Devil Hunters (Tales of the Crypto-Hunter Book 2)

by Rick Gualtieri

  Almost as if reading her mind, it turned toward her and looked her in the eye, one half of its mouth opening in a mockery of a smile ... or snarl, it was hard to tell which. The teeth within were chipped, cracked, and sharp looking.

  The creature coughed, then spat up a wad of viscous phlegm. It was impossible to tell for certain without proper examination, but she had a feeling it was the same gunk Mitchell had been analyzing.

  It wiped the back of its hand across its mouth as a thought struck her. Predators were sometimes known to hunt people when they’d been injured. She seemed to recall that was one of the theories behind the infamous Tsavo man-eaters, a pair of lions that killed dozens of railroad workers around the turn of the twentieth century. Supposedly, one had an injured tooth which didn’t allow it to hunt its natural prey.

  Was that the case here? If so, that didn’t bring her much comfort. They’d hunted man-eaters before, but never one intelligent enough to rationalize with.

  “Derek?” she asked tentatively. “What are we going to do?”

  “I’m weighing our options,” he replied over his shoulder. His gun was still trained on the creature, but his posture seemed to lack his normal resolve. “You’ll forgive me if I say this one has me a bit flummoxed.”

  “No shit,” Francis replied.

  “Danni, I want you to get on the horn with Mitch. See if you can get him to distance himself from Zeist, but in a way that doesn’t raise suspicions. I think we need him to weigh in on this.”

  She reached up to tap the Bluetooth earpiece she wore, but then added, “We ... we can’t shoot it. This isn’t what we signed up for.”

  To her surprise, the creature turned her way again, its mouth once more opening in a gesture that resembled something between a grimace and smile.

  “T-thank you, Sssarah.”

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  “Wait, what did you say?” Danni asked. “I didn’t understand that.”

  Derek had, though, and his eyes opened wide. There was no knowing whether the creature was slurring something else – its speech sounded rudimentary at best – but he couldn’t help but notice the name it had used. It was disturbingly similar to one he’d heard quite recently.

  He glanced away from the devil and toward Francis. The big man met his eyes and in them Derek saw he was thinking the same thing.

  “A fine name for a woman,” the host of the devil museum had told them.

  “Gotta be a coincidence,” Francis said. “It’s just gotta...”

  The so-called devil hissed at them, as if its vocal chords were equally in tune with a snake’s as well as a human’s. Derek raised his gun again as it took a step back. “Don’t do it,” he warned.

  “Derek...”

  “Get Mitch on the horn, Danni. We need full team input on this one.”

  There was a momentary pause, but then she said, “Roger that. I’ll let him...”

  “I’m afraid I cannot allow our darling Sarah to do that.”

  Derek tried to keep his gun trained on their target while he craned his head toward the sound of the voice, hauntingly familiar despite them being deep in the woods.

  Ezekiel Lesterfield stepped out from behind a tree, making so little noise that he probably could have walked up and tapped Derek on the shoulder before being noticed. His clothing was decidedly different than what he’d worn at the museum earlier in the day. He was dressed for the outdoors.

  Before Derek could make sense of his sudden appearance, however, Francis asked, “What the fuck are you doing here?”

  “My family has walked these woods for centuries, long before even old Jedediah and his brood. He was our patriarch in those days, you see. Generations of us have hunted these lands, fished these streams, been born here, died here. Taking that into account, I’m sure you could see why I might be far more justified to ask that question of you gentlemen.”

  “Sir,” Derek said, “I’m not sure what you’re doing out here, but I must ask that you leave.”

  “Oh, I think not, Mr. Jenner.”

  Derek didn’t like the man’s tone. There was something aggressive, almost predatory in his cadence. “I will ask again that you leave,” he warned. “This is an official investigation and we are duly appointed deputies of the...”

  “Official? Well, that is interesting. Fascinating, even. However, I am forced to focus on matters more near and dear to my heart.”

  “Derek?” Danni asked.

  He glanced at her. “Escort Mr. Lesterfield from the area, please. We’ll discuss this with him later.”

  She took a step toward him, but Ezekiel held up a hand. “As I said, I can’t allow you to do that, Sarah.”

  “Why do you keep calling me that?”

  He ignored her, turning his attention back to Derek. “The same way I cannot allow you to continue threatening my dear nephew Noah.”

  “Noah?” Francis asked. “The fuck are you talking about?”

