Monster Hunter Vendetta

Chapter 6

The G-Ride speedometer pegged at a hundred and forty miles an hour but we were going much faster as we entered Montgomery and headed west on the 85. The black-armored Suburban had been delivered to Franks sometime in the last few days by some of his minions and I was glad we had it. Although MHI had a lot of vehicles, none of them apparently had a friggin' quarter-million-horsepower engine forged in the fires of Mordor like this thing apparently did. It normally took me forty-five minutes to hit the outskirts of town from Cazador, but Franks had done it in less than twenty, and I wasn't exactly averse to speeding. The demonic roar of the engine was almost as loud as the banshee siren that warned everyone else to get out of the way or be flattened beneath our armored steel bumpers. Our tax dollars had equipped Agent Franks with the SUV from Hell.

Franks was emotionless in the reflected flashes of blue and red, still wearing his cheap suit. A pine-tree-shaped air freshener bounced around under the rearview mirror. I was in the passenger seat, hunched forward by the armor and pouches on my back. Abomination was muzzle down, balanced between my knees. It had been almost impossible to get dressed while we had slalomed around the corners of rural Keene County, but I had managed. The Goon Squad was in the next row of seats, also armed to the teeth, each one intense and ready to fight.

I had run into MHI headquarters long enough to grab my go-bag and give Dorcas a brief rundown. She had been trying to raise the others as we had left. I shoved my MHI-issued earpieces in, partially to protect my hearing from the siren, but also to check to see if any of my people were in range. I was alone. The radio mounted on the SUV's dash was tuned to the Monster Control Bureau's encrypted channel, so I knew that their strike force had mobilized and moved to the Buzzard Island Amphitheater, now only a few miles ahead of us.

"Alpha Team is in position outside the concert and holding," said someone over the radio.

"Any suspicious activity?" Agent Myers asked over the airwaves.

There was a long pause of open air. "Uh, sir, most of the people here are suspicious looking." Apparently they had never been to a Cabbage Point Killing Machine show before. Their tours were legendary. You could drop all sorts of weird supernatural creatures into one of their average gigs and nobody would notice.

My phone rang and I hurriedly pulled it from the small pouch on the front of my armor. "Yeah?"

"Z?" It was Albert Lee. "Dorcas just got ahold of me."

"Where are you?"

"We're a couple miles north of Cazador."

"Who you got?"

"Me and Grant. Dorcas raised Harbinger. They turned back too." Excellent. Lee was a good man, and Grant, say what you would about him, was a known quantity, more than I could say about my current carpool. "Listen, I've got to tell you something. Dorcas said it was Force and Violence. I've been reading up on them. Be really careful."

Franks must have somehow, impossibly, heard that. "Put him on speaker."

I complied so the Feds could hear. "First, what can they do? Second, how do we waste them?"

"Nobody really knows what they are. The descriptions sound kind of like an ogre and an ogress, but they're too fast, too smart, and apparently indestructible. Esmeralda thought they were Greek, and they've been seen in that part of the world a lot, for at least three thousand years, but from the descriptions, I think they're oni."

"Three thousand years?" Herzog said incredulously. "Bull."

Franks held up one hand to silence her.

"What's an oni?" I asked.

"Far Eastern legends talk about them a lot. They're evil spirits that have gained a physical body, usually really big and strong. They suck the life out of other things in order to power their own bodies indefinitely. That's probably what Skippy meant by getting paid in souls. I don't see why some of them couldn't wander over to Europe and end up in that area's folklore."

Some Hunters just seemed to geek out at monster factoids. "That's great. Now how do we kill them?"

"Beats me," he answered. "MHI has never killed an oni that I can find record of. Esmeralda said that bullets bounced off of them."

"Great…" I muttered. "We'll improvise."

"Electricity," Archer chimed in. "Enough current will stun an oni. That's what the field manual says."

"There's more. When MHI went up against them last time, they had a hard time tracking them, which is weird since witnesses say they're huge. But they would suddenly appear, kill something, then poof, they were just gone. So I'm guessing they're either able to fly or teleport. The Fed file said the necromancer can create shadow portals, so maybe they can too. They might even shape-shift, so who knows.. "

"Well, that narrows it down. Thanks, Al. See you there. Go to the radio band when you reach Motown." I dropped the phone back in its pouch. This wasn't shaping up to be a fun night.

Updates continued to come in from the strike force as they surrounded the concert. They were all in position. "Stay low profile and hold your position for now," Myers ordered his teams. "Wait for the Condition to make their move first. Our primary concern is capturing a Condition operative. Civilian casualties are secondary. Myers out."

"What?" I shouted and slammed my fist into the glove box. Mosh was a sitting duck up there on stage. "Tell them to go in there and grab my brother now!"

Franks shook his head. "That's not the mission."

"Bullshit it's not. You're using him as bait, like you used me. He's not part of this." I reached over for the radio, but suddenly Franks' ham fist clamped around my left hand, immobilizing it as easily as if I were a child.

"He is now," Franks said, blank eyes never leaving the road as he steered with one hand between freeway traffic at absurd speeds.

"That's my brother out there. Don't you have any family, Franks?"

He scowled. "Yeah. Big family."

"Would you just leave them to die?"

"Not my problem…"

Something broke. I'd had enough. Mosh wasn't going to die if I could help it. Fury bubbled up from the pit of my stomach, as my STI. 45 cleared its Kydex drop leg holster with a snap. I screwed the fat muzzle into Frank's ear, hard, and snapped, "Order them to get Mosh, right now."

It only took the Goon Squad a second to react. There was a click of a manual safety as Herzog put her HK. 45 against the base of my skull. "Drop the gun, Pitt! Drop it!" she screamed. Archer was a split second slower but he slammed his Sig 229 into my head as well.

"Shut up!" I shouted. I wasn't going to let my brother get killed for their stupid mission. My finger was on the trigger and blasting Franks at this speed would surely end us all. "Call Myers!" Spit flew from my lips. "Now!"

Franks didn't take his eyes off the road, but he did unconsciously squeeze my left hand harder. Bones creaked and I grimaced. "Negative," he said.

"Owen, put the gun down," Torres urged softly. "Use your brain, man. We warned you about the Condition. They'll just keep on attacking everyone you've ever loved until they get you. We have to capture some of them or this will go on forever. Please, put the gun down."

