparently unperturbed.

  “The signal isn’t getting out,” Julie said. “How could it be a trap? My dad told us . . .” She trailed off. “Oh no.”

  “He told us what Susan wanted him to,” Harbinger snapped. He kicked a tree stump. “Damn it! I should have thought of that. We have to get out of here.”

  “Alpha, Bravo. Come in,” Franks said. “Nothing.” He stood up and pointed at some of his men. He made several rapid hand signals and pumped his fist in the air. They nodded, leapt to their feet, and sloshed in the direction of the other teams. “We fall back to the extraction zone.”

  “Can you call in air cover with flares?” Sam asked.

  “Already done,” he answered as something boomed from the direction of Charlie team. A few seconds later, red flares erupted high above us and slowly drifted toward the thick canopy of trees.

  “I just hope they see them in the bad visibility,” Milo said, looking up at the rain and the roiling clouds.

  From the distance came a sound like the blowing of a horn, a deep rumbling that we all felt in the pits of our stomachs. The low note continued for several seconds and then trailed off. Another horn blew to our south, and then another to the east.

  “Earl, what did they summon?” I asked. All I knew was that if they had been brought here by Lord Machado, they were not going to be friendly.

  “I don’t know.” His face was streaked with mud and his eyes narrowed dangerously. “But the Wendigo said to get out. He said it’s beyond his power. So it’s bad. Real bad. I told him to get his people out of here. So if you see something that ain’t human, shoot it.”

  More horns sounded. Now they were all around us. Several rang out between us and the way that we had come from. “Sounds like they’re not going to let us retreat.” Julie snapped her M14 to her shoulder and scanned through the scope. The MHI staff began to fan out, weapons at the ready, looking for defensive positions.

  Deprived of his radio, Franks started to bellow orders to his men. “Dig in. Claymores. Hit them when they come for us. At my signal, push through to the south.” That was our end of the diamond. “Your men up to being the tip of the spear?” he asked Harbinger.

  “Of course,” our team leader answered with far more confidence than I felt. Ed’s swords flashed silver in the low light as he pulled them smoothly from their sheaths. The blades were short and thick and wickedly sharp. He cracked his neck and vertebrae. The rest of us were armed with a variety of firearms, plus each person was packing along some form of heavier ordnance: RPGs, grenade launchers, and Milo had some sort of homemade lightweight flamethrower. It hummed ominously when he switched it on, heavily pressurized with napalm.

  “Find cover,” Harbinger ordered. “We don’t know what they are, so hit them with everything.” The squad complied. To our left, Charlie team dug down. To our right was Alpha. Bravo was behind us. Franks moved amongst his men, giving orders. Pointing out problems. Assigning areas of responsibility. Offering reassurance while the rumble of unnatural horns sounded in the distance. He may have been a violent, bloodthirsty scumbag, but he was a good leader.

  “Get lower, Trip,” Harbinger suggested as he paced amongst us. “Holly, you have a clear area behind you, so you can use the RPG if we need it. Lee, don’t hug right against that tree, it limits your mobility. Step back a bit and you still have cover.” We had a great leader as well. “Looking good, Hunters. It ain’t gonna be nothing we can’t handle.”

  “I hate the part when you don’t know what the
bad guys are,” Sam said quietly as he pressed his bulk behind a mound of tree roots. The low rumbling horns stopped. The rain slapped against the water.

  “Harb Anger,” Skippy grunted. The orc swiveled his head from side to side as he sniffed the air. “They come.”

  “What are they, Skip?” Julie asked.

  “Not know,” he answered. “Smell . . . smells not from . . . here.”

  The ten of us were spread out over a forty-foot area, holding low behind trees, roots, logs and mud. Each of us was scanning the swamp for threats. The rain and mist made it difficult to see very far. My area of responsibility was a confused mass of light and shadows, vines and trees, moss and mud. Nothing moved. The swamp was quiet except for the noises of small animals and the occasional bubble of mysterious organic gasses creeping to the surface.

  Gunfire and explosions erupted to the north. Bravo team had made contact. Some of the Newbies jumped at the sounds and began to turn.

  “Hold!” Harbinger shouted. “Watch your area! That’s their problem. Deal with yours!”

  I forced myself back into position as the supersonic cracks of rifle bullets and the duller whumps of high explosive filled the air. Bravo team was unleashing hell upon something. After several seconds the initial salvo died down until there was only a sporadic firing of weapons. Then nothing.

  Franks’ deep voice drifted through the trees, shouting orders and commands to his men.

  “Bah. Whatever they are, they ain’t so tough,” Sam said as he spit into the water.

  Harbinger held up his hand for quiet. He closed his eyes and listened intently, almost as if he was meditating. Suddenly he stiffened and swore quietly.

  There was a whistling noise from the direction of Bravo. Then another, and another, until the swamp echoed with dozens of the strange sounds, and then the damp thuds of hundreds of separate impacts. Wails of pain and human agony followed.