Monster Hunter Alpha-ARC

by Larry Correia

  The importance of the MCB’s mission was absolutely beaten into every new recruit’s head during training. “The more people who believe in the Old Ones, the more powerful they become!” Mosher stammered his response. “Sir!”

  Stark had no idea if the First Reason was even true, but it was institutional doctrine, and every sane government in the world thought that the more people who knew about, and therefore had faith in the Old Ones’ existence, the more those aliens would be able to meddle in human affairs. Sure, it was unknown if lycanthropes were even related to the Old Ones, since no one actually knew where they’d come from originally, but the rules were there for a reason, so all monsters got lumped under the MCB’s umbrella mission. “We go out there and get eaten, then who’s going to be the ones to get word out first? These people talk before we get a wall up, and it’ll spread like wildfire. Do you want to be the agent that failed his entire country? Do you want to be the agent that destroyed a hundred-year perfect track record?”

  The junior agent stood at attention and stared straight ahead. “Negative, sir.”

  “Damn right, Agent Mosher!” Stark lowered his voice. No need to keep pushing when the kid had already fallen in line. “This is what we’re gonna do. We’re going for help. We’ll head south until we get a signal or hit the next town. Once headquarters is warned, then I promise we come back and fight these bastards ourselves until reinforcements arrive,” he lied. “But the mission has to come first.”

  “I understand, sir.”

  Good, because Stark didn’t. He had no intention of throwing his life away for nothing.

  * * *

  The sickness came upon him unexpectedly.

  Fueled by the harvested energy of Harbinger’s mighty werewolf soul, the Alpha had felt strong, triumphant. It was unknown exactly what effect Koschei’s amulet would have on his body, except that all the legends spoke of virtual immortality and invincibility. By most reckoning, Koschei himself had been seven hundred years old before his pride had led to his downfall at the hands of the Finn.

  The initial surge of power had left him near giddy. Every sense had improved, until he felt bombarded with new information. Vision had taken on a surreal quality as his eyes had adapted further into the infrared and ultraviolet spectrums. The smallest sounds were audible, and there were noises that he’d never heard before to interpret, and the smells…Every living thing for miles, every chemical, every mineral, every pheromone, they were all there, an endless stream of data.

  It was too much to process. The Alpha was overwhelmed. He was blinded by too much sight. His skin burned at the slightest change in air pressure. Individual hairs tingled as they felt shifts in the Earth’s electromagnetic field. It was not pain, yet it was. “What’s happening to me?” he growled.

  “You’re changing,” the witch explained patiently. “It will take time for your body to adapt. When the metamorphosis is complete, you’ll have been purified. This is not unexpected.”

  It may have not been unexpected in the logical sense, but the actual experience was much worse than what he’d imagined. He had hoped to revel in the slaughter of this town and to bring about the birth of the vulkodlak. But he could barely control his own body, let alone hundreds of new soldiers as well. He needed time. Swaying, the Alpha made his decision. “I must rest.”

  The witch did not seem surprised. “Shall we return to your home?” She was exhausted. He needed to remember how draining the dark spells were, especially for someone so young. Lucinda Hood was talented in channeling the forces of her newly adopted dark god, but it would take time for her to harness even a fraction of the power her father had before MHI had ended his life. “I need to warm up.”

  The Alpha’s new senses created a virtual live map of the entire town. His children were scattered, operating alone or—the younger—in pairs as they picked off stray humans. Meanwhile, the people of Copper Lake had formed armed groups and were patrolling for other survivors, having, in a way, formed their own packs. One such pack was in his neighborhood, near his house. Despite the feeling of newfound strength flowing through his limbs, he was unsure of his abilities and not confident in testing them just yet. “No. The way isn’t clear.”

  “Bloody hell…” She gave a long sigh. “Back to the mine, then? Very well. One of my diggers is injured. They’ll be glad to return to the dirt. That’s what gives them their strength.”

