Monster Hunter Bloodlines - eARC by Larry Correia (read a book .txt) 📕

African bush pilot; and a married couple, the Groffs, both of whom had been Marines; their doc, Kathy Sherlock; and of course Gregorius, the crusty old SF vet, whom I’d known since Natchy Bottom. Hertzfeldt was the only Newbie, so it was an experienced crew.

There was a brief laugh at my stupid MCB shirt, but then it got pretty glum again, and then it went back to sulking and drinking all of Boone’s beer. Hunters hate losing. Anybody who was okay with losing would make a terrible Hunter. One tiny girl had made our group of badasses look like a bunch of chumps. There hadn’t been any reptoids to tail back to their hidey-hole, so even though the city was down two of the carnivorous bastards, there were probably a dozen more in their tribe still out there eating hobos. Then I got to make everything worse by telling the others about how the MCB had managed to let the biggest scumbag in the world escape.

After I gave everybody the quick recap of everything I’d witnessed, Gregorius summed up what all of us were feeling by saying, “Those damned idiots. They should have put a bullet in Stricken the second they confirmed it was him.”

The rest of the Hunters all nodded along at that. “I’m kicking myself for not putting a sniper on a roof across the street,” Boone muttered. “We could have just popped Stricken and done the world a favor.”

“We can’t just go around assassinating human beings in the streets,” Trip said. “Even Stricken.”

“Eh . . . Can’t we though?” As usual, Holly was the most morally flexible of us all. She had a heart of gold for those who deserved it, and zero mercy for those who didn’t.

“Franks really wanted to kill Stricken,” I explained. “But there was this weird dude there from the government who wouldn’t let him. MCB and STFU were both deferential to him. Name of Coslow.”

“What?” Boone nearly choked on his beer. “Harold P. Coslow?

“I didn’t catch his middle name, but probably. Stricken called him Harold.”

Boone was downright flabbergasted. “He’s still alive?”

“He looks like he’s a hundred and I didn’t take his pulse, but yeah. Director Cueto said he was a PUFF adjuster, but the other adjusters I’ve dealt with have just been regular government employees. This Coslow guy was weird.” I didn’t like how Boone seemed a little unnerved by that name. Boone was old-school MHI and didn’t shake easy. I looked over at Milo, who’d been around longer than the rest of us; not that Milo was that old, it was just he’d been with MHI since he was a teenager. I was surprised to see that Milo had gotten really pale all of a sudden. And since Milo’s a freckly redhead anyway, that meant he’d gone downright ghostly on us. “What?”

“You didn’t make the Adjuster angry at you? Did you, Z? Because that would be like, super bad.”

“Of course not. I don’t think so. Why would you say that?”

“Well, you’ve kinda got this way of antagonizing people—”

“No. Not me.” I already knew I was an abrasive dick who had problems with authority. “I mean why is everybody scared of this Coslow guy? Stricken offered to tell me, but he probably would’ve just lied anyway. What is Coslow?”

Milo shrugged. “Beats me. But he’s been around a long time.”

“Hell if I know either,” Boone said. “I was a Newbie last time MHI dealt with him. He was the ultimate authority setting bounties on anything unique we caught back in those days, but beyond that, there are some stories about him that are downright unnerving. I don’t think anyone has seen Coslow in decades.”

“I figured he was dead or retired.” Milo seemed to find all this rather exciting. “But in the old days, the rumor was he only showed up on cases where things could get really catastrophic, like some kinda herald of doom. Sam Haven once told me that he thought Coslow was actually a mummy who could suck your soul out through your eye sockets—”

“Then government work sounds like a great fit for him,” Holly interrupted. “Sorry to ruin the speculation, but we need to get back to catching this shape-changing bitch.” Holly was pragmatic like that.

“Yeah, any luck identifying her?” I asked.

“She’s not anyone that’s come up on our radar before,” Boone said. “But if she’s from around here, or especially a new creature in town, she must have come to someone or something’s attention. I was just handing out assignments. We’re going to split up and shake every tree around Atlanta to see what falls out.”

“Peaches, probably,” Milo said helpfully.

Boone sighed. “Somebody has to know who this shapeshifter is. Groffs, you’ve got the gnomes.”

“Aw, come on,” the male Groff groaned. His beard rivaled Milo’s, to the point that he looked like an old-timey sea captain. “Not the gnomes. Those little bastards are the worst. Why us?”

“Because Shannon is the shortest one here,” Boone pointed at the wife of the pair. “And gnomes distrust tall people.”

She was just barely over five feet, so she shrugged. “That’s fair. The gnomes will all be busy pickpocketing and generally screwing around with all the DragonCon people anyway. We’ll take Jones with us. He seems to know his way around that world.”

“I’ll grab my costume,” Trip said, because of course he had packed one, just in case. “I’ve got this really great Captain America . . . You know, because the cops might have my picture from earlier.”

“Sure,” Boone said, obviously not buying that.

“The mask covers the top half of my face,” Trip said.

“Uh-huh. Milo, you still speak gnoll?”

“I only learned a few phrases so I’m not exactly fluent, but I can probably squeak by.”

“Gregorius, take Milo to the dump and visit the gnolls.”

The big man just frowned, then he sighed, because, frankly, gnolls were gross. “Come on, Hertzfeldt. You’re with us.”

“Why me?”

“Because you’re the Newbie, I’m too old to crawl through garbage looking for gnolls, and Milo is our guest. Bring your gas mask and rubber boots. Trust me on this