Franks was utterly calm, even with a silver. 45 slug aimed down his ear canal. "Do it."

My brother was going to be killed and there wasn't a thing I could do about it from here… Damn it. I couldn't threaten Franks. Shooting him wouldn't accomplish a thing. Deflated, I thumbed the safety back on and slowly lowered my gun. Franks let go of my aching hand and went back to 10 and 2 on the wheel. Archer and Herzog kept their guns trained on me.

"Hand your piece back, slowly!" she shouted, voice shrill in my ear. "Do it or I'll blow your brains out! You're under arrest."

"Screw you," I said. She pushed even harder with the muzzle. I knew that I'd gone way too far this time. "All right." Slowly, I passed the custom long-slide, double-stack pistol, turning it back butt first. She thumped me again, and I handed Abomination over my head, the stubby and bulky shotgun and grenade launcher combo difficult to pass between the seats. Another thump and I sent back my secondary STI off my left hip, this one a compact, bobbed and chopped. 45.

"Everything." She whacked me again for good measure.

I slowly passed back the two Spyderco knives I kept on each hip pocket, then dragged out the 21" Chitilangi heavy kukri that replaced my lost Ganga Ram. MHI was one of Himalayan Imports' best customers. "Careful, that one's sharp," I said as I passed it back. Hopefully one of them would cut their fingers off by accident. Another thump. I was going to be covered in lumps from that hag. "Damn it," I muttered as I reached down to my ankle and pulled out the snub-nosed. 357 Airweight Smith amp; Wesson that I kept stashed for worst-case scenarios. Now the three of them had a pile of weapons to contend with.

"How many guns do you have?" Torres asked in exasperation.

"It's a Second Amendment thing. You wouldn't understand."

"You're under arrest for threatening a federal agent, Pitt. Put your hands on your head," Herzog snarled.

"Uh… he's still got hand grenades," Archer pointed out.

"Stand down," Franks ordered his men, sounding exasperated. It took them a moment to respond. "I said STAND DOWN." That time both metallic weights left my head. Franks turned and looked at me, not paying any attention to the freeway that was flying past. For once he actually showed some emotion, and unfortunately for me, it was anger. His black eyes burned a hole through my soul as he sedately said the most words I had ever heard from him at one time. "Primary mission. Keep Pitt alive. We need live bait, so I can't twist your head off. But if you ever point a gun at me again, you'll pray for the Old Ones to take you away, because compared to what I'll do, the Elder Things will be a fucking picnic." He veered us past a semitrailer without looking, and it zipped by so quickly that it was just a silver blur. Franks just kept staring, his black eyes containing nothing but barely controlled rage. The three agents tried to shrink back through the seats. "Got it?"

"Yes."

"Good." Then he slugged me.

It was so unbelievably fast, so staggeringly hard, that I didn't even see it coming. A big fist crashed into my cranium like a lightning bolt from a clear blue sky. A bomb went off inside my gray matter. My head rebounded against the bulletproof glass of the passenger side door hard enough to crack it. He didn't just hit me in one place, but it was like he had somehow punched my entire face at once. My eyes automatically filled with tears and blood billowed out my nose in a froth of bubbles.

I was stunned, reeling, my brain trying to process what the hell had just happened as I came back to full consciousness either a minute or maybe a day later. "Ouch," I croaked, with the ultimate of understatements.

Franks was back to driving insanely through the evening traffic. The bright lights of the state capitol and downtown Montgomery were off to our right. He took one hand off the wheel long enough to crack his knuckles. "Now we're even."

The Buzzard Island Amphitheater was a new facility, just across the Alabama river, north of Montgomery. It had been a narrow patch of damp, low dirt for most of recorded history, but they had built it up with oceans of concrete, and put in a top-of-the-line convention and concert facility. It was a large, oval building, with a bulging glass dome for a roof, and giant, stainless-steel spires that were probably supposed to be some sort of industrial-modern-art thing. Tonight there were several large spotlights staggered around the amphitheater, casting giant beams seemingly forever into the clear night sky in big circular patterns.

We tore into the parking lot at just under eighty miles an hour, leaving a thick parabolic curve of rubber as we left the main road and got serious air off a speed bump. Our sociopathic driver nearly ran down the orange-vested traffic directors, ignoring all rules of both safety and courtesy, as he searched the lines of vehicles for his target. Apparently Franks found it, because he gunned the engine, cut off another car, and hammered the SUV across the pavement, only to hit the brakes at the last possible second and slide in sideways behind a large, black, SWAT-style van at the far end of the lot. The giant unmarked van seemed appropriate, because that was Myers' idea of low profile, after all.

We piled out of the SUV and around the back of the van, where several black-clad agents were clustered out of sight of the people walking around the lot. Still dizzy from the sucker punch, I stumbled around the vehicle, holding one arm up to my face to pinch off my bleeding nose. Agent Myers was sitting on the back steps of the van, listening to a radio with one ear and to his phone with the other. He was nodding, and it wasn't in time with the music throbbing from the far end of the lot either. Franks put one massive hand on my chest and shoved me back against the passenger side door. "Stay here."

He didn't want to get in trouble for bringing me.

"Watch him," Franks told the Goon Squad, then he turned and went to his superior's side. Torres took the front of the vehicle, Herzog the rear, and Archer stayed right by me. The three agents folded their arms, rifles dangling from their tac-slings, as they waited for me to try something else stupid. I suppose at this point I should consider myself in custody, though the MCB weren't the kind of cops who read people their rights… Last rites, maybe. Myers glanced up, obviously surprised to see his subordinate. They were far enough away that I couldn't hear what they were saying, but Myers appeared really ticked when he saw me. He began to shout and gesture wildly, but Franks said something that seemed to placate his boss momentarily.

I had to do something. We were just going to sit out here until the bad guys attacked. Mosh was toast. I could probably kick the crap out of some of them and make a run for it, but even if I were to somehow ditch them, my guns were sitting in the back seat, and I would have to run across a couple hundred yards of parking lot, only to arrive unarmed where Condition assassins were stalking Mosh. So scratch that plan. Maybe I could pull it off if I had some help. Torres seemed like the least obnoxious of the bunch, but he was further away. "Archer," I whispered to the nearest agent. "Those hit-monsters are going to murder my brother. We've got to get in there and save him."

"Shut up," he said angrily, apparently still offended that I had threatened to shoot his commander. "We're following orders."

