Monster Hunter Guardian (ARC)

by Larry Correia

  Hard and fast, hard and fast. I remembered the instructor saying that the compressions should be smooth, not jerky. And that we could use the rhythm of the chorus to “Staying Alive” to do it. I counted out loud while the song played in my head. Two compressions per second.

  "One and two and three and—” I pushed down as I said the number and came up as I said "and."

  I'm a-stayin' alive, stayin' alive

  Ah, ah, ah, ah, stayin' alive, stayin' alive

  Ah, ah, ah, ah, stayin' ali-i-i-i-ive

  I tilted his head back, to straighten his airway, took a deep breath, then put my mouth over his nose and mouth and breathed into him. Come on, baby, staying alive. Stay alive. His mouth tasted like blood.

  I started doing compressions again.

  I could not give up. He could not die.

  I don’t know how long I kept it up, only that I ended up sitting on my heels, crying. My son was dead and I couldn’t wake him. I couldn’t wake him.

  A wave washed over us. The water hissed into steam when it touched the mark on my neck.

  Deep down, instinct told me I wasn’t done. Ray wasn’t done. The Others had given me this power, but it was up to me how I’d use it.

  A coarsening. The stripping of all that is good and kind. With each new line, thou wilt become less human, more weapon, until the forfeit of thy very soul.

  Was it worth that cost? That was a stupid question.

  I was giving my humanity away, bit by bit. But it didn’t even matter. This I would save, this I would keep. This I would do. I picked Ray up and held him tight. He was so cold.

  The Guardian’s marks burned as they consumed more of my soul. As I held Ray close, I watched a black dot form on the back of my wrist. The darkness grew. It crawled up my skin, wrapping itself around my forearm.

  Only then all that heat seemed to flow out of me and down into my baby’s body.

  He gasped and gave a choked cry. At first I thought I was dreaming, but then he opened his eyes and looked right at me.

  “Ray?”

  His eyes widened in recognition, and he gave me his happiest little laugh.

  Epilogue

  Two Weeks Later

  Brother Death was laying low.

  He’d found a lovely resort in the Swiss Alps, a place where no one but the very wealthy or the very famous knew about. Movie stars came here to rest and cure their various addictions be they drugs or sex. In fact, they were merely going to an inaccessible place, where no one could track what they were actually up to, to take a nice little vacation without anyone checking on them, and then return to play whatever repentant part they needed to get back in the good graces of the public.

  At this time of year, well past the ski season but before summer, the resort wasn’t full, although everyone who was staying here was beautiful and rich and famous.

  Brother Death liked that. He enjoyed basking in the company of the most successful mortals, pretending to be one of them. It amused him to manipulate and tempt them.

  This was a much-needed rest. His last venture hadn’t gone according to plan, but he hadn’t exactly lost, either. His most valuable business associate, Marchand, had been killed, as had many of his servants. Those were setbacks. Some power had gotten reshuffled, but in the end, he’d made new alliances and found an interesting new long term project—tormenting Julie Shackleford.

  He hadn’t given up on his prey. He’d not lied when he’d told her that she could never be sure when he would strike again. Even while doing nothing, he was making her worry. It was delicious.

  Just a little rest, and then he’d find a way to take the child again, and with such a bargaining chip, this time he’d be able to demand an even higher price.

  Brother Death walked out of the resort and towards the pool, his towel draped over his shoulder. It was a beautiful clear day, high upon a rugged mountainside, surrounded by evergreen trees. He could see miles in every direction, and so could the resort’s security, which kept out the undesirables, fans and paparazzi or, in his case, Hunters.

  As was his fashion, he’d changed his body to suit his surroundings. His skin was just dark enough to incite curiosity from the pampered Europeans, muscled but not freakishly so, tall but not a giant. Today he appeared to be a confident young man, extremely good-looking. His persona was that of an international model.

  It was amazing how he could lie to these people who attended all the fashion shows, and yet they never realized that they had never seen him before. Vacuous, all of them. They paid no attention to the face of the people showing off the clothes, no matter how pretty they were.

  “Hello, Gitonga.” A leggy blonde, who was the new up-and-coming thing in Hollywood called to him from one of the lounge chairs by the pool.

  That was the name he was going by here. Gitonga meant wealthy one in Kenya. Brother Death had prepared many human identities he could hide behind, though he’d been forced to sacrifice all of the ones Marchand had set up for him. They had likely been compromised when his business associate had been killed, but Brother Death had many more to choose from.

  The actress was sipping something from a glass ornamented with a paper umbrella. “You got up late this morning.”

  “I’m here to rest, am I not?” he answered in the accent most of them found so charming. He walked to the chair next to her, folding his towel carefully and setting it on the ground.

  He was well fed, too. For a creature who grew fat on human misery, these neurotic stars were the closest thing to a banquet. They all wanted to take him to bed, and as soon as he was alone with them, all he had to do was say something that fed their body insecurity. Oh, then how the misery would flow. And despite his cruelty and abuse, they never cut him off after. No, the more miserable he made them, the more they tried to please him.

  Brother Death was formulating a plan on how best to seduce and destroy this one when a phone rang.

  He was certain he hadn’t brought his cell phone—any of them—outside with him.

  “Sounds like your phone is ringing,” the Hollywood star said. “It’s not mine.”

  He noticed that a cell phone had been left beneath the lounge chair.

  Curious, he picked it up. The screen read Guardian.

  A moment of alarm. How had she found him?

  “Did you see who left this here?”

