Monster Hunter Alpha-ARC (30 page)

Horst was nervous, his eyes kept flicking down to the .45 caliber hole at the end of the Thompson. Earl remembered that Horst was the kind of sleazeball, know-it-all bastard who thought he could talk his way out of anything. Blood was running pathetically from his nose, but he tried to stand straight and look Earl square in the eye. “I promise I won’t tell anybody your secret if you let me go.”

“How—what’re you talking about?” That took him completely by surprise. He was always careful to make sure the Newbies didn’t know about his condition. Larry groaned, dizzy, bleary-eyed, and tried to sit up, So Earl removed the Thompson from Horst’s face long enough to whack the barrel over Larry’s head. Larry cried out and covered his head protectively.

“You stay down there.” The Thompson’s muzzle returned to Horst’s neck. “You talk.”

He was an excellent liar. “I won’t tell anybody you’re a werewolf. Look, I can give you money. Lots of money. I’ve got a rich uncle. He’ll—” He cringed when Earl slapped him upside the head.

It made Earl’s hand sting in the cold. “Do I look stupid? Who told you I was a werewolf?”

“Agent Stark!” Horst exclaimed, hoping to turn Earl’s wrath against someone else. “Stark told us about how big the PUFF was. He told us you were evil, and that all the killing tonight was your fault.”

Stark.
Earl scowled. If the MCB had turned loose on him, he had even bigger problems on his hands than Nikolai, the mystery Alpha, Old Ones, and a pack of werewolves to deal with. The MCB were an obnoxious but dedicated bunch. Ending up on their shit list meant that he was going to have to find a rock to hide under for the rest of his life. “Where’s Stark?”

Horst seemed glad to give that up. It gave Earl somebody else to be mad at. “The hospital, last I saw.”

Earl had an idea. “Stark lied to you. I don’t know why. The guy’s crazy. Watch this.” He lowered the Thompson and pulled a folding knife from his pocket. Earl flicked it open. Horst flinched, surely imagining that Earl was going to carve him up, but instead Earl made a small cut on the back of his own hand. He held it right in Horst’s face as it bled. “See that? It ain’t healing. I’m no werewolf. I’m just a man.” The blood kept on flowing. “You kill me, all you’re getting is a murder charge, not a dime of PUFF.”

“It’s totally Stark’s fault.” Horst nodded his head at the blood. “I was just trying to help. You know, all that saving people, protecting the public, just like MHI. We’re on the same side. It was all a big misunderstanding. I was just doing my job.”

“Job?” Even if they were from a rival company, other Hunters could make a huge difference. MHI was the best, but some of the other companies were pretty damn good, too, and Copper Lake needed all the help it could get. “Who the hell hired the likes of you?”

“Briarwood Eradication Services,” Horst answered quickly.

“Never heard of them.”

“BES? Based out of Chicago?”

“Ain’t ringing any bells,” Earl said. Horst seemed somehow deflated. Larry started to get up again, so Earl kicked him on the shoulder. That time he seemed to get the hint and just stayed still. These had to be the other Hunters he’d saved at the grocery store, where he’d been promptly rewarded by getting an ax to the back. “Where’s your team leader?”

Horst was hesitant as he answered. “I’m the team lead—”

Earl snorted. It figured. Sure, some of the other companies were professionals, but for every one of them, there were five little fly-by-night outfits just trying to cash in on the PUFF. He wasn’t going to get any help from these amateurs. If their attempt on him consisted of hosing half a neighborhood with a belt-fed, then they’d probably be even more of a danger to the locals than the werewolves. Earl leaned in close and gave Horst an order. His tone left no doubt that it was not a suggestion. “Get your team. Get out of town. If you make it, spread the word and get help.”

Horst was wide-eyed and seemed glad to just get out of there with his life. Earl let go of his collar and gestured with the knife at Larry. Horst helped lift his dazed friend, and the two stumbled for their car. “Horst,” Earl shouted after them. His former employee stopped. “As a professional courtesy, one hunter to another, you get
one
free pass. Cross me again, and I put you in the ground.”