"Is that why you volunteered for this? Letting civilians get slaughtered right under your nose, so you could follow orders? Come on, man. Do the right thing." We were at the far side of the parking lot, well away from the crowds, but I nodded toward the throngs on the steps of the amphitheater. "How many of those kids have to die tonight?"

Frustrated, he grabbed me by the straps of my armor, "As many as it takes, damn it! You don't know what the Condition is capable of. They have to be stopped!" Then he tried to shove me against the SUV, but apparently he had forgotten that I was a giant brute of a man. I outweighed the thin agent by probably a hundred and thirty pounds. He barely succeeded in budging me.

"Yeah, Franks makes it look easy," I said.

Feeling stupid, Archer let go. His Adam's apple bobbed nervously, but his eyes were cold, angry, and he kept one hand on the pistol grip of his M4 carbine. "Just shut up, okay." He jerked his head toward the improvised command center where his superiors were conferring. "Agent Myers knows what he's doing. He's a pro. Look… I don't want your brother or anybody else to get hurt, but this is bigger than he is. This cult, they're trying to awake something evil." Archer realized he was talking too much. "Never mind. Just shut up."

The Fed wasn't going to budge. I had to think of something else, fast.

There was movement over Archer's shoulder. Something small and black scurried low between the tightly packed rows of cars, then another shape, and another. How could I have been so stupid? I had forgotten all about them. A goggled head poked up over a Volkswagen's hood, scanned the contingent of Feds and then glided back down, unseen by everyone but me.

I softened my tone. "Look, Agent Archer, I'm not trying to be a jerk, but can I get a Kleenex or something? I'm bleeding all over my armor." I gestured at my swollen nose. It really hurt, so that part wasn't an act.

"Serves you right…" He hesitated, scowling, but finally relented. "Okay, hang on a second." He reached down and pulled open the Velcro tab on his first aid kit. He didn't see the thing crawling out from under a nearby car, then rising silently behind him. The orc grabbed Archer by the strap on the back of his armor while simultaneously kicking both knees out from under him. The agent fell backward, pulled by the weight of his armor and equipment, crying out in surprise.

It was my old pal, Edward. I only recognized him because he moved so smoothly that he made Bruce Lee look rickety. The orc didn't even slow. He covered the distance to Torres, leaping into the air at the last second as the younger agent turned to see what the commotion was about. Edward's heel collided with the Fed's chest, kicking him back. Torres collided with the hood of a car, tripped, and sprawled onto the pavement. There was a thud from the other direction as another black shape cracked Herzog over the head with a club. Gretchen didn't have Edward's moves, but she was mighty handy with her totem stick. The female agent went to the ground in a heap.

The passenger door of the SUV from Hell flew open. "Noble One, hurry fast," Skippy ordered. Franks had left the keys in it. I jumped into the seat as Gretchen climbed into the back. Still on the ground, Torres pulled his pistol, but Edward was on him in an instant and kicked the HK across the lot. The orc bent over and slugged Torres in the face, knocked him silly, spun him on his back like a turtle, and dragged him effortlessly over to Archer. He kicked the first agent again as he was struggling to rise, snatched a pair of handcuffs off Torres' vest, and locked one agent's wrist to the other one's ankle.

Skippy cranked it and the demon engine roared like a Tyrannosaurus Rex. He slammed it into reverse and the tires spun as we flew rearward, smashing the back armored bumper into a parked Corvette. The Corvette lost.

Thirty feet away, Franks' head snapped up. His hand flew under his coat and came out with a fat Glock. Skippy put it in drive and the massive vehicle jumped forward, Gretchen holding the door open as Edward dove through to safety. Franks aimed at Skippy but hesitated, probably more worried about his truck than violating his primary mission. Then we were speeding past. "Big Fed. Look mad," Skippy grunted as he put the hammer down.

I whipped around to see Franks sprinting after us, gun in hand. Skippy wasn't kidding. He looked pissed.

All orcs have gifts. I don't know how it works exactly, but each of them has a unique ability. Edward's was kicking ass. Gretchen was a remarkable healer. And Skippy, leader of the MHI orcs, brother of Edward, and husband of Gretchen (wife one of five), was a helicopter pilot of almost supernatural skill. However, that ability apparently didn't translate into driving ground vehicles, as Skippy smashed the SUV brutally right down a line of parked cars, flinging headlights, glass, and bits of plastic in every direction. Concertgoers were forced to dive for safety as Skippy high-speed crunched his way toward the amphitheater entrance.

"I'm glad to see you guys!" I shouted as Skippy drove over a parked Suzuki motorcycle. Our shocks absorbed the impact rather well. "We've got to get to my brother. Mosh is in danger."

The orcs in back just started passing my confiscated weapons back to me. They never talked much anyway. Skippy piped up as I tucked various guns and knives-even a kukri! — back into their respective spots. "Yes. Joo-Lee call. Say, Great War Chief… in much danger. Twins come. Take soul." His super-gravelly voice sounded angry. His people venerated metal and its musicians above all. A threat against my brother, whom they called the Great War Chief, was serious business. "Twins kill many Urks before… now Urks turn. We go find

… Brother of War Chief. See gub mint." He lifted the base of his hood, revealing his tusks, and spit on the steering wheel. Orcs were probably the only people I had ever encountered who had more issues with authority than Hunters. "Gub mint, take you prisoner. So we save."

"Who do you have here?"

Skippy shook his head. "Only few… Grtxschnns, Exszrsd, and-" he grumbled his real, incomprehensible name, reminding me again of why we called him Skippy. "With gub mint here, send tribe away to village. Go home. Be safe. We… we stay for help." He was right. Orcs, even the ones that stayed with MHI, were still on the PUFF list, and thereby fair game to the Feds. What these three were doing was incredibly brave.

"They're heading for the front entrance," said a voice on the radio. "Intercept! Intercept!"

"Belay that order," Myers said. "All units hold position. Wait until we get a shot at those monsters. Pitt, you obstinate pain in the ass, I know you can hear me. Don't you dare go in there."

I grabbed the radio and pulled the mike over to me. "Myers, that's my family we're talking about."

"They'll kill you," he said.

"Yeah, heard that before." I ripped the cord out of the radio. It felt good. Skippy held up his pointer finger and pinky and threw the horns. Rock on. "You guys armed?"

