Monster Hunter Legion-eARC (13 page)

“We’re not here to poach your bounty, but you don’t know what that thing is. We’re coming with you.”

Lindemann paused to listen to his own radio. “It does not matter what it is, because it is disabled and soon to be dead. My men have it.”

“Z!” Holly ran over. “The cop’s in bad shape. Several bad lacerations and a shitload of blood loss. He needs a doctor
now.
”

“We applied a tourniquet,” Lindemann said. “The wound on his leg was very severe.”

Too bad Gretchen hadn’t come with us.
Even if there was an ambulance on the way, we were in the sticks, and Skippy was still the fastest way out. “Load him in the Hind. We don’t know what hit him though…”

“Don’t worry. If he starts to change into something I’ll toss him out the door.” It was hard to argue with Holly’s brand of ruthless enthusiasm, plus Trip was already carrying him to the chopper, regardless of whatever I would’ve said anyway. “So unless he turns into a werebird, that should do the trick.” Holly went back to her new charge.

“I will make sure MHI is put in for an assist.” Lindemann tried to soothe me.

It didn’t work. “Damn right you will.” I walked back to the Hind, put Julie’s rifle back and took out Abomination. As nice as Julie’s rifle was, having my fat, mean, full-auto 12-gauge Kalashnikov with its silver inlaid bayonet and hefty grenade launcher was strangely comforting. “Because I’m going with you.”

“That isn’t necessary.”

“Maybe it’s got a friend.” I turned away from Lindemann. Milo had come up behind me. “Get him to the hospital and update Julie. Trip and Ed are with me.” Edward patted a sword hilt to demonstrate he understood.

Milo nodded approvingly at Lindemann. “That whole parachute thing was pretty nifty.”

“Thank you.” Lindemann gave a little bow. “You must be Milo Anderson, the Edison of Monster Hunting, the DaVinci of creative destruction, or would that be destructive creation. Your work is legendary.”

I swear that Milo blushed. “Oh, totally exaggerated.”

“Give me a freaking break.” I was still in a bad mood about losing out on a ridiculous bounty by a matter of seconds. “Come on.”

Lindemann, Trip, and I made our way around the garage as the Hind lifted off and sped away with the rest of my team. It always seems extra quiet after you’ve been listening to the Hind and Skippy’s music when it was suddenly gone. The windswept desert was eerily still.

“Klaus Lindemann, this is Trip Jones,” I said, gesturing at my friend as he pulled off his ski mask. It was a lot warmer without the airflow. Trip shook Lindemann’s hand. “One of MHI’s best.”

“Now you’re just sucking up,” Trip replied with a smile.

“And this is Edward.” Of course, his mask stayed on. I hadn’t thought about how to introduce our orc, since it was supposed to be a secret that we had them. Thankfully, in the near darkness, the green skin and yellow eyes didn’t stand out as much. Ed didn’t offer to shake hands. “He’s our…administrative assistant.”

“I see…” Lindemann said, studying Edward and his many edged weapons, but not commenting further.

The creature’s trail was easy enough to follow in the snow, having left a chaotic pattern of two-inch-circumference holes in the snow. The boots of Lindemann’s men had obliterated many of the tracks. I recognized the little pockmarks in the snow as spots where hot brass had hit and immediately melted through.

“I can assure you, gentlemen. I would not cheat you out of the assist money. We run a scrupulous operation at Grimm Berlin. Mr. Harbinger, I have no doubt, would assure you of our integrity.”

“He’s spoken highly of you.” Well, he put them in the All Right category instead of the Asshole category, which was about as good a compliment as you could get from Earl Harbinger. “I don’t doubt you. More than anything I’m curious to see what all the fuss is about.”

“Ah, well in that case, we are in agreement.” There was a small wooden shed with a bit of light seeping out around the edges of the door, but we could see from the tracks that the monster hadn’t gone anywhere near it. Stepping over a chicken-wire fence and making our way through a dead vegetable garden, we found the other four Hunters at the side of the old trailer house. They were standing in a semicircle, rifles shouldered, weapon-mounted flashlights illuminating one spot on the ground at the end of the trailer. One of the Hunters called out in German, then immediately began to rattle off a bunch of information to his boss.

