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

direction of the road.
    “You really are banged up, aren’t you?” one of the other hunters asked, taking an arm to help me walk.
    “I’ve got more metal in me than the Terminator. But apparently God called me to fight monsters so I’m just going to have to figure out how to get in good enough shape.”
    “God called you?” one of the others asked. It wasn’t an incredulous question. It sounded as if they were perfectly comfortable with the comment.
    So I told them the general outline of my vision while “dead” in the rubble of the barracks. None of them seemed to have an issue with it.
    “Appreciate it if you didn’t mention it to the FBI,” I said as I finished. We’d reached their vehicles by then. “I told the lead agent the reason I turned at the fork was classified above his level. Franks backed me up.”
    “Wait, wait,” Carlos said, his voice for the first time indicating he thought I had to be lying. “ Franks backed you up? Agent Franks?”
    “Yes, sir,” I said. “Please allow me to avoid answering why. I think that’s probably classified even higher. Something I said in the interview seemed to really throw him.”
    “All the rest I get,” the guy holding my arm said. “I’m not into the God stuff but you do this job long enough and you see things that sort of erase doubt. But something throwing Franks? That’ll be a cold day in hell.”
    “Every day in hell is cold,” I said. The vehicle was a jacked up ’73 Ford Bronco and I looked at the climb in with trepidation. “Any chance I could get some help getting in?”
    * * *
    The Iron Inn in Elkins had no more rooms available but Carlos agreed to share his.
    “I’d taken one of them for myself by right of age and rank,” he said. “Two beds. You can have the other one.”
    “Thank you, sir,” I said, dumping my bag on the floor.
    We’d stopped by the garage to pick up my overnight bag and cane. The owner of the shop was busy as hell with over a dozen cars suddenly dropped in his lap but he’d already deduced that the problem on most of them was the coil was burnt out. Given I wasn’t one of his regular customers I could tell that I was well down the list of cars he was planning on fixing. I asked him if he would just order the part if I did most of the work myself and he agreed.
    From there it was back to the motel where the team dropped all their gear. And then dinner at the Western Steer Family Steakhouse.
    When we’d gotten our trays and a table, the questions started.
    “You’re using a cane but you took out fifty-three shamblers?” The questioner was Edward Malone, the guy who had complained about losing the PUFF bounty. Brown hair and eyes, broad shoulders with the vague look of a weight-lifter. Not a pure muscle head but someone who pushed a lot of weights.
    “All I can say is ‘adrenaline,’” I said as the waitress brought our orders. I took a sip of sweet tea and dug into the sirloin steak I’d ordered. I’d already had a light meal but the exertion had given me an appetite. “When those two girls came running to the car, it’s like I forgot I was hurt and just did it.”
    “Want to start from the beginning?” Carlos said.
    So I did, backing up to accident and going through till the FBI questioning.
    “After they were done, I just didn’t want to go try to find my car. So I lay down in the grass. Which was where you found me. And when we’re done eating, I’m probably going to have to get some help getting out of this seat. Or maybe not.”
    I pulled out a pill bottle and popped a couple of Tylenol 3.
    “Prescription,” I said, shrugging. “More or less a permanent one according to the doctors.”
    “If you really think God’s called you to this, Chad, you’re going to have to hope He’ll cure you as well.” That was Franklin Moore. He was the guy who’d helped me to the Bronco and helped me in. Black, medium build, late twenties. “This job is pretty damned physical if you know what I