"No. Security," Skip's hood dipped toward the rapidly approaching concert entrance's row of metal detectors. Gretchen held up her totem stick, complete with feathers and small animal skulls, that she had somehow snuck in. There were two sudden clicks as Edward flicked open the ASP collapsible batons he must have lifted off of Torres and Archer. Edward was a lousy shot, but death incarnate up close. I pulled my big. 45 and passed it over to Skippy. "Thanks," he said. "Hold to something, now."

We drove up the entrance stairs and slammed the radiator into a concrete wall right across from a giant bronze statue of Hank Williams, Sr. The armored Suburban was so heavy I barely felt the impact.

I leapt out, scanning the crowd. It was a diverse bunch watching the chaos of our car wreck. Most of them were pierced or tattooed, and there was a bewildering variety of hairstyles-everything from shaved heads all the way to long flowing hair and even a few old-school mohawks. They were pointing and laughing at the G-Ride, with its red and blue flashing wigwags perched lopsided on the stairs, which meant security would be here any second.

Skippy grunted to get my attention. "Disguise." He tossed me a blue windbreaker that said Department of Homeland Security in giant gold letters on the back. It was huge, big enough to fit over my armor even, so must have belonged to Agent Franks. I tugged it on and clumsily hid Abomination under one armpit. It was then that I noticed for the first time that all three orcs were wearing Cabbage Point Killing Machine shirts over their usual baggy, black clothing. Skippy's boldly read hold the pig steady. So the orcs were in disguise too.

"Get inside," I shouted, and the four of us ran for the entrance. The concert had been going on for a while, so there weren't very many people standing in line, and we rudely shoved past those that were. "Out of the way. Homeland Security. Coming through!" I bellowed. Having already committed assault with a deadly weapon and grand theft auto in the last ten minutes, what was a little impersonating a federal agent?

Oh crap. The Law. "Who the hell are you?" asked the uniformed cop pushing his way through the sea of tattooed skin. He must have seen the G-Ride.

"Agent Franks. Homeland Security!" I shouted, still trying to get to the entrance. "We've got a terrorist incident."

Apparently me and my bloody nose didn't make the most convincing Fed. He held up one hand to stop me, his other hand came to a rest on his holstered sidearm. Alabama cops do not screw around. "Let's see some creds."

"Edward, my credentials please," I requested. The orc smoothly melted through the crowd and batoned the cop to the pavement before anyone could react. The two figures went down and were lost in the churning mass. "Don't hurt him," I ordered, not slowing. We made it around the corner and away from the Suburban. I broke into a run.

There were four people wearing yellow security shirts taking tickets and manning the metal detectors at the gate. "No weapons, no drugs, only eight ounces of sealed bottled water, no flash photography

…" the first guard droned automatically. "Ticket, please." I ignored him and strode right through. The detector started beeping like crazy. "Hey, asshole." One meaty hand fell on my shoulder. I instantly grabbed it and twisted, putting the man in a wristlock. He screamed and went to his knees. My jacket fell open, revealing my shotgun.

"Anybody else want my ticket?" I asked.

"Naw, that's cool," said the second guard slowly, hand unconsciously reaching for his radio. There wasn't much I could do about that, short of shooting everybody, and being one of the self-proclaimed Good Guys, that wasn't an option. I let go of the first guard, put my boot on his shoulder, and shoved him out of the way. "Enjoy the show…" said the calm one. The three orcs came next, each one taking the time to politely display their VIP wristbands to security people that weren't really paying attention at that point.

Then we were inside the concourse. This place was huge, with lots of ground to cross, and I knew I didn't have much time. Regular cops would be looking for a big dude in a blue jacket, and a show like this had to be crawling with cops. A giant row of vendors selling souvenirs, tee shirts, beer and food, stretched for what looked like a quarter mile before the building opened up into the actual hall. There were probably a thousand people wandering around, clustered in talkative knots or buying various things between us and my brother. They would have to serve as cover.

"Walk fast, but try to look like we belong," I said, realizing how stupid that sounded as soon as I said it. A man walked past wearing a Viking costume with lit sparklers on his helmet, and in the other direction went two young women whose only clothing on their upper halves was strategically placed, black electrical tape. Yeah, it had been a long time since I had been to one of my brother's shows. Edward suddenly bolted off to the side in the direction of the restrooms. Either he had seen something, or orcs had easily excitable bladders. I kept moving.

Damn, more cops. A few of them were running down the concourse back toward the entrance. I bowed my head so I wouldn't appear so tall and got into a line that was either for funnel cakes or nose rings. The Montgomery PD went right past, but I knew that kind of luck wouldn't last for long.

There was a tap on my shoulder. Edward shoved a giant leather trenchcoat at me. I saw my reflection in his goggled eyes as he nodded at the restrooms. His English was worse that Skippy's. "Fat man. Go pee. No need coat." Then he emitted a low-pitched noise, like shaking gravel in a bucket, that could only have been a hearty orcish laugh. I pulled the DHS jacket off and tossed it on the floor, exposing piles of guns for just an instant, before quickly donning the massive garment, which I discovered came with chains and a row of spikes down each shoulder.

"Sweet," I said. Gretchen handed me a ridiculous cowboy hat, complete with a swath of what I assumed was real armadillo that she had lifted off of somebody else. Orcs were damn sneaky when they put their minds to it. Living in the shadows of humanity for centuries had that effect. I pulled the hat down low, even though it was way too small, and headed for the show.

In the main hall, the music was deafening, driven by a giant wall of speakers behind the band. The place was packed. The floor was a sea of bouncing bodies, hands raised, moving in time with the music, a veritable sea of hands and heads throbbing up and down. It was muggy from the body heat, and I immediately began to sweat under the layers of Kevlar and the absurd coat. The air was thick from glycerin foggers, as strobes and lasers cut confusing patterns above us. The three orcs began to bob automatically, unable to resist the instinctive urge to headbang.

A giant shape loomed over me. Monster! I started to pull out Abomination, only to realize that the huge thing tottering past was some awkward demon costume, made by a girl sitting on a tall man's shoulders, and draped in burlap and tarps. If it hadn't been such a dangerous situation, I would have stopped to admire the fact that they even had red LED lights mounted for eyes. I really needed to get to more of Mosh's shows.