  The Alpha wasn’t fond of retreating when his goals were so close at hand, but unlike the werewolves that had come before him, he was not a creature of instinct. He was a man of logic and planning, and he would do what it took to lead his people into the future.

  Chapter 15

  It was appropriate that the military acronym for my new unit was STFU. Because Shut The Fuck Up was also the primary directive in our security briefing. The taskforce was so beyond top secret that I didn’t even know if there was a word for the level that we occupied.

  There were two teams on Unicorn. One human, one not so much. Since I looked normal, I got to attend both briefings.

  First squad consisted of a collection of mortal ass-kickers, loaned from regular units to MACV-SOG, and then loaned to us. Even though it was obvious who was in charge, they had no official rank hierarchy. There were a lot of people with the rank of Mister. Their names were whatever was assigned by Conover’s unknown bosses or whatever nickname stuck. I was introduced as Mr. Wolf.

  The most experienced man on first squad was a giant Polynesian that the others called Destroyer, or Augie to his friends, which I was not. He was ugly as sin, quietly judgmental, with a zero-tolerance policy for bullshit and arms that suggested he bench-pressed jeeps for fun. He smelled like a Green Beret NCO, and it was obvious he didn’t like me from the second we met. Many years later I would end up hiring his son, so it is a small world after all.

  They were to provide our security, transport, and any other duties as assigned. They were not to look too hard at anyone on second squad. They were not to speak to second squad unless spoken to, and they were definitely not allowed to ask questions. I think it was all that enforced secrecy that made Destroyer dislike my team. After that, Conover herded me out of the room. I was guessing he didn’t want me to hear the part about how they were supposed to kill anyone on second squad who didn’t obey orders. There was no need. That had been standard operating procedure for this kind of unit since 1942.

  Even though there were only three of us, second squad got their own, separate briefing. It was the first time I’d meet the others that I would be working with for the next year. As soon as we entered, I could smell trouble. The girl stood out. It’s hard not to when you’re supernaturally beautiful. Her skin almost glowed. She was so unnaturally perfect that you ached just looking at her. I pegged as some sort of divine-human cross. She was introduced as Sharon Mangum, code name, Singer. She gave me a polite nod, but didn’t speak.

  It’s a pretty strong comment on Sharon’s looks that I noticed her before the thing sitting next to her. It had the head of a bull and the body of a man. It took me a moment to understand that it wasn’t just some stuffed cow head on a really big dude wearing huge green fatigues. His fur was dark brown, and his black eyes studied me with obvious intelligence.

  It was the first time I’d seen an actual minotaur. I’d heard of them, big-time PUFF bounties, but I’d never seen one before. They were supposed to be solitary, rare, and deadly berserkers. Since he didn’t immediately charge and tear me into bits, they were obviously not as bestial as the stories indicated. “Howdy,” the minotaur said. His voice was very deep. “You must be the werewolf.”

  “Yep. I’ve never met a minotaur before.”

  “Minotaur?” The monster stood suddenly. He was over seven feet tall, and his horns stuck out a foot on each side. The floor creaked under his weight. I took an unconscious step back. “Do I look Greek to you, asshole?”

  It is always best to assert dominance in these kinds of situations. “You best take it easy, or you’ll
look like a steak dinner and a new pair of boots.”

  The minotaur bared his blunt white teeth. “Why, you little mother—”

  “Easy, Travis,” Sharon suggested, placing one hand on the minotaur’s massive hairy arm. Her voice was like soothing music. Even I felt a sudden sense of peace.

  “Apologies, Ms. Sharon.” The minotaur slowly returned to his seat on the floor.

  “No offense intended, friend,” I said, shaking my head to clear it. “It was a long flight.”

  “And you didn’t have to ride in cargo.…Look, buddy, minotaur’s got all sorts of bad connotations.” Travis snorted. It was a thunderous noise. “My tribe’s from Texas, by God, and we prefer to be called Bullmen. I’m Travis Alamo Sam Houston of the East Texas Bullmen, and I’ve come to prove our loyalty to the US of A.”

