Monster Hunter International, Second Edition

by Larry Correia

  "Not yet. Too much strain. And rest I must."

  "I can do it," I answered. "I have to be ready."

  "No, Boy. Not ready. You wake up. Be ready for fight. Big fight for you today."

  "Big fight?"

  "Yes. Much big." He pointed his fingers and made shooting noises. "Much fight."

  "You got any more little wooden carvings you want to send back with me?" I asked hopefully. "In case I need to roast any vampires?"

  "Sorry, Boy. I surprised that work my own self."

  "How could it anyway? I'm no expert of physics, but how can I take an immaterial thing into the material world?"

  "Boy, much you have to learn. Even spirit is matter. Just much finer . . . Much simpler time when I used to hunt monsters. Shoot them with gun. Bang. Dead monster. Nice and simple. Monsters nowadays all complicated and hard to make dead."

  "So any chance you might be able to scrounge up some toys then?"

  He shrugged his thin shoulders. "I try. When time comes, I have something for help. Now go." He shooed me away. I turned to leave. "One last thing."

  "Yeah?" I stood barefooted in the snow while I waited for him. He seemed to be trying to find the words. "Spit it out, Mordechai. Apparently I've got monsters to kill."

  "Boy." He regarded me solemnly. "On this day. Try very hard not to get dead."

  "I will try," I promised.

  The Hind tore across the sky at rapid speed and dangerously low altitude. I awoke to the thrumming of the blades, the deafening roar of the engines, and the piped-in music from the Doors, "Riders on the Storm." Julie's head was resting on my shoulder. A lock of her hair had strayed from under her helmet and draped down her face. I brushed it back. She woke up and smiled tiredly.

  She was still holding my hand.

  Harbinger signaled for all of us to put in our earpieces so that we could communicate and do a radio check.

  "Wake up, sleepy heads. We're only ten minutes out. Skippy is swinging wide around Corinth. His people have an agreement with the elves. No orcs on elf land. No elves on his. We'll be coming in from the south and will be setting down in a designated clearing. Feds have already gotten us on radio, and are even tracking us for surface to air missiles. Seedy bastards."

  "I hope they don't get twitchy," Milo said.

  "I hate the government," Sam stated coldly. "Remind me again why we're working with them?"

  "They need us. We need them," Harbinger said.

  "Not to be a jerk about it, but how exactly do we get paid for this?" Holly asked. "Saving the world don't pay the bills."

  "Government representatives don't get to claim PUFF. By being here we will get at least an assist. Even that is worth a small fortune on a Master." Harbinger pulled his revolver, checked the rounds, spun the cylinder and reholstered. "Only I talk to the Wendigo. Everybody else stay way the hell back. He ain't friendly. When we go after the Cursed One, let the Feds go in first. At that point we're just observers. Let them do the bleeding. Pitt?"

  "Yes, sir?"

  "Damn it. Call me Earl. "Sir" is the Boss. Have you learned anything new? Is Mordechai Byreika still in your dreams?"

  "No and yes. I've seen things. But I don't know what's going to be able to help us."

  "Give us the short version," he ordered.

  I quickly told the others about the human Lord Machado and his army, about the ancient city, about the evil priestess Koriniha and her dark priests, about the artifact, the ceremony, the sacrifice and, finally, the Tattooed Man.

  "I've spoken with him," I said, "just now, in my dream. It was real. He was heading toward Montgomery. He's coming for the artifact, and he swears he's going to kill me."

  "I don't care how bad everybody thinks this guy is, MHI don't roll over and take it from no five-hundred-year-old pukes," Sam said. "If he shows up, we cap his trash. That simple. Fricking magic tattoo bullshit. I've got a magic tattoo. It's a frog with a banjo and it's on my ass. I got it in Singapore."

  "Classy," Holly said.

  "Wanna see it sometime?" he asked as he removed his can of Copenhagen from his armor and snapped his wrist repeatedly.

  "I'll pass, thanks."

  "There was something else. The Old Man warned me. He said we're going to have a big fight today. He didn't say what, but I got the impression it was going to be bad."

