Larry Correia - Monster Hunter Alpha

The sultry European sex goddess picked up on the fourth ring. “Briarwood.”

He cut right to the chase. “If your boys can get here in time, you’ve got two bounties. But they had better hurry. There’s been a complication. Some of your competitors are here.”

“Competitors?”

“The boys from Alabama, if you get who I mean. One bounty is at the hospital. He won’t turn until the full moon, but if you get him early, the blood test will justify the PUFF.” Stark neglected to mention that the place was crawling with cops. That was Briarwood’s problem. “The one that bit him is around here somewhere. How soon can you be on-site?”

There was a long pause, like she was covering the phone and asking someone a question. “Our team is almost there.”

Stark glanced at his watch and swore. It was going to be close. “Head straight for the hospital.” He slammed the phone back into the cradle.

When Stark came around the corner from the bathrooms, Harbinger, who didn’t seem surprised in the least, was staring right at him. Stark froze. From across the room, the Hunter actually had the nerve to raise his beer like he was giving Stark a toast. So much for getting out without being seen. Stark walked up to the bar to confront the obnoxious Hunter.

Earl Harbinger didn’t look like anything special up close, just average. But there was something intimidating about the way he watched you, like he was trying to decide whether to eat you or not. But Stark was MCB, and MCB wasn’t easily intimidated, even by a werewolf.

“Hey, Agent Stork. Been a long time,” Harbinger said, sounding friendly as could be. That redneck-confederate-illiterate-goat-molester-country-music accent made Stark even angrier.

“Stark,” he corrected. “What’re you doing here, Harbinger?”

“Vacation. These gentlemen were just telling me about the quality fishing they’ve got in these parts. Damn fine steaks here, by the way. You?”

“Official business. And you better stay out of it.”

Harbinger smiled. “I’d have to take a significant pay cut to make your business worth my time.”

“Screw you,” he said automatically, but then Stark felt a brief touch of panic. Had Harbinger heard him talking to Briarwood? He paused, thinking it through; there was no way he could have, but it was still a sore spot for the agent. “Listen up, asshole. You want to-”

“Whoa there,” interrupted one of the yokels. “What’s your problem?”

“Shut your face, old-timer,” Stark snapped. “This doesn’t concern you.”

“Damn, Earl. Who’s this dickhead?” asked the other local.

“Somebody who’s about to get his ass beat,” said the first old bastard in a thick accent. He got off his stool but only came up to about Stark’s neck. “You got a problem, fatso?”

“Easy, Aino,” Harbinger said, putting one hand on the man’s arm. The guy had to be in his sixties, and he was ready to throw down at the perceived insult, but at least the grizzled old man returned to his seat, glaring the whole time. “Me and Stork here have met before. He’s just a little high-strung is all…So, how’s life been since you were released as Franks’s jockstrap carrier?”

Mosher had heard the raised voices and come over. The junior agent had no idea what was going on. Stark pointed one thick finger right between Harbinger’s eyes. “Funny guy, huh? Well, funny guy, one of these days you’ll screw up, and then we own you.”

“Uh-huh…” Harbinger took a long, nonchalant drink. “And when that day comes, I’ll make sure that whatever I did was absolutely worth it.”

Stark may have been angry, but he was smart enough to know that Harbinger was just goading him. Besides, slugging Harbinger’s drunk hillbilly friend in front of witnesses would probably cause him some trouble. “Come on, Mosher. Let’s get out of this dump. Remember, Harbinger, stay out of my way, or you’ll regret it.”

“See ya’ round, Stork.”

“Better keep walking,” said the one with the accent.

Fists clenched, Stark made it back to the Suburban, Mosher asking him the whole time what that was all about. Stark was fuming, but the sudden cold air had helped clear his head. He’d made up his mind. “Get us back to the hospital,” he snapped. Briarwood better get here soon, because he’d shoot the deputy himself and deal with the paperwork before he gave MHI the satisfaction of stealing his money.

Since I had been bitten, I had learned about the obvious physical changes. I was stronger, faster, more agile, though at that early stage I hadn’t realized just how much better I’d become. My hearing and sense of smell were more acute. I could see better at night. But the main difference was that I could heal at a phenomenal rate.

It made sense. Since my body was now capable of completely breaking itself down and reforming into a new shape in a matter of minutes (it was minutes then; it is seconds now), reforming broken pieces of my anatomy was an excellent side effect. Though exhausting, injuries caused by anything other than silver mended themselves almost instantly. Though it wasn’t until I fought that luska that I really discovered what I was capable of.

I grabbed the first tentacle hand as it snaked in close. The fingers had the consistency of a thick crab leg. I snapped one off and stabbed the luska with its own claw. For some reason I laughed as it tried to bite me in half, but I moved out of the way faster than the luska could react. It followed me up the beach, farther onto the sand, tentacles swinging like crazy past its big shark head, cracking like bullwhips. Each time a barb hit, it cut right through my skin. Regardless of how fast my skin knitted back together, it still hurt like a son of a bitch, every single time. But once I caught one of the big tentacles, I ripped it right off and beat the monster over the head with it.

For being so damn heavy, luskas are lightning quick. It finally caught up and overwhelmed me beneath its body, crushing me right into the sand. I can still smell the rotting fish. Dragging me out with a tentacle around my leg, it swung me around to its jaws and bit me. Teeth punctured halfway through my body, from my shoulders, through my ribs, through one lung, through my stomach, and cracked my pelvis in half. It shook me back and forth like a terrier with a rat until my spine broke. When I finally hung limp, it slithered back down the beach for the black water.

Then I got really mad.

That was back in the days before I’d learned how to hold off the change. Now I only change when I let the Hum take over, or on the full moon when I have no choice. Back then, if I was in enough pain or anger, I couldn’t help but change.

The luska had just reached the crashing surf when it realized that the thing in its mouth had suddenly gotten a whole lot fiercer. My spine popped back together as every fiber of my body twisted toward a new shape. I reached up with one rapidly lengthening thumbnail and scratched one of that luska ’s little red eyes in half. The jaws unlocked, and the teeth pulled free of my body.

The next few minutes were blurry, but as I changed, I managed to reach down the luska ’s throat to tear out great bloody chunks of meat. That disoriented it. I shoved its jaws apart until the bones broke. I ripped into it, spraying monster all over the beach. I bit and tore and clawed until the monster flopped and rolled away, trying to escape. So I grabbed on to one of the big tentacles and dragged the thing that was at least five times my size back up the sand. Confused and losing blood, it sprayed me with ink, but that just pissed me off more.

The holes in my flesh sealed. The blood loss weakened me, but fury filled the gaps. The holes in the luska squirted red blood, and that just egged me on. The beast was terrified now, bellowing in pitches that human ears could never hear, warning the others of its kind to avoid this island.