Horst gave him a nod of acknowledgment, but Earl could see the hate in his eyes. This one could be trouble. Earl briefly entertained the thought of just gunning them down and being done with it, but a terrible wail came from the house at his back. It was audible even over the wind. The Briarwood men scrambled for the perceived safety of their car. Earl turned and lifted his subgun. “Damn it, Heather, not now.” He started up the icy steps as the Cadillac fled. He didn’t want to execute Kerkonen, but it didn’t sound like he was going to have much choice.

* * *

Where am I?

It took a moment. It was dark, but she could see okay. She was on the kitchen floor, which just raised other questions, like how she’d gotten there. Then she saw the damage. The fridge was open, and the power had to be out because no light was coming from it. The digital clock must be out on the microwave, too, since it was blank. Then, as the clarity of her vision improved, she saw that the microwave was broken open and the fridge door was puckered with holes. Cabinets doors were hanging from broken hinges. The window over the sink was shattered and snow was blowing in. The flimsy curtains around the window were billowing in the wind.

Why am I sticky? Ewww. What is this mess?

Something warm and wet was on her hands, on her face. It soaked her clothes, making them cling to her body. She felt nauseous and feverish.

I must have gotten really drunk.

Slowly the events of the night came trickling back. Buckley, the monsters, getting bitten, running, striking back…Then the trickle turned into a flood, and as the dam burst, Heather realized exactly how she’d ended up on her kitchen floor. Lifting one tattered pant leg, she checked, but her calf muscle was whole and smooth. She lay there, breathing hard, thankful to be alive and wishing that it was in fact all a bad dream but already knowing that it wasn’t.

Her senses were too acute. There were voices in the front yard, two engines running. The kitchen smelled of broken containers, freshly disturbed dust, and…
death
? In a panic, she realized that she couldn’t remember what had happened after she’d gotten shot. It had hurt. She’d been scared, but after that…What? What had she done? She remembered the inwardly directed fear turning into outwardly directed anger, and then
nothing
.

Chairs had been turned over. One was broken. There was a darker shape in the shadows under the kitchen table. These memories seemed alien, out of place, but she knew that it had just been hurled there. The blood on her clothing, on her face and hands, had come from it. Hurt, she had lashed out. She remembered instinctively eating so she could recover, and then a sudden shock and revulsion. The other set of memories had tapered off then, leaving her alone.

She crawled toward the table. “Otto?” There was no answer. The shape didn’t move. It was him. Otto was dead. She reached her dog, pulled him into her lap, and started to sob, rocking back and forth. She’d killed her dog, her friend. Heather lifted her head and howled her sorrow with a voice that was more than human.

Otto had been murdered, and she barely even remembered doing it. Tears cut through the blood on her cheeks. This was what Harbinger had warned her about. She was a monster. She hadn’t even changed physically, and she’d
eaten
her dog.

The steps were audible a long way away. Harbinger walked softly by anyone’s standards, but each boot fall seemed like thunder in her ears. He stopped in the doorway. Her back was to him, but she didn’t need to turn to know that he had a gun pointed at her. “Heather?” he asked hesitantly, surely ready for her to leap up, with golden-eyes and fangs to attack him, so he could mow her down without remorse. “Heather?”

“I killed him,” she whispered.

“What?” There was another step. A glass shard ground between his sole and the floor.

“Otto. I killed Otto.” She held the cooling mass of blood-soaked fur tightly in her arms as she rocked back and forth. She’d pulled another one of his legs off. Had the evil part of her thought that was funny? “I killed him and I ate him.”

The Hunter was quiet. Her mind’s eye could see the old gun at his shoulder as he lined the sights up on the back of her head. She’d never see it coming. She deserved it. But instead of putting her out of her misery, he said, “It was an accident. You reined it in quick. That’s a good thing.”

“Shoot me, Harbinger.”

“Only if I have to.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.” There was a metal-on-metal click as Harbinger put the safety on and a creak of a nylon strap as he set the weapon down. There were two more steps and then a gentle hand on her shoulder. His voice was soft. “Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Chapter 18

The memories are murky here. I’m missing days, and sometimes even weeks from this period. Rocky hurt me badly here.

STFU had been working well together for several months when we were sent to operate out of an area known as Salem House. During this time we may or may not have hypothetically entered another country, like say…Cambodia, for example. We were inserted by a CH-3, which is a huge and very handy helicopter. All of this riding in helicopters for the last few months had convinced me that MHI really needed a chopper, and I promised myself that when I got home, I was going to buy us one.