  “Don’t use your whole name,” Conover pointed out.

  “Yes, sir. Sorry, Captain,” Travis responded. Looking back, that was kind of pointless. Were we worried spies might mistake him for a different six-hundred-pound bull-headed mythological monster? “I’m here to earn a PUFF exemption by putting hoof to commie ass for my country. It won’t happen again, sir.”

  Conover just sighed. I kind of felt sorry for the kid. This was going to be a tough assignment.

  * * *

  Earl had showered in the men’s locker room, scrubbed off the blood, and gotten dressed, so he at least appeared semi-presentable to these people, even though he’d gone in three holes on his belt and probably looked like Famine from the Four Horsemen. He combed his hair and made sure his teeth weren’t stained red with blood. It would help to not look like a complete lunatic before giving this particular pep talk to a town of regular folks.

  He finished his speech on werewolves. It was a condensed version of what he’d usually say at Newbie training, but it would have to do. “Any questions?” About a dozen hands went up. Those were the polite ones. The others just started to shout questions at him.

  There were fifty men and women sitting on the wooden bleachers in front of him. The gym was even more crowded and noisy than it had been when he’d first woken up. The generators were running full blast, so they had light, heat, and a continuous trickle of townsfolk. Nancy Randall had gathered those that she said “had a clue,” and Phillip had taken a quick poll to find all the military veterans, gun nuts, and hunters; this being northern Michigan, that was a very healthy percentage. Heather Kerkonen had cherry-picked twenty people for her rescue patrols earlier, and they hadn’t returned yet, and they had more shooters on the roof and around the windows and doors. Earl liked the numbers, he just didn’t like the attitude.

  “Are you nuts?” a burly man shouted from the highest row.

  Earl shrugged. “Is that a question or a statement?”

  “Both, asshole!”

  He was used to dealing with Hunters. Even his greenest Newbie was a proven survivor who’d already made that leap of faith necessary to realize they didn’t know crap about how the real world worked. There was more shouting as those that had seen the werewolves, loose-skinned armored creatures, or dark-magic beam of light argued with those that hadn’t. Earl knew that he had to rein this in real quick if he was going to turn them into a coherent force. “Zip it!” he bellowed. His voice echoed through the entire gymnasium.

  Turning human hadn’t cost Earl’s command voice any of its power. The crowd shut up.

  Pacing back and forth across the half-court line, Earl kept his voice raised. “I don’t care if you think I’m full of it. That don’t matter. What does is that something’s killing your town. You can all agree on that. If I’m right, then you need to work together to beat them. If I’m wrong, then you still need to work together to beat them.” There was a general murmur of assent. The people who hadn’t at least seen some mutilated bodies were a distinct minority. “If you want to live ’til dawn, you’re gonna have to fight.”

  “Why don’t we go out there now, then?” a young guy on the front row asked. Earl guessed from his out-of-season tan and the fact that he seemed to be in really good shape that this was one of their recently returned vets. “Let’s go get them!”

  “Because there’s like a thousand of them and they move so fast you can’t hardly see them and then it’s too late!” someone called from behind. “I say we stay here and let them come to us.”

  Earl nodded. He had two distinct personalities here, offensive and defensive. Both were necessary. If they all went out there, just like in nature, the weak would be culled from the herd. If they all sat here, eventually they’d be surrounded, and then they were sitting ducks. “We do both. The creatures will mostly be working alone, but as the night goes on and they’ve got fewer targets of opportunity, the bloodlust will attract them to the survivors. We leave enough here to defend the women and children—”

  “That’s sexist!” a girl exclaimed.

  “Figure of speech,” Earl responded. “Grown-ups are talking, so cram the PC bullshit. The fallout shelter under this gym serves as the base. We hold it at all costs. We leave a force here to fend off the monsters. The rest of us form squads and take the fight to them. You go out there alone, they will pick you off.” Before he’d started, Nancy had explained how several individuals had set out in search of their loved ones. None of those had come back yet. “It don’t matter how tough you are. You can only look in one direction at a time, and they’re faster than you.”

