Larry Correia: Monster Hunter Alpha

Slowly, he held out one damaged hand. It was covered in blood and hair, and there was a black scab where his pinky-finger had been, but he was offering something to her. She took a step closer. The amulet! Harbinger was offering it to her. He took another step and swayed, as if he was going to collapse. Without thinking, Heather moved forward and caught him.

One hairy arm fell over her shoulder. His fangs were dripping the Alpha’s blood down the side of her face, but she understood that she wasn’t in any danger. She held him upright as the pace of his breathing slowed.

Teeth retracted and flattened. The fur receded. A moment later, he was only a few inches taller than her. She still continued to hold him as the last werewolf features fell away, until she was holding only a very battered man. Heather squeezed him even tighter. She’d only just realized she was crying. He placed one hand on the back of her head and kissed her gently on the forehead. “It’s all right,” he rasped. “Everything’s all right now.”

“I know…” But she didn’t let him go.

He was looking past her and saw the corpses of Aino and Kirk. “Aw, hell. So many…”

Harbinger was alive. He had the amulet. “Is he…?”

“Dead.” His voice was ragged. “The Alpha’s dead, and I got this.” He lifted the amulet of Koschei and held it between their faces. “Your town should be safe. Now we need to figure out how to cure you…us…all of us. Wait…” He stopped, horrified, and stared at the rapidly disintegrating amulet. The silver claw was cracking as its outer edges bled into dust. “No. No! NO!” Harbinger shouted. He let go of Heather and tried, futilely, to squeeze the pieces together. Dust streamed between his fingers. Harbinger fell to his knees and tried to collect the ever-shrinking bits. Within seconds, they were gone.

Heather felt the magic leave, and the last fuzzy remnants of the dream went with it.

“I can’t believe this. It was a cure…” Harbinger stayed there, on his knees. “No…We could have ended the curse.”

Heather shook her head, trying to recall her dream. “It was waiting for someone worthy,” The curse was on purpose, but the people that took it weren’t ready yet. They didn’t know what they were asking for. The monster’s spirit was stronger than theirs. But the amulet had a mind of its own. It held something back for some reason.”

“You saw something, too…didn’t you?”

“I did, just now. Like it wanted me to know.”

“Me, too. Little bits and pieces, when I lost my curse, and when I saw the bones.” Harbinger ran his fingers through the dust. “The amulet was a test.”

“It wanted to be found. It was waiting for someone. The thing was only making werewolves stronger to attract even stronger challengers.” She placed one hand gently on his shoulder. “It found what it was looking for. It picked you.”

“No. It didn’t.” Harbinger stood and took Heather back in his arms. “I wasn’t enough. It picked us.”

“Harbinger?”

“Earl. Really. It’s just Earl.”

She kissed him, gently. He still tasted like blood. “Let’s get out of here.”

“You hear that?” Heather asked once they got outside. “It’s quiet.”

Earl listened, it was good to be able to really hear again. “I’d say too quiet, but I suppose that’s because we’ve killed everything in a mile radius.”

“No, smartass. There’s no gunshots from town.”

It was like he’d figured. The vulkodlak had only existed because of the amulet. Once it was gone, there was nothing keeping those undead walking. The question was if they’d stopped them in time to make any difference. There was some clothing hanging on the railing at the entrance to Number Six. Which really brightened Earl’s morning. He wasn’t the self-conscious type, werewolves seldom were, but he was still a Southern gentleman, so walking around buck-naked with a lady seemed rather uncouth. Heather still had his coat, but he passed her the pants. There was a rather nice wool overcoat, so he took that. It smelled like the Alpha. There was a wide-brimmed hat, too. Earl put it on. “Souvenir.”

“You look like a flasher,” Heather said as she put the pants on. They were too big for her. She unconsciously let one fingernail elongate into a point to poke a new hole in the belt so she could cinch the pants up tighter. “You could just leave it off. You’ve got a good body for a senior-senior-citizen.”

“Damn, woman, you are forward.” Earl checked the pockets. Sadly, it appeared that Adam Conover had been a nonsmoker. “In my day-”

“In your day they invented the airplane. Besides, somebody would just call it in and I’d have to arrest you for indecent exposure. Let’s see if anybody else survived and find us a ride out of here.”

Despite being too tired to think, Earl found himself smiling. The girl had spunk. If she didn’t degenerate into an insane killer, he could see this actually maybe working out. It would be nice to have some female company again. “Then some breakfast. I could eat a horse.”

“I know where some are near here. The Randall place is just over the hill. I’ll split one with you.”

Because of the fire, and the smoke, and the dozens of corpses, he couldn’t locate any of his companions by smell. So it took longer than he would’ve liked. They found Jason Lococo near the gates. The Hunter was in bad shape, covered in slime, barely conscious, but breathing. Close by was the exploded remains of one of the Old Ones’ diggers.

Earl knelt next to him. “How you feeling, Jason?”

He gestured weakly at an empty syringe on the ground. “Stark…Antidote.” Jason’s good eye rolled back in his head, and he was out. Earl checked the syringe. Atropine. Stark must have known the digger’s poison caused nerve damage. Nasty stuff, but it looked like it had been caught in time. His nose was telling him that Jason would live.

“Nice work, kid.” Lococo was probably twice his size, but it wouldn’t be difficult for Earl to carry him out. “Let’s get him to some medical help. Kid’s got real potential.”

“That just leaves Stark,” Heather said as she scanned the compound. “I wonder where he ran off to?”

Special Agent Douglas Stark of the Monster Control Bureau of the Department of Homeland Security watched the fire-haired werewolf through the scope of Harbinger’s precision rifle. The crosshairs were floating around on the back of her head. He had a solid position. There was zero wind. He’d known they would stop to help the injured Hunter. From the top of Number Six, the range was a piddly hundred and fifty yards. It was an easy kill.

“Agent Stark. Stark! Can you hear me? Are you okay?”

Stark listened to the Bluetooth earpiece. He’d gotten headquarters. He’d gotten help on the way. National Guard out of Marquette were going to cordon off the area while the MCB airlifted in a cleanup team to bag the bodies and intimidate the witnesses. They’d come up with a plausible cover story, like they always did, and the whole Copper Lake mess would just go away.

“I’m here,” Stark whispered.

“There are choppers en route to your position. I’m trying to get an ETA. Are you secure?” Agent Archer asked.

There were three dead werewolves that had gotten in his way on the stairs. He was pretty proud of those kills. There were only two werewolves left down there, and he was glassing them with a sniper rifle. “Secure enough.”

“Good work, Stark, good work. The outbreak will be contained. Thanks.” Archer sounded like he was getting choked up. “Thank you.”

Stark moved the crosshairs over to Harbinger’s back. A few ounces of pressure on a trigger that would break like a glass rod, and that asshole was toast. Harbinger shouldn’t have punched Stark in the face. “What’re you talking about, Archer?”