A long-range patrol had disappeared. It was believed to be the work of the mysterious Russian. Conover hoped to pin down if this Nikolai even existed, and if so, what he was and how we should best go about killing him.

We found the remains of the patrol in short order. They’d been wiped out so fast that they hadn’t even tried to use the radio. Only two of them had time to fire their weapons. It hadn’t done them any good. I could smell the other werewolf everywhere. He’d left me a note, written on the back of a map and pinned to a dead soldier with his own bayonet.

You kill mine. I kill yours. It is a game. Who is better? Let us find out, brother.

—Nikolai

That was the real beginning of our war.

STFU ambushed a supply train the following day. We killed ten men. I left a note on the leader.

Come out and face me like a man.

Two days later we responded to a raid on a firebase. We were requested by name, which Conover found embarrassing for a unit that did not actually exist. Four men on guard duty had been killed silently, before the intruder had made it all the way to the center of the camp, where he’d left a note on the commanding officer’s cot. He’d taken the major’s head with him. Nobody else had heard a sound.

Dear Mr. Wolf and Special Task Force Unicorn

You are not trying very hard to impress me. You can do better than this.

—Nikolai

The next night was the full moon. I informed Conover that there would be no need to dig a hole. I was going out alone. He pulled the task force inside the perimeter and issued silver bullets.

* * *

Saying that the bridge was out was an understatement. A better description would be that the bridge had been blown to bits. Though rusty, Stark knew his way around demolitions, and he could tell that whoever had taken out the bridge had not known what they were doing, so had made up for it with volume. A few well-placed small charges would have dumped the whole thing into the river. Instead it looked like one really big one had been set square in the middle and detonated. It had worked, though. Nobody would be driving across the scorched remains of that thing anytime soon.

Agent Mosher thumped the steering wheel in frustration. This was the second bridge they’d checked. The first had been just as ruined. “Not again!”

“At least there aren’t any bodies at this one,” Stark pointed out. There had been a pair of snowmobiles abandoned at the last bridge. They’d gotten out to investigate and found where the riders had gone downstream a bit and attempted to cross the icy river at a low spot. The werewolves had picked them off on the far side. A few bloody limbs sticking out of the snow had been the only evidence. Stark checked his watch. They’d be covered by now, probably invisible until spring.

There was one other route out, but Stark had no doubt that it, too, would be covered. Even sitting here, he could tell they were being watched. The trees were thick on each side of the road, surely crawling with werewolves. This was abnormal behavior. Werewolves never showed this kind of coordination or planning. Even the most organized packs the MCB had ever encountered hadn’t shown nearly this level of sophistication.

“Maybe we should try to ford it. It doesn’t look too deep,” Mosher suggested.

The kid’s desire to be the hero was coloring his judgment and making him stupid. “They’d like that, I bet. The river isn’t frozen solid enough yet to walk across. We don’t have wet suits. You fall in that water and you’re in trouble, trust me. And they’ll just be waiting on the other side to pounce, just like those assholes at the last place. Wet, freezing, you’re an easy target.”

Agent Mosher cursed under his breath. It took a while to get the Suburban turned around. Plows weren’t running, and they’d be lucky to make it back to town without getting stuck. “Careful,” Stark ordered. If they got trapped out here, he knew that they were as good as werewolf chow. “Nice and easy.”

“I can drive in this, sir. I’ll get us there. Map shows a third route,” Mosher said. “The next town is to the southwest, and it’s on the same side of the river, so no bridges. Let’s try that next.”

Stark’s contrarian nature made him want to argue. They could easily get stuck or slide off the road, and then they could either walk out and get eaten by werewolves, or they could stay put in the Suburban until they ran out of gas to run the heater, in which case they could freeze to death or be eaten by werewolves. So he really didn’t have any other ideas.

The drive was nerve-wracking. It was a black-and-white, wind-whipping, snow hurling world outside their windshield. They passed a car abandoned on the side of the road. The doors were open, the interior filling with snow. There was no sign of the driver. Mosher knew better than to even ask about stopping to check. Slowly they made their way through the slippery countryside.