  “I saw one hop clear up to the roof of the bank!”

  “Uh huh…,” Earl said as everyone else started babbling about what they’d seen. It wasn’t the werewolves that they’d seen that he was really worried about. It was the other things that were out there in the storm. Their capabilities were a mystery. He let the group work itself up with anecdotes about their night. Hearing it from their neighbors would convince the doubters far better than anything Earl could say himself.

  “What about the injured?” a lady half-way up the bleachers asked.

  “You can’t trust ’em,” Earl stated coldly. “Bites for sure, and maybe scratches. They’re infected and could turn on you.” As expected, those words caused a terrible uproar from the crowd. This was exactly why he always let Julie handle the negotiations. He was always too blunt.

  Nancy Randall especially didn’t like it. “What?” The woman had enough of a reputation that as soon as she started speaking, the angry group quieted down. “Those are our friends, family. There’s no way.”

  “Take my advice or leave it. Your call. I’d keep them isolated if I were you. If they start to change, do what you’ve got to do,” Earl said. Already, he could tell that most of them didn’t believe him. Sometimes the ugly truth was just too damn ugly.

  Nancy scowled hard, mulling it over, but she held up her hand to silence the objections. “We’ll talk about that more later. Deputy Kerkonen said that she saw you kill a few of these things and that you were some sort of professional. How’d you know they were coming?”

  “And why didn’t you warn us?” cried a different man. A friend put a comforting hand on his shoulder, but he kept on. “My wife might still be alive.”

  “Easy, Stan,” Nancy cautioned. “Well, Harbinger, answer the man’s question.”

  They already didn’t believe him about werewolves, period; he wasn’t going to try to educate them on the finer points of lycanthropic society and the fact that Nikolai had just needed a good murdering. Luckily, before he could think of an answer, one of the guards at the main hall entrance shouted that they had movement in the parking lot. Everyone grabbed for their weapons but relaxed as word spread that it was one of the groups returning. Most of the doubters went back to cursing Earl.

  The patrol came in brushing snow from their coats and stomping it from their boots. All of the scouts were shivering except for the one in the lead. Kerkonen was barely recognizable. She’d ditched her ragged sheriff’s department coat and found a big black parka. When she flipped back the hood, the difference was shocking. His human senses
were weak; he felt blurry, slow and hungover, but he could already tell that she was well along the change. Her eyes gleamed just a shade too metallic, her skin was flushed, her movements too fluid. The others might not be able to tell, and she probably didn’t know it herself, but he recognized the signs from experience. Heather Kerkonen was a full-on werewolf.

  And that change had occurred in a matter of hours…Normally it took weeks. Earl swallowed hard. That ain’t good.

  “What’d you find, deputy?” asked Nancy.

  “A lot of dead people and even more empty houses. But we found a few more survivors. They’re in the foyer getting checked for bites before I let them in,” she said. “The werewolves are on the move out there. We don’t need any in here.” That statement struck Earl as particularly ironic.

  This time it was Phillip, the high-school principal, that interjected. “Not more of this werewolf nonsense. There’s got to be a rational explanation.”

  Deadly serious, Heather put her shotgun over one shoulder and scanned the crowd. “I figured you might be having this conversation. I’ve got something everyone needs to see.…” She motioned two men forward. Each was carrying one end of a tarp-wrapped object that was very clearly a body. “Show them.”

  “Heather, there’s kids here,” said the man supporting the narrower end of the tarp. “Maybe we should—”

  “They need to see it, too. There’s no time for doubt,” Heather said as she pulled her gloves off and eyed Phillip coldly. Earl had seen that look before. She was probably wondering what he tasted like. “Unwrap her.”

  The two men dropped their burden. It hit the wood with a dull thud. As they pulled the blue tarp away, the crowd gasped. A few looked away.

  “Look at it,” Heather ordered.