“They swept the house. Empty. There appeared to be a single occupant. An older man. The mechanic. Certainly the corpse that is now decorating the policeman’s automobile.”

As I made my way around the Hunters, I finally got a good look at the creature.

“That’s it?” Trip was incredulous.

It was a giant spider. Or what was left of one. It had been riddled with bullet holes. It was hunched up on itself, its exact shape hard to see. Trip’s reaction was understandable. Sure, a tarantula the size of a loveseat was terrifying, but not ten million dollars terrifying. By our standards, something like this wasn’t that abnormal, and depending on the size and severity of the infestation, was worth a few thousand bucks, tops.

“I do not understand,” Lindemann said. He barked a command at one of his men, who leaned into his rifle and cranked off several shots. The bullets struck, splattering the snow with bits and pieces of fuzzy meat. It didn’t even twitch. Certain that it was dead, Lindemann walked right up to it and shoved it with his boot. It rolled over on its back. The eight legs splayed open, revealing the damaged underbelly. Yellow guts rolled out into the snow. “Curious.”

He was thinking the same thing I was. “This is too simple. One of the guys from my Newbie class got a dozen of these things with a homemade bomb.”

Too bad Albert Lee wasn’t here. He was an expert on giant spiders, but then again, our librarian had rapidly become an expert on everything. Lee had even instituted a companywide program of our Hunters turning in mandatory after-action reports for every case, all so he could catalog monster behaviors, reactions, and vulnerabilities, then analyze the results, and file them for future reference. It was a really good idea, but I’d hated writing reports at first. It felt too much like school, but after Lee had given me crap for being needlessly stuffy and doing things like never using any contractions in my early reports, I’d loosened up, and now writing about my cases came more naturally.

One of the other Germans spoke English. “Could there be more of these around?”

“For that sort of bounty, there would have to be a colony of them…” Lindemann said. “Which one of you dropped the spider?”

“It was me,” said another of the men, surely speaking English for me and Trip’s convenience. These Europeans were so helpful like that.

“Good work, Hugo. We shall stuff it and make a toy for your children to play on. It will look rather nice in your flat. That is all such a meager beast is useful for.” Lindemann kicked the monster again for good measure. “What game is this Stricken playing at? Why waste all of our time for
this?
”

“I survived the Stuttgart Massacre,” said Hugo. “I saw horrors you cannot imagine. The chancellor herself personally presented me with the bounty payment and certificate of appreciation. I hate to think we will make far more money for shooting a large bug than for surviving hell on earth. It makes no sense.”

“I intend to collect the bounty promised,” Lindemann vowed. “There is much the American government does that makes no sense…” he looked at me. “No offense.”

I snorted. He wasn’t going to get an argument out of me on that one. “MCB will be coming from the first attack site soon. Cops will be on the way too.”

“Take photos,” Lindemann directed. “I have heard rumor that the Monster Control Bureau will destroy evidence to keep from paying bounties.” That was a new one on me, but two digital cameras were flashing within seconds. These guys were certainly efficient.

Trip took me aside. “Something’s fishy.”

“I know. This is too easy.” I wasn’t about to say anything about Earl’s girlfriend in front of the Germans, but there was no way a single giant spider took out a werewolf.

“A very wise man once said there ain’t no such thing as a free lunch. This seems suspiciously like free lunch territory to me.” Trip looked over at the trailer. “I’m going to poke around.”

“Take Ed. Keep him away from the Feds too. Myers’ whole provisional
don’t ask, don’t tell if you’re an orc
might not be in effect anymore.” I wish I had thought of that before keeping Edward here. “Where’d he go anyway?”

Trip pointed. Edward had walked over to the dead spider and was examining it. He drew one of the many knives strapped to his body, squatted down, and sawed off the last few inches of one of the legs. He speared the chunk of leg, dropped it into a cloth, wrapped it up, and stuck it inside his coat. “What’s wrong, Ed?”

Edward looked at me, seemingly confused. He struggled to find the words. His English wasn’t nearly as good as his brother’s. “Spy-der…Not real.”

“Looks real to me,” Trip said. “What do you mean?”

“Not real.” Edward shrugged. “Fake.” Our orc patted his coat. “For show.” Then he wandered over to inspect the nearby shed. Curious, I followed him.

