Grunge (ARC)

by Larry Correia

  I watched, I sketched and I listened. I also moved my camp closer to theirs. Slowly, I learned the very primitive language. Either they had linguistically devolved from the yeti or Hillary had been over-optimistic on yeti. They only had about five hundred words in their language and half of them seemed to involve water in various forms. It was very polysynthetic and situational.

  As the full moon came around they got more and more nervous and a word started to crop up: Ch’kik! It was very different from most of their language and close to the Yeti for “tiger” Yek-tik! I wasn’t sure if it meant “predator” or specifically “werewolf.” But clearly they were as afraid of it as the locals who knew about the “frequent bear attacks” in the region.

  I’d gotten closer to Joan and Herman than the rest. Herman saw me as some sort of threat. He recognized I was male and looked at me as a potential dominance threat. But he also loved chocolate.

  They never tried to steal my candy. Just accepted it when offered. Sasquatch are more innately civilized than homo sapiens.

  Herman’s name in Sasquatch was Cho-cho-ka-ah. It’s more of a nickname that means “Boy who made bad poop.” He seemed to rise above it.

  But one day as the moon was waning I sidled towards him.

  “Cho-cho-ka-ah!” I said, not looking at him. “Guh! Guh!”

  “Kuu-kuh-ah-ah!” he said, pulling at some weeds. “Guh!”

  “Ch’kik! Mu! Mu!”

  Mu translated as more or less “Fear” or “Bad thing.” Kuu-kuh-ah-ah was my Sasquatch name that translated as “Broken one good food.” They could tell, somehow, that I was sort of busted up.

  “Ch’kik! Mu! Mu!” he agreed. “Ch’kik ulakula hakk!”

  The werewolf/tiger/predator hunts/eats/preys upon our children.

  “Kuu-kuh-ah-ah Ch’kik hakk!”

  “Ch’kik hakk!” he exclaimed and backed up, fearfully.

  I was afraid I’d mistranslated. I was just getting the hang of Sasquatch but time was getting short.

  “Kuu-kuh-ah-ah Guh! Guh!” I said. I’m a friend. “Sushu Guh! Guh!” I’m a friend to the Sasquatch tribe of this region. I pulled out a Hershey’s kiss and laid it on the ground and backed away, being as beta as I could be.

  The rest of the tribe had seen the interaction and wandered over, curious.

  Herman retrieved the Kiss and went over to the tribe. There was a bit of conversation and social grooming. Even Earl got involved. The discussion got heated then Earl reared up and charged.

  I was afraid I was about to suffer death by Sasquatch as the massive male came lumbering over to me, gigantic arms swinging and teeth bared.

  I maintained my beta position, head down, eyes turned away, but stood my ground.

  He came up and poked me, rocking me back. I just held my ground. Two more pokes. They felt like being rammed with an iron rod. I didn’t look up.

  “Kuu-kuh-ah-ah hakk!” he bellowed.

  You’re a predator!

  “Kuu-kuh-ah-ah Guh! Guh!” I said, definitely. “Kuu-kuh-ah-ah Ch’kik hakk! Ch’kik Mu! Mu! Kuu-kuh-ah-ah Mu! Hakk!”

  I’m a friend. I hunt werewolves. I hunt bad things.

  “Mu! Hakk!”

  Bad thing! Hunter!

  They’d probably been hunted by humans before.

  He settled on his hindquarters and regarded me, huffing angrily.

  I decided to drop the beta posture and look him right in the eye.

  “Kuu-kuh-ah-ah Mu! Mu! Rahk hakk!”

  I’m a great hunter of bad things.

  He must have seen that despite the fact that I’d been just sort of hanging around being a nice guy, I was anything but.

  “Kuu-kuh-ah-ah Shushu hakk!”

  You’re hunting bigfoot.

  This thing could rip me apart and I wasn’t even carrying the Colt.

  “Kuu-kuh-ah-ah Mu! Mu! Hakk!” I barked. “Shushu Guh! Guh!”

  I hunt bad things. Bigfoot are good things.

  He preferred the ginger candies. I pulled one out and unwrapped it and laid it on the ground on the wrapper.

