Free Monster Hunter Memoirs: Grunge - eARC by Larry Correia Page A

to a deity, might be anthropologically interesting, all those superstitious idiots with their crazy stories dating from the dawn of time, was absolutely and unquestionably impossible.
    First, I’d already determined that just about anything my parents believed was probably idiotic. So “rebelling” by believing in the supernatural, including God, was an easy step for me.
    Second, I’d had a conversation with a Saint while dead. While this had been a questionable item prior to today, the literal “sign” that had led me here was pretty damned obvious. Thus I was pre-prepared to handle this with relatively little disbelief. I also learned, early, to just take life as it’s thrown at you and do the best you can with the hand you’re dealt. Which meant, at that moment, considering the hand and figuring out how to deal with it.
    The Feds had told me to not leave town. So I needed a place to stay. Before the bombing, I’d have just planned on staying in the car. Front seat was comfortable enough. Slept in it (and more than slept) plenty of times. If you didn’t have pins and plates through half your body. I’d sort of gotten used to having a bed. Frankly, where I was at the moment was more comfortable than the car. I slapped a mosquito. Except for the occasional bug. So…could I find some kind person to get me some Off…?
    “Think we got one over here,” a voice said.
    “If you shoot me, it will seriously piss me off,” I replied.
    Lights approached in the dark and were shined on me. They were kind enough to mostly keep them out of my face.
    “Any particular reason you’re lying on the ground after a zombie attack?” a voice said, sounding mildly amused.
    “I’m beat to hell? I feel like pounded meat? I just got out of Bethesda? My cane was with my car which got towed? I’m not sure I could have walked back to my car and I don’t even know if this town has a hotel? It’s a warm night and the grass is soft?”
    “You’re the guy who killed all the zombies?” the voice asked.
    “I can neither confirm nor deny.”
    “We already got the story, kid,” the voice said. “What do you mean you just got out of Bethesda?”
    “I was in the bombing in Beirut,” I said, pulling back my T-shirt sleeve. The surgery on my upper right humerus was an easily viewable scar. “I fucking got discharged, thirty percent disabled, today. As in…” I looked at my watch. Amazingly, it was still only a bit past 2230. “About seven hours ago. After six months of traction and physical tyranny.”
    “And you bagged fifty-three shamblers with a .22-converted 1911?” the voice asked.
    “And stole our PUFF bounty,” another voice said, a bit more aggrieved.
    “I can neither confirm nor deny,” I said then paused. “What bounty?”
    “Feds pay us to kill stuff like this,” the first voice said. “We drove all the way from Hazelton just to find out they were already dead. Again.”
    “Waste of fricking time and gas,” the aggrieved voice said.
    “Tell you what, we’ll file the paperwork for a share,” the first voice said. “On your behalf. But our company gets twenty percent.”
    “Done,” I said, too tired to argue. Then thought about it. “On one condition.”
    “Which is?”
    “Give me a hand up and a ride to a motel?”
    “Hell, kid, I’ll do that and give you a business card. We’re always hiring.”
    And that was how I was introduced to monster hunting and Monster Hunter International.

CHAPTER 4
    “What’s your name kid?” the “boss” asked as two of the Monster Hunters helped me to my feet.
    “Oliver Chadwick Gardenier, sir,” I answered. “All of which I hate. Call me Chad.”
    “Carlos Alhambra,” the man said. “Team lead for Monster Hunter International.”
    Carlos was probably late thirties, Hispanic, a little taller than me, and physically fit. He had a beard, long hair, and the chicks probably dug him.
    “Pleasure to make your acquaintance, sir,” I said limping in the general