My brother had always been musically gifted. Dad hadn't really appreciated it since it was a skill that wasn't directly useful for survival. But Mom had put her foot down and young David Uhersky Pitt had taken classical guitar lessons. Then one day as teenagers the two of us had snuck out to a Slayer concert and he had found his calling in life. The rest was history.

Brilliant spotlights beamed down on the stage as Cabbage Point Killing Machine played. The singer was moving back and forth, jumping up and down and screaming. Fireballs exploded and soared upward over the stage as the pyrotechicians earned their keep. Then I spotted my brother, the guitarist, just a silhouette standing out in front of a propane explosion, as he played his guitar like I shoot guns. He was one of most talented musicians in the world, in my humble opinion, and I felt pretty justified in that opinion as his fingers flew back and forth faster than the eye could track, coaxing chords out of his instrument not meant for the human ear. The boy could shred.

I tried to stick to the edge of the main floor, as the bodies were only tightly packed here, as opposed to absurdly packed into the center. I headed directly for the stage. There was probably a better way to go around, but I had never been here before and had no idea how the area behind the stage was laid out. Not to mention that there were bound to be more cops back there too.

It was deafening, but I heard a voice in my radio earpiece. I clamped one hand over it in order to hear. "-ing on the freeway. North side of Montgomery," it was saying. It was somebody else from MHI.

My microphone was in a strap that rode around my neck, a military design used so soldiers riding in turrets could still be heard over wind noise. Hopefully, it would work in here. "This is Z. I'm inside the concert."

"What is that noise?" I recognized that voice as belonging to Grant Jefferson. "Are the cultists attacking?"

"No, that's just the music." I had to remind myself that when I had driven Grant's car last summer, all of the stations had been programmed to opera or something. "Stay outside the concert. Feds are crawling all over the parking lot, and they're ticked. They'll probably just arrest you on sight."

"What? I can't hear you over that horrible racket." Some people just can't appreciate good music.

I started to reply, but choked it off as I saw them. Two things were making their way toward the stage, parallel with me but on the opposite side of the floor. They towered over the jumping crowd, a pair of huge, slumped shapes, merely black outlines in the flashing lights. The first was much taller than everything around it, and the other was even larger, and unlike the flailing costumes I had seen so far, these were moving far too smoothly, cutting their way right through the unsuspecting masses.

Grabbing Skippy's arm, I pointed at the monsters. His goggled head swiveled back and forth. Finally, he shrugged. He couldn't see them. "Damn it, the two big things. They're huge. Right there." I pointed again. The other orcs looked as well, standing on their tiptoes to see, then glanced at each other, shaking their heads as thousands of sweaty bodies jostled around us. They couldn't see them either.

There was no time to ponder that mystery. I doubled my efforts to get to the stage, pushing and shoving, a big man on a mission. Across the hall, the ogres, or oni, or whatever the hell they were, were moving at about the same speed. Somehow, the people being plowed out of their way didn't even seem to notice.

An elbow caught my cheek and a heavy boot kicked me in the thigh. This was the kind of crowd that didn't react well to rudeness. I just kept going. Edward clotheslined a large youth to the ground when said youth took issue with me cutting in front of him. The closer I got to the stage, the more violent it was going to get. Anybody who has been to a show like this knows that the front few rows were not for the faint of heart. It was a downright Darwinian environment. The floor narrowed as it got down to the stage, which was serving to funnel us closer to the approaching monsters.

Risking a quick glance to the side, I could see them clearly through the fog. The lead thing was at least a foot taller than my 6 feet 5 inches and even then, it seemed somehow hunched over. Its head was covered in some sort of gray shawl. It collided with the moshers, and they just parted before it, a few of them getting confused looks on their faces, but none of them seeing the creatures.

"See them now?" I shouted at Skippy.

"No," he said, while looking right at them. "Smell. Smell monsters."

I don't know how Skippy could smell anything over the odor of thousands of bodies and various types of illegal smoke, but whatever worked. The first creature was almost to the stage as I reached the base. More yellow-shirted security were standing behind a row of aluminum rails separating the mob from the band. I climbed over the rail, only to have several pairs of strong hands shove me back. Only tough guys got this kind of job. It was the kind of thing that I probably would have done in the past and enjoyed. I had always been about gigs that allowed me to punch people and get paid for it.

So it wasn't anything personal when I palm-struck the guard in the chest and launched him back into the concrete. I just needed to get on that stage. The other guard touching me went down with a flick of Edward's stolen baton, crying out and holding his fingers. I was over the railing and pulling myself up to the stage in a second, losing my idiotic cowboy hat in the process.

The song finished in a flourish of guitars and drums, along with a propane explosion right over my head. The lights twirled and flickered as they spun the spotlights like a kaleidoscope. I was up and over, rolling onto the hardwood planking as the crowd went insane, asking for, no, demanding an encore. I got to my knees as the lead singer tossed his microphone and leapt past me into the waiting arms of the crowd. He was surfed back and forth on the sea of hands, and I had to admit that at any other time it looked like fun. Mosh better not do that, because I didn't fight my way all the way up here just to have him go and jump the hell off. I headed for the guitarist. I sensed the orcs right behind me as one of them, Skippy, left us and sprinted toward the row of speakers.

My brother had pulled his instrument off, and was waving it over his head like some medieval weapon. People said that he looked a lot like me, but I never saw the resemblance. He was a few years younger, a few inches shorter, and a few pounds lighter. Personally, I thought he looked more like Mom, with me being darker, uglier, and more beady-eyed like Dad. He was wearing a tank top, showing off the typical Pitt family bulkiness and love of lifting heavy objects, and also demonstrating that three quarters of him was inked with various designs. You have no idea how angry that made my dad. Mosh had a long black goatee; his head was totally shaved and shiny under the lights. I was going prematurely bald, and my brother, blessed with a full head of hair, shaves his. Jerk.

For a second I thought Mosh was going to bring the guitar down and smash it on stage, but that would be like me smashing a perfectly good firearm. He was a rock star but we had been raised too cheaply to ever be wasteful. Finally, he lowered the guitar and shook his fist at the crowd, the wide grin of a man doing what he loves and knowing he's the very best at it on his tanned face.

Then he saw me. His mouth formed my name as he tried to process what I was doing here. Security was coming from offstage to get me, but he waved them away as I got closer. Confused, he was starting to ask me a question when the first monster hit the stage. A body in a yellow tee shirt flew twenty feet in the air, screaming, before crashing into an overhanging speaker and taking the entire assembly crashing to the floor in a shower of sparks. The crowd loved it.