  He picked it up and continued to regard me. They may not have been strictly intelligent but they were smart at surviving. He popped it in his mouth and rolled it around.

  “Ch’kik! Gah oh ooh.”

  The werewolf is not here/elsewhere.

  “Ho, ho, Ch’kik? Kuu-kuh-ah-ah hakk Ch’kik!”

  Where is it? I want to prey upon it.

  “CHO-CHO-KA-AAH!” the big male bellowed.

  Herman knew when his boss was in a foul mood. He came over at full beta, knuckle walking and practically groveling.

  “Kuu-kuh-ah-ah Ch’kik hakk,” Earl growled. “Cho-cho-ka-aah ho-ho.”

  This human’s hunting a werewolf. Show him where it lives.

  Herman let out a very unhappy sound and wet himself a little.

  Sasquatch are also not what you call brave.

  There were two days to the full moon. Which didn’t mean the werewolf couldn’t change but I’d rather get to it during the other phase. So I’d need to move out.

  I was about out of food. Good part, my pack was lighter. Bad part, I was about out of food. And for a mature werewolf I’d rather call the whole team. But Earl wanted me out of here, now.

  I led Herman back to my camp and packed. I left most of the stuff like the pop-tent. I was going to be travelling light. I took food, guns, water and ammo. I had a device for filtering water so I could drink it from the local streams. That was a necessity.

  When I was packed I gave Herman one of my dwindling stock of Hershey’s Kisses and said:

  “Cho-cho-ka-aah ho-ho.”

  We were off on a werewolf hunt.

  Herman was like a ghost in the wood and he had me on leg length and experience. And he wanted to get this over with as quick as possible. He constantly had to wait for me to catch up.

  It took more than a day of travel to reach the werewolf’s territory. I could tell when we were getting there by how Herman got more and more nervous. We bunked up for the night in a cave and I lit a fire. Herman didn’t like fire. He stayed as far from it as possible. Since I’d put it near the entrance he huddled at the back of the cave. But it was a good protection from animals in general and a werewolf doesn’t regenerate from it very well.

  When we came out in the morning, Herman was even more nervous. He hooted unhappily and pointed to some bushes near the cave. I sniffed them and smelled a strong, musky, odor. The werewolf had found us and marked the spot. Now it was hunting us.

  I’d checked my 700 BDL before leaving the cave and double checked to make sure there was a round in the chamber. Then we set out.

  We were on the east side of Mount Howard at this point in very broken terrain. The mountain reared up above us majestically, its summit still cloaked in snow and there was still snow in shadowed patches even where we were moving.

  Herman was just about catatonic with fear. He kept stopping and hooting unhappily. He was clearly upset that his love of chocolate had gotten him into this predicament. I was unhappy to be hunting an experienced werewolf on its own terrain in nothing but my Marine issue cammies and armed with a bolt-action rifle and a 1911. One bite from the damned thing and I’d be eating Sasquatch babies on the full moon.

  Baby killer indeed.

  Just past noon Herman stopped and started looking around and smelling.

  “M-m-m-Mu! Mu! Hakk!” he stuttered. I did not even know Sasquatch could stutter.

  The werewolf burst from cover, charging the juvenile Sasquatch and ignoring me.

  Herman let out a bellow of fear and tried to climb a tree. Sasquatch do not climb very well.

  The werewolf sunk its teeth into his calf and ripped out a chunk the size of a good-sized sirloin.

  Then I shot it with a .30-06 silver round right through its heart.

  I worked the bolt and fired a second time as it turned towards me. It had felt the first one but in its battle fury it could keep going for a few seconds without a heart. Th
e second round took it just under the throat and to the left. That broke its right shoulder. It still launched itself at me. I dodged to the left, its wounded side, and butt-stroked it away with the BDL, keeping it from latching onto me as well.

  I dropped the BDL and drew my 1911 from the holster. The damned thing had two silver rounds of .30-06 in it but it was still coming. Tough werewolf.

  Seven rounds of .45 did it.