  "Figures. Anything else?"

  "Nope."

  "Lee? Give everybody the rundown on what we've gotten from the archives," Harbinger ordered, "anything that might prove useful."

  "Sure." The diminutive Hunter cleared his throat. "There were no records of a conquistador general named Lord Machado anywhere. There were, however, some signs pointing to what was called the lost expedition. Early in the 1500s, the very first group dispatched into the interior, same basic area where Orellano would later discover the Amazon, but this group was never heard from again. All of the records about this expedition were destroyed by the military governor at Isle of the Cross, which is what they called Brazil back then. Even Walter Raleigh mentioned this lost expedition in his writings about El Dorado. Looking at what Owen has told us, I'm betting that was Lord Machado's group."

  "What about the artifact or the Old Ones?"

  "Just vague references to great and terrible evil. Lots of old Hunters have mentioned it in their writings, but I get the impression that none of them really knew what they were. Byreika's journal had the most about them."

  "And?"

  "Eldritch horrors, to paraphrase some Lovecraft. Horrible things that date back to before mankind, real serious, evil bad stuff. About the artifact itself? Byreika thought that it predated this world and was from somewhere else. I was kind of lost on that part. The journal was in Polish and I had to use a computer translator. It can be kind of hard to understand."

  "He isn't much better in person," I mumbled.

  "The first people recorded to have had it were the ancient Middianites, followed by the Assyrians. How it wound up in South America is anybody's guess. Supposedly it grants the user the power of the Old Ones. Control of time, space, energy, matter, that kind of thing. Anybody who tries to use it dies, unless you are one of the special people."

  "Special?" Holly asked. "Like they ride the little bus to school?"

  "No, I can't think of a better word for it. Once in a while someone comes along who has the ability to actually use this thing. Since the world is still here, we can assume that none of them have been successfully united with it yet. Except, of course, Lord Machado."

  "The prophecy from my dream," I thought out loud. Just thinking about the black obelisk in the unnatural cavern made my skin crawl.

  "Anything else?" Harbinger asked.

  "Just that if this thing is activated by the right person, which we've got, and the right time, which is apparently tomorrow night, at the right place, which according to Ray Shackleford is right here, then we're pretty much boned. Stop them, and we save the world."

  "Good thing," Milo said as he spit some sunflower seeds into a paper cup. "I like the world. It would suck to blow it up. Especially since I'm engaged now."

  "What? Get out of here!" Harbinger said. "No way." Most of their team had a similar reaction.

  "Who?" Julie asked. "I didn't even know you were dating."

  "I bet I know," said Sam. "I bet it's that hot little scientist chick we rescued when we killed that mutant shrieker lizard in Guatemala. What was she again? A crip-to-whatsist?"

  "Cryptozoologist," Milo said. He looked slightly embarrassed at the attention. "Shawna studies undiscovered animals. It's been a long-distance relationship. I kind of popped the question. She said yeah. You know . . ."

  "Why didn't you tell us, man? That's great news," Harbinger said.

  "I was a little distracted, what with the forces of evil, and the freighter, and the undead, and the elves, and the gargoyles, and the Feds, and stuff."

  "Land . . . Gub Mint below. Land now." Skippy's gravelly voice came over the radio. "Good Milo. Find wife . . .
Now should get . . . more wifes . . . only one wife . . . make for . . . lonely warrior."

  "I'll take it under consideration, Skip," he said cheerfully.

  "Take her down," Harbinger ordered. "Okay team. This is it. Stay frosty. Keep your cool around the Feds."

  "Look who's talking," Sam murmured.

  The Feds had set up a command post that could best be described as a tent city. And they had done it all this morning. In the distance, dozens of Mississippi state troopers blocked off the road. The members of MHI were greeted by uniformed National Guardsmen and led toward an enormous green tent.

  The inside of the command tent was climate-controlled and sealed against chemical, biological and radioactive agents. It smelled faintly of new rubber and was bigger than most middle-class homes. An entire wall was covered in giant flat-screen televisions. Rows of computers were manned by military personnel or armored federal agents. Some of the screens showed real-time satellite imagery of the area in normal and thermal views. I could make out our helicopter parked on the grass. It was glowing bright yellow and red. Dozens of cameras must have been dropped over the Bottoms, showing several different shots of the swamp. Agent Myers was directing the circus, and for the first time since I had met him, he had ditched the suit and dressed for battle.