  The actress shrugged. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

  Of course not. She was a useless, vapid cow. He glanced around, but saw no sign of danger. The phone continued ringing.

  Then Brother Death smiled at the audacity. If it was a trap, then it was not a well-thought-out one. His ability to shape-shift would enable him to easily escape if necessary. Julie Shackleford had brought an interesting new challenge into his life. Before taking on the Raymond Pitt contract, he had grown complacent. When you’ve lived for centuries, it was rare to find an actual challenge. Her tenacity was remarkable. In a way, this was better than he expected. Much, much better. The prey was delivering itself. To be honest, he had gotten bored sucking the life out of the rich and famous.

  Feeling some excitement, he answered the phone.

  “Good afternoon, Julie.”

  “Brother Death.”

  “I trust you are well?”

  “Right now, I’m feeling great.”

  Interesting. She sounded far too relaxed. He’d expected her to be angry and emotional. It was a bit of a letdown.

  “And your child? He’s a jovial sort. I miss his company.”

  “He’s fine, no thanks to you.”

  He scanned the windows and the woods, looking for Hunters, but saw no danger. “How did you find me?”

  “I’m good at my job.”

  “As am I. We are both professionals. I think that’s why I’ve enjoyed our time together so much,” he answered truthfully. “But really, how?”

  “You pissed off people with a lot of connections, and a friend of mine in the MCB took this personally for some reason. You�
�d be amazed at their resources. You’re not nearly as clever as you think you are. We actually found you a couple of days ago.”

  “I’m disappointed. Why has it taken so long for you to reach out?”

  “Remember when we first met, and you shot a friend of mine in the chest?”

  “I do,” he chuckled. “You should have seen the look on your face. You didn’t see that coming.”

  “That was a big mistake. Albert’s our researcher, and he can fixate and hold a grudge like you wouldn’t believe. He’s been busy.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Combing through every old record of every Hunter who’d ever chased an Adze, trying to figure out what my grandpa had started scratching into the floor with his hook while he was lying there bleeding to death…Aluoch.”

  The name “Born on an overcast morning” in Luo was impeccably pronounced, said exactly the same way it had been centuries before at his naming ceremony.

  His name. She had his name!

  It was in the contract—the one which had given him his immortality—that his true name could temporarily bind him and strip away his powers. It had been a tool of control, created by beings who had long since abandoned this world, yet their contract remained in force.

  He couldn’t change shape. He was powerless. He was mortal.

  Aluoch looked around, panicked, for anyone who might attack him at this vulnerable time. It was in that awful instant that he realized the many flags and banners along the resort’s fence were lying perfectly still.

  There was no wind.

  The bullet came out of nowhere and obliterated his skull, splattering the Hollywood star in bright-green-glowing blood.

  * * *

  On the opposite side of the canyon, eleven hundred and fifteen yards away, I watched Brother Death die through my scope. That was for the Boss.

  “Hit,” my spotter confirmed. “Target is down.”

  “O ye of little faith. I told you I’d get him first try.”

  “No kidding. You blew his head clean off.” Owen squinted as he peered through the spotting scope. “It looks like that name worked just like Albert thought it would.”

  The hard part had been finding experts to make sure I was pronouncing it right.

  I glanced over at Owen and smiled. My husband looked a little different now, thinner and bearded, still bruised and battered from his escape from the Nightmare Realm, but it wasn’t just the physical aspect. He’d also seemed a little haunted since he’d gotten back from Severny Island, but right then he gave me a giant grin. “And he landed right in the pool. I bet that’s gonna suck to clean.”

  I’d thought my husband had died. I’d thought they’d all died. But they’d been ordered to evacuate by the Russians and watched the bomb go off from their ship. As soon as they’d gotten away from the communications blackout, I’d gotten the happiest phone call of my life.

  It’s amazing how much more you appreciate your family after believing that you’d lost them forever.

  “We better get moving,” I said as I stood up and dusted myself off. MHI wasn’t supposed to be here. Hell, I wasn’t even supposed to be on this continent. From her hospital bed, Lopes had assured the EU that I’d surely fled the continent. Grant and the MCB would be claiming credit for this one.

  I watched as Owen gathered Ray up from the little towel, where we’d left him sitting between us. He looked silly, with the giant squishy earmuffs covering half his head, but even a suppressed .50 BMG is still pretty loud.

  Ray had been a little strange around Owen for the first couple of days he’d been back, but now he laughed at Daddy almost as much as at Mom. Which was good. You can’t take yourself too seriously when a baby is laughing at you.

  I glanced down at the new black mark curling around my forearm. Totally worth it.

  “How come I’m carrying this howitzer back to the car while you get to carry the baby? That’s not very chivalrous.”

  “I’m making up for lost time,” Owen explained as Ray kicked one bare leg at his midriff. “Ow. Super Baby has a kick like an elephant.”

  “Yeah, that’s nothing. You weren’t around for the part where he thought my bladder was a football.”

  Owen put his arm around my shoulders and drew me in, warm and protective. Ray cooed and grabbed a handful of my shirt. There we were, just a happy little family, together again, taking a walk through the woods after a successful assassination.

  “We should find someplace to get lunch,” Owen suggested, “but not that resort. I think they’re too busy.”

  “Let’s just go home.”

  I didn’t know if home would be safe anymore. My family was fine for now, and the artifact entrusted to me was secure, but there’d be more threats. We’d made too many enemies. I suppose that was inevitable for those of us who choose to hunt monsters.

  All I could do was make sure my family continued to survive.

  I’d stand guard.