  Poor Herman was leaning against the tree, moaning and crying and holding his badly wounded leg. I had no clue if Sasquatch could turn but I hoped not. Despite his fear he’d shown me the route to the werewolf. Courage isn’t being without fear. Courage is overcoming fear and Herman was the most courageous Sasquatch you’ll ever meet. They’re not big on courage. I got out my first aid kit and helped him as best as I could.

  I’d checked with Doctor Lucius on what to do if I ended up killing the werewolf in the back-country. His suggestion was “don’t” but to get the PUFF I had to have a tissue sample. So I took both ears. Herman didn’t like that, either.

  You ever have to help a Sasquatch with a wounded leg through twenty miles of broken terrain? I’m not going to quote the song. Brother or not, they are very heavy.

  And the full moon was upon us.

  The first night of the full moon I sat up all night in the cave, watching Herman sleep. I was out of food and worn to a frazzle but if he woke up and turned into a weresasquatch or something I was going to be ready. It took a human a month to turn, but who knew with Sasquatch?

  Apparently, despite being clearly related to humans, Sasquatch are immune to the curse.

  The tribe found us, we didn’t find them. By then Herman’s wound was infected and I was worried about him surviving. Sasquatch live hand-to-mouth and they don’t have access to advanced medical care.

  But Joan was a wonder. She wandered off into the woods and came back chewing a whole wad of stuff. I don’t know what was in it but it was way better than what I’d given him. Herman cheered right up and you could tell the infection didn’t have a chance.

  He’d been talking nonstop since we got back and the tribe all hooted along with his story as if repeating it. I couldn’t keep up with most of it and I was tired enough I didn’t really care. But Wanda came over with some berries which I accepted most graciously. The tribe really couldn’t spare the food but I was that hungry. After Herman was done talking, Earl rose up and strode over to where I was leaning on a tree.

  “Kuu-kuh-ah-ah Mu! Mu! Hakk,” he grunted. “Kuu-kuh-ah-ah Mu! Mu! Rahk hakk.”

  You’re a hunter of bad things. A great hunter of bad things.

  And that’s how I befriended the Mount Howard tribe of Sasquatch.

  It took me nearly two days to get to the Ranger station on the banks of Lake Wenatchee even with the help of another of the young males, Snyder. I came in covered in scratches, exhausted and I’d been out of food for days. I also had both ears from an experienced werewolf with a body count. Nice PUFF.

  I’ve been back to visit the Sasquatch frequently. Herman fully recovered. Bad scarring but full recovery. As Earl got older it was Herman who stepped into the Alpha Male position easily. He got so much cred from going werewolf hunting with “Broken human” that none of the other males even thought about vying for the position. Any time there’s been a werewolf call around Mount Howard I’ve contacted them and they’ve been able to lead me to it easily. And through them I’ve made contact with most of the other Sasquatch in the region.

  It was about six months after this that they did something extraordinary.

  As usual I had to be busted up to take a vacation. I’d broken my left arm, this time, fighting an ogre (a story I won’t bother with) and I decided it wasn’t enough of an inconvenience to not visit my favorite tribe of Sasquatch. So, still in a cast, I headed to their late-summer foraging grounds close to where the Mount Howard werewolf had made his home.

  When I got there, Joan chuffed and snorted over my broken arm. I told her it was all good. “Guh! Guh!” She didn’t seem to think so.

  That night she led me back to the banks of Lake Wenatchee and more or less told me to take off all my clothes and get in.

  Look, Lake Wenatchee is an upland lake in freaking Washington State. There is no word in Sasquatch for “hypothermia” but there is one for “cold.” Summer or not the water is very:

  “Poo! Poo!” I snorted.

  She was adamant. So I took off my clothes and, gritting my teeth, got in the water.

  She started slapping the water and hooting, a low, long, call.

  Nearby the water rippled after a few moments and something emerged.

  The best I can do is “The Creature from the Black Lagoon.” I recognized it immediately. It was a kappa, a Japanese version of nixie. The PUFF on one was extraordinary, the low end was fifty grand and they went as high as a half mil, they’re considered one of the more dangerous sort of fresh-water monsters, believed to be related to Deep Ones which are about as bad as it gets.

  My balls couldn’t have drawn up any more. But I trusted Joan the Sasquatch. I’d saved her tribe from a werewolf that had been eating their young and she was a healer. She wasn’t going to sacrifice me to a kappa.