  Derek, however, was starting to piece the puzzle together. “This...” He motioned with his head toward the creature, now standing knee-deep in the bog. “...is Noah?”

  “Yes. He’s a spirited child, but blood is thicker than water, I’m afraid. Now kindly lower your weapons.”

  Francis let out a laugh. “Like hell we will.”

  “That was not a request.”

  At Ezekiel’s words, several hulking figures, almost a dozen in all, stepped out from the surrounding foliage, moving as quietly as he’d been. All of them were misshapen, disfigured in some way – sloping brows, discolored skin, mangled appendages, and more.

  Danni let out a gasp, although Derek wasn’t sure if it was the sight of these newcomers or the fact that every single one of them was armed, their weapons all pointed at his team.

  Within seconds, they were surrounded. Derek quickly realized there was little chance of reaching cover before being gunned down. He still wasn’t sure what was going on, but it was painfully obvious they’d somehow walked straight into an ambush.

  He saw Francis tense and quickly threw him a shake of his head.

  “Shit,” the bigger man spat.

  Derek lowered his gun and turned to face Ezekiel. “What do you want?”

  “For starters,” Ezekiel said, “I would ask that you kindly drop your weapons.”

  “Ask?”

  Ezekiel turned toward Francis. “Let us not mince words, sir. My kin are not the type to tolerate fools.”

  Derek tossed his rifle to the ground, and Francis did the same.

  “Radios, too, please.”

  The team did as told.

  Derek still had his hunting holster and Ruger tucked away beneath his jacket. It wasn’t ideal against these odds, but he wasn’t about to volunteer that information upfront. If they wanted it, let them search him.

  Movement from behind caught his attention and he glanced over his shoulder to see the creature called Noah step past him with a huffing snarl.

  The rest of the group circled around until Derek and his team’s backs were to the bog. Most of the weapons pointed at them looked old. At least one appeared to be an actual blunderbuss. He wouldn’t have been surprised to learn that half of them fired black powder cartridges. That didn’t mean they wouldn’t work, though. “What do you want with us?”

  “With you?” one of the men asked, his voice slurred thanks to the hefty cleft in his upper and lower lips. He let out a laugh and several of the others joined in.

  “I’m sorry to say,” Ezekiel said after a few moments, “that we have no use for you and your friend here.” He gestured toward Francis. “We do, however, have a powerful need for Sarah.”

  Several things happened at once.

  Francis balled his fists. “Touch her and I’ll bury my foot so far up your ass you’ll be shitting toenails.”

  “Why do you keep calling me that?” Danni asked. “My name is...”

  Before she could finish, one of the men stepped forward and clubbed her with the butt of his rifle, knocking h
er to the ground.

  Francis took a single step toward her just as Derek saw fingers tightening on triggers. He spun toward his friend. “Frank, get...”

  Any other words he had to say were lost against the sound of multiple gunshots.

  CHAPTER 20

  For what felt like the thousandth time, Mitchell glanced down at his radio, as if trying to will it to come to life with some update from his friends.

  At least when they’d split up at the Inuit village, he’d been kept busy with a steady stream of patients. His company now was far less friendly and didn’t need any medical attention, aside from perhaps a few personality transplants.

  Almost as if on cue, Zeist stalked over. “How the fuck long is this going to take?”

  “As long as it takes,” Mitchell replied irritably. “I don’t know if you’ve ever gone hunting, but unlike what you see in the movies it’s a game of patience and waiting.”

  “Why bother? Most everything I need is already at the supermarket.”

  “Yeah, well, the stuff we hunt usually can’t be found in your local butcher’s freezer section.”

  “Still sticking to that story, eh? That you hunt actual monsters.”

  Mitchell raised an eyebrow. “Your buddy the governor gave you the same information he has. Those are official government files. Believe me, they don’t have much of a sense of humor when it comes to anything.”

  “I get that part, but not the rest. Why hide any of this if it’s real? Are they afraid North Korea is going to find out and start a weaponized sasquatch program?”

  “I don’t know, maybe.” He wished he had a better answer, one that would shut this blowhard up, but the reality was he and the rest of the team had all asked that same question dozens of times.

  “Whatever you say, Mr. Bigfoot Hunter.” Eric looked down at his watch. “This is taking forever. Are they going to be out there all goddamned night? I thought they were heading back.”

  Me, too. “Not if they found something. Sorry to say, but usually the monsters don’t come running right to us with a target hanging from their chests. Would be nice if they did, though.”