  "Check the feed from the Predator drones. Send another one to parallel the Hatchie River. Have the AWACs divert all air traffic out of this area. I want those bombers in the air now. I want some with napalm, and some with penetrators if they're underground. Where are those Abrams?"

  "They are on Seventy-Two, ETA fifteen minutes, sir," answered one of the Feds as he tapped away on one of the many computers. "They're passing through the town of Walnut."

  "Good. We may need to steamroll something," Myers said as he nervously tugged at the straps on his armor.

  "Sir? What about 'final option'?" asked one of the agents at a computer.

  "Tell the Pentagon to scramble the B1. Have it ready. What's the payload on that?"

  "We are cleared for low tactical yield. Five kilotons. Minimal radiation."

  "Civilian casualties?" he asked.

  "Within an acceptable level. This area is sparsely populated."

  "Excellent," he said slowly.

  "Holy shit. They're going to nuke Mississippi," Holly said.

  Myers turned around. The National Guard lieutenant that had led us in saluted.

  "Sir. Here are the guests you were expecting."

  "About damned time, Earl. Where the hell have you been?"

  "If you wanted us sooner, Myers, you should have sent a jet," he explained casually. "Are you really authorized to go nuclear?"

  "I'm authorized to tow the moon down here and crash it into Earth if I think it would help," Myers answered sharply. "If you haven't noticed, somebody is planning on destroying all life on this planet. The President is willing to do what it takes to solve this problem, so as a last resort, yes, I'm ready to go nuclear."

  "Say . . . when did they put you in charge of the Monster Control Bureau anyway?" Harbinger asked. "When I saw you in Texas you were still just an assistant director."

  Myers fixed my boss with a look that would have killed most people. I didn't know what it was, but there was certainly some bad history between these two men. "Last Friday," he answered sullenly. "I'm just interim director until the President appoints somebody else. I received the call, and a few hours later I hear from you that seven Master vampires just touched down. It's been a hell of a week."

  "So that's why you've been cranky," Harbinger answered wryly.

  The senior agent sighed. "Look. Are you going to take us to this Wendigo thing or not?"

  "I'll do it. No vehicles, though. He isn't going to come out if there are vehicles, and you'll need to pull the air cover back."

  "I guess I don't have much choice." Myers gestured toward one of the screens, a real-time satellite feed of the Natchy Bottom area. Most of the picture, including the area that we were currently in, was perfectly and surprisingly clear. The center of the screen, however, was fogged. "A billion dollars in equipment, and I can't get a clear picture of the interior of the Bottoms. No cameras will work more than thirty feet into the swamp. I'm reduced to talking to Indian fairy tales."

  "You know how Natchy Bottom is. It don't obey the same rules as the rest of the world."

  "I know. All right then, let's get this over with."

  The roof of the tent began to rattle as the rain started.

  "It was clear five minutes ago," Lee said to me anxiously.

  "Welcome to Mississippi," I answered.

  The Monster Control Bureau men were honed and ready. Picked from elite military units and trained to a standard far surpassing our own, every one of them appeared to be chiseled from solid muscle and rock-hard bone. They made my team look a little dumpy.

  "Agent Franks, ready the men," Myers ordered as we approached the waiting group.

  Franks gave me a slight nod of recognition when he saw me. He emotionlessly returned to his men. "Listen up!" Franks shouted. The thirty black-armored men snapped to attention, weapons bouncing in their slings, magazines and explosives clanking. They regarded us with steely eyes. Some were bruised from their brief encounter with MHI the day before. Harbinger ducked under an overhanging tarp and nonchalantly lit a cigarette. The cold drizzling rain quickly soaked us all to the bone.