  They exchanged words. I didn’t recognize the language and Joan clearly had problems with it. In the meantime, I was slowly dying of hypothermia.

  Finally the kappa flipped over to me and started examining me from top to bottom. It made liquid sounds that I recognized as being unhappy. Unhappy about being around a human, certainly. But he also seemed less than thrilled about what the best human doctors money could buy had been doing with my bones.

  I recalled that Kappa had the ability to heal bone injuries. But I wasn’t sure it could work with plates and pins. And I was dying of hypothermia.

  It seemed to recognize that and placed both webbed hands on my chest. Suddenly my body flooded with heat. I was back to being warm and toasty.

  Then it forced me to submerge the plaster cast in the water and it started working.

  The feeling was pleasant. Just warmth, no pain. Some areas would get warm and it would suddenly emerge from the water and spit out a mouthful of metal. I realized they were the innumerable pins and plates I’d collected from the bombing.

  It peeled the cast off as it softened until it could get to skin then did the same thing there, laying its hands on my arm and licking it with its frog like tongue.

  I went to sleep about the time it got to my thigh. That would be interesting.

  I woke up with Joan dragging me out of the water. I’d started to get cold again. The Kappa was gone.

  I could tell that my bones were knitted back into shape again. The only one he’d apparently left alone was the right humerus, ’cause, like, there was no bone to work with.

  I felt like a new man as I walked back to the Shushu. It felt great to have every freaking bone and joint be healed. I could tell I was going to have readjustment issues. I’d need about a week to get the muscles realigned. But it was like a miracle.

  From a kappa of all things.

  I spent a few days with the tribe, working on my dictionary of Sasquatch and taking notes on social aspects and other items to do a paper. I’d already decided Oxford needed a definitive paper on Sasquatch. I managed, with the limited language, to explain the general concept of monster hunting. They weren’t particularly interested. All they cared about was where their next meal was coming from and whether there were predators that threatened their young.

  According to legend, kappa love cucumbers. After I left the tribe I went back down to the nearest town and just about bought the local supermarket out of cucumbers. That night I went back to the same spot Joan had taken me to, it was very near the Ranger Station, and slapped the water and hooted in a similar fashion. Then I stuck some of my pins, no longer needed, into a few of the cucumbers and floated them out onto the lake. I wanted them to know who sent the cucumbers.

  It was like watching fish hitting the surface a
nd swallowing bread. In a few moments, all the cucumbers had disappeared. I waited but the kappa, and there had to be more than one of them, never showed themselves.

  Because I didn’t want anyone to get greedy about the PUFF I never told them exactly where the kappa were. But there’s a tribe of kappa in Lake Wenatchee. They’re friendly. Don’t kill them. But if you go down to the lake and slap the water like a beaver and hoot “Clo-clo! Clo-clo!” for a while, they might just surface and fix your broken bones.

  Bring lots of cucumbers. And I’ve set a curse on anyone who kills one of them.

  The curse is called Earl Harbinger.

  CHAPTER 15

  We were getting a lot of business right in the Seattle and Tacoma area. I’d stop by Saury most days I wasn’t working. And about once a month there’d be some origami bird or flower with generally an address and thankfully some description. That’s how we turned up the ogre that broke my arm. The werewolf spike had dwindled but there was always another vampire coven in town. Various undead and monsters.

  About once a week I’d get some garbage and go to the rainwater outlet. Todd was another helpful source of information. As time went by I learned the gnoll terms for most of the city and if there was something I’d meet him closer to it the next day.

  I got to know most of the city sewer maintenance people by name and my garbage collection contact didn’t even bitch. The garbage was always gone in the morning and they didn’t have to pay landfill fees so they were making money on the deal.

  We’d gotten a replacement for Timmy named Roy Carroll. He came across as having the same issues as Timmy. He’d joined for revenge, his girlfriend had been killed by a death fiend, and for the PUFF money. But he was…excitable. Every hunt he’d start chattering as we got closer to the monster and sound like he was about to run. But he always hung in there. I didn’t give him a long life as a Monster Hunter but he always answered the page and we needed the body.