  Finally, Zeist walked away in a huff, leaving Mitchell to consider his next course of action. How he wished they still had their mobile lab. Sure, he had his laptop, complete with satellite uplink, but he couldn’t lock himself inside it. Maybe when this assignment was finished and they’d smoothed over whatever feathers Yarlberg had ruffled, they could ask again for a replacement.

  For now, it was sit and wait, both for Derek to return and for Arthur to send him the revised test results – albeit those weren’t likely to be finished until much later.

  He’d never seen such a bizarre mishmash of contradicting data before. It was as if someone had stuffed DNA samples from half a dozen species into the same bag. He’d heard of chromosome damage caused by outside factors, such as radiation, but this seemed to go way beyond that.

  It was just plain weird.

  Still, he was certain there was a reasonable answer. It was far more likely that a computer glitch was the cause than for the results to be from something that was actually alive.

  Mitchell checked his radio again, considered heading back to their base camp, then dismissed that plan. That wasn’t how they did things. Going rogue was a good way to get shot. It was an even better way to get yelled at. Though he’d never been in the military, he understood the chain of command and why it existed. Once the hunt was either concluded or Derek decided to give up for the night, they’d break radio silence and check in. That was the way things worked. So, for now, that meant waiting.

  Mind you, it didn’t mean he had to like it.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Surprise, pain, fear, confusion. All of these emotions were a jumble swirling in his mind. Everything hurt and his limbs felt numb, yet they weren’t heavy. It was almost as if he were weightless, floating in the vastness of space.

  No, not space. He took a breath, or tried to. Liquid entered his mouth, foul tasting and brackish. There was another taste buried within it, too, a familiar one ... coppery. It reminded him of...

  Rational thought receded, replaced by panic as water filled his oxygen-starved lungs. Despite the pain, he somehow found the strength to flail about, albeit it didn’t appear to do any good.

  He forced his eyes open and saw nothing but infinite blackness – although whether it was the water or he was blinded, he couldn’t tell. Nor would it matter if he couldn’t fill his lungs with air soon.

  The darkness seemed to almost be a living thing, reaching out, embracing him, invading his mind, and beginning to make it feel as numb as his arms.

  His foot struck something, soft and yielding at first, but then he gained purchase. With the little bit of strength left in him, he kicked off from it. It didn’t matter where. This place was death. Staying here meant dying. Elsewhere might not be any better, but he had to try.

  For a moment his leg stuck, as if grabbed hold by greedy fingers unwilling to let him go, but then he was free, still flailing, but moving in a different direction.

  Long seconds later, an eternity of torment to his tortured body, he finally broke the surface, coughing out water to make way for life-giving air. Everything else was unimportant in that moment.

  The cold water of the bog threatened to reclaim him, to suck him back under, so he continued to struggle despite his limbs refusing to obey all but the most rudimentary commands. He thrashed and kicked forward, seeing little, his eyes full of mud and silt, his hands not nearly coordinated enough to wipe it away and still keep him afloat. He continued to flail, his strength beginning to ebb, until he finally felt solidness beneath him again. It sloped upward, allowing him to feebly stand while the viscous water supported most of his weight.

  At last, he clawed his way up onto the muddy embankment. Kicking against the thick mire, he pushed himself toward higher ground. Every inch was a struggle, the mud unwilling to release his arms and legs once it had a hold.

  Eventually, he reached a point above the water line, the ground damp but solid. He turned over onto his back and breathed, unable to do much more except savor each hitching breath – certain that, with his injuries, any of them could very well be his last.

  His eyes still shut against the muck encrusted onto his face, the water began to drain from his ears and, slowly, the sounds of the forest returned. Crickets chirped, frogs called to one another, and off in the distance, a coyote yipped.

  Then a branch broke somewhere nearby, followed by another.

  Something was walking through the underbrush and it was getting closer.

  Panic, the same which had gripped him underwater, again flared up. Unfortunately, he found there was little left he could do with it. Cold, injured, and exhausted from the effort it had taken to get this far, there was nothing left to use against this new threat. All he could hope was that they’d pass him by, unseen. If not, then he prayed they’d make it quick. A gunshot to the head, a broken neck, anything but being thrown back into that dark hell and left to drown.

  The footsteps came closer, faster now, and he was certain he’d been spotted. Hope began to fade as he sensed someone or something standing over him. He was helpless to do anything except wait for whatever came next.