The guard's impact caused a giant confetti dispenser to break open prematurely, spilling tons of reflective bits of white paper like snow. "What the hell, man?" Mosh shouted as a great gray mass vaulted effortlessly onto the stage, knocking over stands and crushing a huge bank of Digitech pedals. Through the wall of sparkling fake snow, the creature turned toward us. The face underneath the gray hood was human, mostly, but twisted, somehow too long, too pointy, with a mane of curly black hair framing bulging red eyes set in a purple hag's face. The shroud fell open as the monster rose to its full height, towering over us, spreading wide long purple arms, six-fingered hands opening into a bank of nails the size of steak knives. The form was that of a human female, but far too enormous, with skin the texture of punching-bag leather.

The audience cheered.

I swear it actually smiled-gleaming white pointy teeth poking out in an evil grin-turned, and bowed to the crowd.

"That's one big chick," the drummer said stupidly.

Then it was back to business, as the thing crossed most of the huge stage in two steps, curled toe claws digging splinters out of the floor. A black, forked tongue licked past lips as it spoke, with a voice that sounded surprisingly normal and feminine. "Come along, little performer. Show's over."

"Shit!" Mosh shouted, stumbling back, knowing full well that this wasn't part of the act. "What's that?"

"Oh, now everybody can see them!" I shouted as I pushed past my brother, shrugged out of the stupid coat, raised Abomination and flipped the selector down to full auto. The EO-Tech holographic sight settled on the creature's center of mass as I jerked the trigger. Abomination recoiled up and to the right as I stitched a line of buckshot impacts across the creature's torso. The purple shape jerked under the steady impacts, raising claws to protect its face as I blasted it with a continuous roar of ten magnum rounds. No normal being could have lived.

"Mosh. Run," I ordered as I dropped the spent magazine and pulled another one from my vest.

The clawed hand came down and belligerent red eyes focused on me through the swirling confetti. "You!"

New magazine rocked in, I jerked the charging handle to chamber another round, aimed and fired. The one-ounce silver slug could have blasted a hole through a medium-sized cow but it didn't seem to phase the oni. The projectile actually made an audible, buzzing, ricochet noise and there was a clang as the drum set took the hit.

She turned to the pit and shrieked, "Cratos! He is here. The Hunter arrived, just as they said he would."

The second monster lumbered up onto the stage, also cloaked in gray, but, holy shit, this one was huge. The arms bulging out the sides were bright red, big around as my waist, and rippling with veins as thick as garden hoses. The head rose, revealing a much more demonic visage, rhino-horn-sized tusks pointing up out of a jaw a foot across. Above that, tiny black eyes blinked stupidly. Squat, with thick legs and a stumpy torso, he was still twice as tall as I was, and every inch of him was coated in red hide and hard muscle. It was truly terrifying. "Master will pay many souls for this one, Bia," he bellowed, his voice shaking the foundations of the building.

The audience went nuts. Now this was entertainment. As long as they thought this was part of the show, they wouldn't kill each other trying to stampede out the exits. Edward swung his arms sharply downward, and the two batons extended with a snap. I pointed my shotgun at the big red monster. "Ready, Ed?" The orc spun both batons around him fast enough to make the air whistle, looked at me, and nodded.

One of the bouncers stared up at the giant in shock, backing away slowly, while the others had the sense to run like hell. "Yum… snack," Big Red said. The brute reached down, effortlessly picked the man up and casually bit his head off. Twitching and fountaining blood, the decapitated body was tossed fifty feet out into the audience by the monster like it was discarding an empty beer can. The nonchalant crunching of the skull as he chewed was audible across the entire stage. The purple one laughed.

Edward glanced down at the batons in his hands, then back at me, as if to say, Screw this. We both ran.

My brother hadn't listened to me, and he was watching the two giants, mouth agape, guitar dangling in one hand. "Come on, man!" I grabbed him by the arm and dragged him along as we sprinted for backstage. There was a massive roar and a harpy's shriek as the creatures followed, each one of their strides equivalent to several of ours. The other people in this general area were close enough to know that these were not special effects and were fleeing in every direction. My eyes were dazzled from the spotlights as we ran under the overhang supporting most of the sound equipment and into an unadorned concrete hallway. I crashed and tripped over a cart, dragging Mosh with me. Gretchen and Edward were now far ahead, as were the fleeing roadies and stagehands.

Skippy was pushing the metal container cart that I'd run into toward the stage. It took me a second to realize what it was. The black stencil read DANGER: pyrotechnics. Skippy gestured at my vest. Knowing automatically what he wanted, I pulled out an incendiary grenade and handed it to him.

"Owen, what are those-wait, is that a grenade?" Mosh asked as he pulled himself to his feet, still trying to figure out what was happening. Welcome to the party, Bro.

"Yes, and when the pin is pulled, Mr. Grenade is no longer our friend, so move your ass."

"Bia, here they are," the red oni said as he squatted on his haunches and peered down the hallway. "Filthy souls to eat… he-he-he." His giggle was unnerving.

The hallway was clear of innocents. Not that Skippy probably would have worried about it anyway. He tugged the pin, dropped the grenade on top of the cart, and both of us shoved as hard as we could, sending the heavy load down the hall with a surprising bit of velocity. Five-second fuse on the white phosphorus ones. The cart rolled haphazardly toward the huge figure now waddling, crouched, down the hall. "RUN!" Cratos smashed the cart against the wall, pushing his way past it to get to us.

The three of us made it down the rest of the hall and around the corner before the WP detonated. Willie Petes don't go off with a typical explosion-more of a pop-fizz, and then a layer of flame that sticks to everything and could melt steel goes shooting out in every direction. Cratos roared as phosphorus embedded itself in his hide. "Keep going!" I screamed. The pyro bundle detonated a moment later, not as massively as I hoped, but the shockwave traveled over us, raining dust down from the ceiling.

I hit the floor, sliding forward on my face, quickly rolling onto my back, and checking the way we had come. Smoke was billowing out of the hall.

"It burns me!" The idiot monster shouted as it blundered out of the inferno, still right behind us but now coated in living fire. Flames licked out around him; somehow they climbed the concrete walls and moved between the beams of the ceiling. An alarm began to wail as the fire sprinklers kicked on, pelting us with cold water. He blundered about, crashing into pieces of equipment and smashing the walls into powder, apparently blinded by the fire. The damn thing showed no indication of giving up.

