Larry Correia - Monster Hunter Alpha

The werewolves let forth a triumphant howl and leapt from the tree line, loping downhill to where the unsuspecting humans were waiting. The prey would never see them coming. He watched his children go, anxious for them, as any good father should be.

The witch was observing quietly. She was bundled in a fur coat, which made her slight form seem far larger than it was, only her gleaming eyes visible under the hood and scarf. She was flanked by her two diggers; giant, gangly, unnatural things that stood with perfect stillness. Their abnormal forms were difficult to make out in the blowing snow. The witch stank of excitement, with just a touch of apprehension. “You really believe that your children will be able to bring you Harbinger or Petrov?”

“Bring them? Of course not…” Already he could hear the sounds of breaking windows as the pack reached the houses on the periphery. “My children will slaughter the sheep of this town, but none of them is the match for the hunter or the assassin. I expect the pack will flush them out, force their little game, bring them to each other’s attention. The survivor will be weakened. Ready to harvest.”

The witch fidgeted inside her massive coat. Now there was nervousness in her scent, nearly as strong as her regular smell of fanaticism. Maybe now that the moment of truth was upon them, the fearsome nature of their adversaries had fully sunk in.

He chuckled. “You really don’t need to worry. I could have taken either of them before. With this”-he gestured at the amulet-“they won’t be able to touch me.”

“They’re bloody unpredictable,” the witch insisted.

Unlike your father, I’m not enough of a fool to underestimate Harbinger. The thought went unspoken. It would only anger the already sensitive witch, and he needed her focused. “I have it under control.”

There was a long, icy silence before she responded. “Very well.”

His children howled from below. Prey had been cornered. It made him want to change, to glory in the hunt himself, but he had other responsibilities to attend to. Years of preparation came down to this one night. “Just be ready.”

“Don’t worry about me.” The witch was as dedicated to this mission as he was, but for entirely different reasons.

The screams of the dying haunted the wind. He clutched the amulet tightly.

Stark realized that with Briarwood almost here, Agent Mosher was about to cost him a whole bunch of money by plugging the injured cop. That was one easy bounty, and he wished he’d caught Mosher before he’d popped the other one. He was just forming the words when the whole hospital shook. Orange fire spilled from a room down the hall as Stark hurled himself to the floor. Most of the flames disappeared quickly, rising into the ceiling tiles, leaving only smoke and choking dust. It had been a small explosion, but it had certainly gotten his attention.

“What the hell?” Mosher shouted as he uncovered his head.

Stark coughed as the dust settled on them. He rolled over and got up. “I don’t kn-” There was a small pain in his shoulder and another in his side, and then he nearly bit his tongue off as a horrible, jittery, twisting bolt of white-hot pain surged through his entire body. His muscles involuntarily clenched as he collapsed back to the floor. Except for a buzzing twitch, he couldn’t move, couldn’t even scream.

Then as quickly as the pain had come, it was gone. “What the hell?” There was the injured cop, sitting there, pointing something at his chest, and then Agent Stark realized there were skinny little wires leading from his body back to the thing in the cop’s right hand. “Son of a-” But then she hit him with the Taser again.

Mosher bellowed incoherently and grabbed his face, rolling and thrashing across the bloody floor as the cop jumped up and ran for her life. She disappeared into the smoke just as Stark regained enough coordination to raise his Glock and crank off several wild shots after her. With disgust he reached down and yanked the Taser barbs out of his body, wincing as the little fish-hooks tore skin. “Mosher!”

“My eyes!” Mosher shouted. “I can’t see a thing!” Then Mosher began coughing uncontrollably as his mucus membranes kicked into massive overdrive. There was enough residual pepper spray in the air that Stark nearly choked. Even looking at Agent Mosher made his eyes water. The cop had hosed his partner good, coating his face in sticky orange-dyed foam.

How dare you? Enraged, Stark got up and ran after her. He reached the burning room and turned quickly, looking down both hallways. The cop was nowhere to be seen. “Come back here!” he shouted.

“Hey, Agent Stark,” someone said from behind him. He turned to see the outline of a man walking through the smoke. “You’ve got a crispy werewolf in there.” Earl Harbinger jerked his thumb at the fire. “He was immune to silver, I shit you not, so I roasted his ass. I think all the surviving patients have hightailed it outta here. You see a fire extinguisher around here, anywhere? Figure I better put that out.”

The filthy, stinking werewolf had the audacity to stop there, right in Stark’s face, and pull out a pack of smokes. Harbinger paused after putting one in his mouth. He held out the pack. “Want one?”

Stark clenched his teeth together. MHI was here. Harbinger had stolen his kill. He was going to ruin everything. The MCB agent was so furious that he could feel his face turning red. He’d just been embarrassed, tasered by a Yooper cop, and now he was getting mocked by a bloodthirsty monster. Stark lifted his Glock in one big hand and pointed it right at Harbinger’s smug werewolf face.

“So…You don’t smoke?”

“You’re under arrest,” Stark spat.

Unfazed, Harbinger raised an eyebrow as he lit the cigarette. “What for now?”

“You had something to do with this! You damn werewolves stick together.”

“Well, that sure explains why I just burned one to death.” The smoke from the fire finally activated the emergency sprinklers around the fiery room. Harbinger glanced up in annoyance and took the now-sodden cigarette from his mouth. “It never fails…”

The water must have been sitting in the pipes for a long time, since it was as dark and foul as Stark’s temper. The agent blinked as it got in his eyes, but he kept the gun on the sneaky werewolf. “You’re coming with me. You’ve got some questions to answer.”

“Listen, Stark.” Harbinger seemed a little perturbed. “I ain’t got time for your MCB power-trip nonsense. There’s something weird going on here, something bad, and I need to figure it out before any more innocent folks get hurt.” The two of them stayed there, glaring at each other in the artificial rain. “All right, let me try this again. We just had somebody turn into a werewolf for the first time, and not on the full moon. That don’t happen. It can’t happen. And he was immune to silver. Doesn’t that strike you as odd? The lights are out all over town, and I can hear more werewolves howling for blood. There’s something else out there, something evil, and I can feel it coming. We ain’t got much time.” The Glock didn’t move. Harbinger sighed. “So I suggest you lower that heater ’fore I cram it up your ass sideways.”

Stark’s eyes narrowed. “You…You’re threatening me?”

“Well, I ain’t asking you to the prom,” Harbinger answered impatiently. “What’s it gonna be, Agent? Let me do my job, or we gonna have us a problem?”

Stark was shocked that Harbinger had the audacity to threaten him. The MCB agent had been intimidating people for so long, and never the other way around, that it took the words a moment to sink in. “Who do you think you are?“ he sputtered.

Harbinger moved faster than Stark could possibly react. He smacked the gun aside. His other hand wrapped around Stark’s thick neck and slammed him hard into the wall. Stark’s shoes left the floor as Harbinger hoisted him into the air.