  "Pay attention, men." Myers spoke loudly, but rather than resembling a military leader rallying the troops, he still made me think of a college professor giving a lecture. "We are going into Natchy Bottom. This is possibly one of the most dangerous places in the world. Once we get into the swamp, you will need to keep your wits about you. Things are not always what they seem in the Bottoms. It is an intersection of all that is wrong in the universe. Do not fire until I or Agent Franks order you to do so. We are searching for the Cursed One and seven Master vampires."

  Some of the men began to mutter and shift nervously. I was glad to see that. They may have been hard-charging warriors, but at least they weren't stupid about it.

  "Don't worry, men. We are not going in looking for a fight. Right now we are going in to speak with one of the creatures in the swamp. It will provide us with the location of the enemy, and they will be dealt with using overwhelming force," Myers assured them. "Even Masters are not so tough when you carpet-bomb them."

  "We might have a man in there, Myers," Harbinger said coldly.

  "Then you are more than welcome to go in and rescue him before the air strike," Myers answered. "Nothing personal, but I'm not risking thirty good men for one of yours." The agent continued, "The ten individuals standing behind me, some of you already may have made their acquaintance—" A few of the bruised Feds nodded sullenly. One of the men that had beat down Trip made a thumping motion with his fist. "—are from MHI. They are here to make contact with the swamp creature and extract information. After that, they get out of the way. Earl, if you would tell us about this creature, please?"

  Harbinger tossed his cigarette to the ground, giving up because of the soaking rain. "It's a Wendigo. If you see something ten feet tall and real scary looking, don't shoot at it. You'll make him angry."

  "Any questions?" Myers asked.

  "Sir, how are we supposed to work with these people? We've got three men in the hospital because of them." The agent who asked that had a bandage over his nose. He glared at me when he spoke. It wasn't my fault he didn't know how to block.

  "You will do as you're told," Myers said coldly.

  One of the agents raised his hand. "What about sensor arrays?"

  "They don't seem to work in the Bottoms. We will take our portable gear, and hopefully we will get some reception the deeper we get, but I would not count on it."

  Another agent asked, "How about the robots?"

  "Same thing. We can't count on electronics in the Bottoms. The last thing we need is for one of their sensors to mistake some of us for undead and blast us. The recognition softwar
e only runs ninety-eight percent in optimal conditions."

  "Air support?"

  "Not until after we speak with this Wendigo thing. We can call them in if we have an emergency."

  "Armor backup?"

  "Abrams are en route, and will arrive shortly. However, they will not be able to operate in most of the terrain. Ground is too soft."

  "What a bunch of babies," Sam whispered to me. "We don't ever got none of that cool stuff."

  "Jeez, Milo, how come we don't have killer robots?" Julie asked.

  "You write the check," he answered.

  "Attention team. Form up. Franks has operational command. I will remain at the command center in radio contact." Myers signaled toward his second in command. "Which way, Earl?"

  Harbinger pointed towards the heart of the swamp.

  Natchy Bottom was a still and unnatural place. The small amounts of ground were soft and treacherous. Long patches were covered in dank, fetid water, thick and overgrown with gnarled trees and thorned vines that grabbed and clutched at you. Roots and other unknown items were always underfoot, waiting to cause the unwary to stumble. The rain dripped down through the thick canopy of trees. It was early in the morning, but it was dark inside the Bottoms.

  "Welcome to Dagobah," Trip joked.

  "You are such a geek," Holly retorted.

  I swatted a mosquito that landed on my cheek. It splattered bloodily. It was as big around as a dime. I swore under my breath.

  "Just wait until we get done and you check for leeches," Sam said. "You can have hundreds of those suckers on you and not know it."

  "And ticks. Don't forget the ticks," Milo added.

  "Don't pay them any attention," Julie said. "The leeches and ticks here are big enough that you'll feel them when they latch on."

  "Good," I answered. "I don't want to waste my time with wussy insects." I adjusted Abomination and forded on into the waist-deep muck.

  The agents had broken into three teams, with MHI bringing up the rear in a rough diamond pattern. The agents moved like ghosts through the trees. They communicated totally with hand signals, and had drilled to the point that each team was a seamless blending of skill. I had to admit, they were impressive in action.