This place was confusing, a maze of concrete halls. "How do we get out of here?" I shouted.

"This way." Mosh pointed down another corridor, this one lined with green equipment lockers. He realized he was still holding his guitar by the neck and tossed it on the floor with a clatter. Too bad; that thing would probably be worth a bundle on eBay. We ran, leaving the burning oni behind, and raced past dressing rooms, equipment closets, and a table lined with all sorts of colorful food that was now drenched by the sprinklers. "Parking lot's this way." A bunch of people clustered ahead of us, mostly groupies hanging out for the afterparty judging by how trashy most of the girls were dressed. The groupies were every bit as soaked and terrified as everybody else and were all pointing down the intersecting hall.

"Why's everybody screaming?" Mosh demanded as we slid through the water behind the women. He got his answer as a small, black object came flying back through the sprinklers. Edward hit the ground rolling, splashing instantly back to his feet. The female oni was right behind him, claws swinging wildly. Somehow she had gotten ahead and cut us off.

Edward dodged under the black claws. Long divots were ripped from concrete behind him. He spun, nailing the creature in the body with the batons: pop, pop, pop. The impacts sounded like solid hits and he was moving unbelievably fast, striking over and over, but she didn't seem to notice. Bia lashed out with one taloned foot, raking a hole in the carpet where Ed had just been.

I pushed past the groupies. "Edward, down!"

"Everybody, this way," shouted Mosh, grabbing some of the women, and physically propelling them through a door that he'd jerked open. Luckily it appeared that all Pitts adjusted quickly under stress. "Move!"

The purple creature ducked under the overhanging lights, which were flickering and shorting in the artificial rain. Orange emergency lighting suddenly kicked on along the floor. Edward dove aside, giving me a clean shot. Bia had protected her face earlier, so I put the holographic reticle on her skull and pulled the trigger. Her head snapped back under the impact as the slug bounced from her forehead. Skippy materialized at my side and my loaned. 45 barked as he opened fire. Bia snarled and lifted her gray tattered cloak as if to protect her face. I kept firing as she ducked her head and retreated back the way she had come. Skippy quit shooting. "Where she go?" he grumbled.

They could turn invisible. That's how they were able to move through the audience. But how come I could still see them? Maybe this Chosen One business did have a few perks after all. "Her head is vulnerable," I told Skippy.

"Garage is this way," Mosh shouted from the door. Water was running in thick rivulets down his goatee. There was a mighty roar from the direction of the burning Cratos. He was on the move. "Let's get out of here."

I followed my brother, walking backward, waiting for that horrible purple screechy thing to charge back into view at any second. The innocent bystanders had used the time to run like crazy and there were a bunch of discarded high-heel shoes on the floor. Mosh, Gretchen, Edward, Skippy and I ran down a steep ramp that had to be at least fifty yards long before we entered the huge open space of the parking garage. The sprinklers in this area hadn't activated, so at least there was plenty of traction. There were several semis and trailers parked here as well as a bunch of miscellaneous cars.

"Pitt! Status!" shouted the voice in my earpiece.

"Busy right now, Grant," I gasped as I kept on running.

We passed a pillar and I was suddenly jerked off balance as someone grabbed my arm. Slamming into the pillar nearly knocked the wind right out of me. I tried to bring up my shotgun but it was swatted aside. Agent Franks shoved me back into the wall, hard, and held a single finger up in front of his lips, indicating the need for silence. The reason quickly became apparent when the wall twenty feet over the ramp exploded in a shower of fragments, dust, and flying rebar shards. Cratos slammed his fists right through the wall. The great red beast launched himself flailing into the room, landing on the floor hard enough to shatter it in a ten-foot circle.

Franks pushed me back even harder with his left hand, raising a stubby FN F2000 rifle in his right. He was still in his suit, and hadn't even taken the time to remove his clip-on tie. Cratos immediately focused in on my fleeing brother and the orcs and took off in pursuit. "Filthy souls to EAT!" He kicked a parked car and rolled it onto its side, scattering a cloud of safety glass. The screech of metal was obnoxious. Earth shaking with each step, the monster ran right past us. Smoke rose from his flesh but he looked no worse for having been doused in chemical flames.

"Now!" Franks shouted, spinning out from behind the pillar and leveling his rifle at the back of the running monster. A dozen other Feds appeared from behind various vehicles and opened fire, filling the garage with the deafening chatter of automatic weapons and the thumps of grenade launchers. Cratos was caught in the fusillade, hundreds of rounds and supersonic fragments impacting his armored hide. He momentarily disappeared in a cloud of smoke and flashes, spinning, off balance. I caught a glimpse of him as he reacted to the onslaught and covered his head. The monster tripped, toppled forward, and crushed a pickup truck beneath its bulk. Mosh and the orcs were nowhere to be seen.

The fire let up as the final guns ran out of ammo. Then came the simultaneous clatter of the well-trained agents quickly reloading. The oni wasn't moving. Nothing normal could have lived through that, but these things were not normal. "Cables," Franks ordered as he jerked the mag from his bullpup carbine and pulled a fresh one from inside his coat. "Go."

Wiping the water from my eyes, I stared in disbelief as four agents sprinted to the downed monster. Each one was carrying a giant steel manacle, thick steel cables strung between them. Several other Feds ran up behind them, carrying some sort of spear trailing a fat electrical cord. A generator roared to life. It was some sort of monster taser. "You've got to be flipping kidding me," I muttered. "Go cut its head off or something."

"Orders said take them alive," Franks replied.

That was stupid. Taking a cultist captive was one thing. Getting close to that downed monstrosity was idiocy. "There's another one around here," I warned.

"Bia," Franks said, indicating that he knew a lot more about these things than he had ever let on. Son of a bitch. "We'll take the big one first."

The red form stirred, the metal of the pickup truck grinding beneath it. The agents began to shout and they hit it with the metal spear. Electricity crackled and the oni jerked and twitched, thrashing violently, smoke rising from the impact with a smell like burning rubber. "Bag him!" one of the men shouted and they started locking the giant manacles around Cratos' thick wrists and ankles. Every time it began to move, the agents on the cables would step back, and they would hit him with the spear again. I had to admit, the MCB was effective. MHI would just have chainsawed the beast as soon as he was down.