Ed held up one hand, motioning me to stop. In one sharp movement he drew one of his swords. Trip and I instinctively shouldered our guns and pointed them at the shed. Lindemann caught the movement and raised his H&K. The three of us fanned out. Edward looked over at me and nodded, then he ripped open the door.

It was a chicken coop.

The light I had seen earlier was a single large bulb designed to keep the birds warm. There were a few straw-covered shelves where the chickens made nests and laid eggs. Edward looked around inside, then sheathed his sword. Trip and I slowly lowered our weapons. Edward picked out a large white chicken, reached down, and scooped it up.

The bird seemed rather nervous. “Edward, why do you have a chicken?”

Edward tucked the chicken carefully under one arm. “Sacrifice…For tail row-tor spirits.” Then he walked toward the trailer. It took the befuddled Trip a second to realize that was where he had been heading to begin with and he followed along.

Lindemann paused by my side. “Your
administrative assistant
is an odd sort.”

“Chicken theft? That’s totally going on his next evaluation.”

Chapter 7

While Trip checked the trailer, I investigated the shop. Between the German’s explosive device and Milo’s mad minute, every light in the place had been busted, so I used my flashlight to maneuver. We had really trashed the garage, and everything that could break, had. I poked around behind the tool chests and shined my light down into the oil pit, but the only other spiders I could find were the normal, itty-bitty kind, and even then, chucking a small bomb into an enclosed space did wonders for cleaning out the cobwebs.

The bathroom hadn’t been cleaned for years, but it didn’t matter anyway, since the toilet had been pulverized into porcelain shards by a few 7.62 rounds. The water tube had been severed and was spraying the grimy remains. Through the now broken door, the small convenience store was in even worse shape. It had been a dark little place to begin with, and the only thing left on the shredded walls was a girly calendar from the nineteen-eighties. A rack of engine oil and antifreeze had been completely obliterated, and the nasty puddle filled most of the tiny space. Broken glass crunched under my boots as I circled the counter, where I found the rest of the proprietor.

I had to look away, and considering what I do for a living, that’s saying something.

Something moved in the entrance. Startled, I spun around and lifted Abomination.

It was only a man. I quickly turned Abomination’s muzzle aside. “Don’t sneak up on people like that.” Even with my flashlight pointed to the side, plenty of light bounced back for me to see that he was young, probably in his late teens or early twenties, Asian, fit, with a short, neatly parted haircut, no armor, but dressed in unfamiliar olive drab fatigues. The style of his clothing tipped me off. Some of our rival Hunters had arrived. “Who are you?”

The young man stared at me and didn’t answer. Considering all of the foreign companies Stricken had unleashed on this place, he probably didn’t speak English. I had met a lot of people today, but I didn’t recognize this one. “You speak English? Who are you with?”

“With? I’m with…” He blinked a few times, confused, then rubbed his face, like he was just waking up. “I don’t know. Nobody, I guess. I’ve got to find her.”

His English was fine. “Who are you looking for?”

He moved slowly, unsteady, as if really seeing the destroyed store for the first time. He looked past me and saw the pile of limbs and organs that had recently been a person. “It’s happening again.”

“What are you—” Then I realized that he was unarmed, or at least with nothing that I could see. Because of the military cut of his clothing, I’d assumed he was a Hunter, but why come here without a weapon? Was he a local who’d just blundered in? But he didn’t seem shocked or disgusted to see the body, just disappointed. “Who are you?”

“Z?” I turned to see Trip coming through the doorway from the garage. “Who’re you talking to?”

I turned back around and the young man was gone.

Running for the entrance, I stepped in the puddle of oil, slipped, and nearly went down, but I skidded along and made it to the door. I stepped outside, looked both ways. He was gone. Ten feet into the parking lot and I could see around the police car, and…

Nothing.

“You okay?” Trip asked as he followed me outside.

“I was just talking to a guy. He was right
here
. Asian kid, about this tall.” I held one hand out at shoulder height. I turned back around, but the cold desert was empty. “I thought he was one of the other Hunters.” Nervous, Trip took his night vision monocular out and used that to scan the parking lot. I looked behind the tow truck but the stranger was gone. “Weird.”

“If we had a normal job, I’d laugh it off and say you imagined it,
but
…”