Franks got on his radio. "This is Delta. We're taking Force into custody. Violence unaccounted for."

"Excellent. Research was positive that oni were vulnerable to electricity." I could hear Myers reply. "Is Pitt still alive?"

Franks scowled. "Yeah…"

"So, you got your monster to interrogate. I'm guessing we're square?" I asked hopefully.

"I've got three injured men because of you," the big man replied. "We're not done yet…"

"Movement. Shock him!" One of the agents shouted from Cratos' side. The men on the manacles stepped back and the spear was driven in, but nothing happened this time, no arc, no sparks, nothing. "Malfunction! Hit him again." The spear was jabbed again but with no effect. The agents cried for help with terror in their voices.

Franks stepped forward, trying to discern the problem. The red hulk started to rise. The men on the manacles retreated, yelling for assistance. I glanced to the side. The electrical cable leading from the portable generator to the spear had been severed. "Bia!" I shouted, as the purple figure threw off its cloak behind the men providing covering fire. Cackling, she slashed into the agents, ripping through their armor, blood spraying. They died quickly, having never even seen her coming.

"Aim for her eyes!" Franks shouted, but she was already gone, moving behind some parked trucks.

My attention snapped back to the big red one. An agent was shouting, "Sir, Force is-" but he never got to finish the sentence. The massive oni rose, bellowing, cables twisting and snapping, and one huge fist clocked the man, launching him across the garage in a cloud of bodily fluids. The other men started shooting, but they were too close to the beast now. With a roar, Force laid into them, living up to his title. With each movement, another agent went down, and in a matter of seconds, the survivors were retreating in disarray.

"All teams converge on the garage now!" Franks ordered into his radio. He put his rifle to his shoulder and aimed carefully at the twisting and jerking monster, searching for the eye. I put Abomination to my shoulder and centered the sight on the moving target. It was an exceedingly difficult shot. Franks fired and missed. The oni whipped one strand of cable wildly, cracking the air like a bullwhip, and a nearby agent went down. The man screamed incoherently, both of his legs severed at the knees. I tuned that out and exhaled. The eyes were moving. Focus on the holographic dot. The trigger pull was smooth and straight back to the rear.

My slug struck Cratos in one diminutive black eye. The giant paused stupidly, as if thinking about something exceedingly complicated. He stumbled and went to one knee. Something that looked like thick steam came pouring from the now-open socket. He put one meaty palm on the floor to steady himself and shook his head. When he looked back up through the rotating cloud, the eye had returned. His red lips pulled away from his tusks, and he snarled at me as the smoke dissipated. "Filthy souled Hunter!" He came off the floor and charged like an enraged bull.

Franks shoved me aside at the last second. Cratos flew past and collided with the pillar, blasting a giant chunk from it. Franks spun one way, I sprawled the other, frantically dragging myself on my butt through the debris. The giant came out of the dust, shaking himself violently. One piece of rebar, unnoticed, was impaled through his chest. "Lose some souls because of you. Replace it with yours!" he growled, bearing down on me. I kept scuttling away, but he was right there, and I could taste his horrible sulfuric breath pouring down.

His tiny eyes bore into me and the blackness behind those lenses seemed to stretch on forever, inky pools from a horrible place, utterly devoid of light. He extended one giant red hand toward me, palm as big as my chest. I felt myself growing weaker, like all of the warmth was being sucked out through my ribs, leaving my limbs numb and cold. I couldn't breathe.

The life was being pulled out of me…

Suddenly, it was as if I could see through his skin. The oni's body was just a shell, a constructed mass of false tissues, and underneath was the real creature, a swirling demonic bag of stolen souls.

The oni licked his lips hungrily.

Then he was gone. The rear end of a bus smashed into Cratos, driving him back into the pillar with a brutal crunch. I shook my head as air filled my lungs and blood flowed back into my extremities. It hurt. I stumbled to my feet. The door of the Cabbage Point Killing Machine luxury tour bus slid open with an automated hiss. Mosh sat behind the wheel. "Get in!"

One giant red arm was already flailing about, pinned between the pillar and the bus. The rear tires began to slide forward against his pressure. That's one tough monster. I ran and jumped into the vehicle. The three orcs were clustered behind Mosh. Edward had gotten cut on the arm at some point and Gretchen was ministering to him. Somebody pushed in behind me. Franks.

"Get on the freeway," he ordered. There was a huge gash across his chest, and his white shirt was hanging open and soaked with blood. I didn't know if it was his or somebody else's. Franks didn't indicate that he was in pain, but then again, I didn't know if he could feel pain. "They'll follow Pitt."

"Me?" Mosh asked in confusion.

"No, him." Franks jerked his thumb at me. "Drive."

I ran down the aisle of the tour bus as Mosh ground the gears. The bus was so opulent that if it hadn't been such dire circumstances, I probably would have stopped to gawk. It was like a death-metal version of Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous. "You've got a Jacuzzi in this thing?" I shouted.

"Hell, yeah," Mosh said. "Hold on. I've only driven this once before."

The bus lurched forward, stopped, lurched again, and then was building up steam, heading for the garage exit and the open night. The rear end was crushed and a giant red visage was glaring at me through the broken back window. Cratos' tusked face curled into a snarl as we pulled away, freeing him. I raised Abomination, aimed carefully, and put my finger on my gun's second trigger. These things absorbed people's souls, and somehow that's how they had lived for thousands of years. I'd seen the pressurized bag inside them. Apparently the gateway to that was in their heads. If he lost some energy from a. 68 caliber slug through the eye, let's see how he did with a 40mm grenade up the snoot.

"HUNTER!" Cratos roared.

I shot him in the mouth as we drove away.

The explosion blasted his head wide open, unhinging his jaw. There was a billowing cloud of that same white smoke as the giant toppled over and thudded to the earth.

That had to have finished him. The oni shook on the ground, facedown, head deflated like collapsed dough as the false body seemed to shrink. "No backstage pass for you, jerk-off." I laughed.

But then the head puffed back up. The skull was briefly soft as it bulged and throbbed but then it seemed to instantly harden. Re-formed, he looked up and focused right in on me, black eyes filled with simple hatred. Cratos lurched from his knees and started running after us, each step like thunder.

"Step on it, Mosh!"