The Monster Hunter Files (Monster Hunters International Book 7) by Larry Correia

Author:Larry Correia [Correia, Larry]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Tags: Collections & Anthologies, Fantasy, Fiction, Contemporary, Urban
ISBN: 9781481482752
Publisher: Baen Books
Published: 2017-10-03T00:00:00+00:00

All of us got our start in this business somehow. Sometimes you blunder into your first monster, and other times Hunters are born into it. And in rare cases, both. —A.L.

Sons of the Father

Quincy J. Allen

“Mom’s gonna kick the shit out of us if she finds out,” Kyle Schaeffer hollered over the grumbling dirt bikes.

He and his brother were in the middle of breaking the only Law laid down by their mother from when they were toddlers: never go to the Goblin Hills. No reason was ever offered, only the titanium-clad warning.

The telltale shadows of goblins reached out to them across the Utah desert. A jagged pattern of dusty arroyos spread out before them, pale sandstone layered with ruddy streaks and dark shadows. Kyle lifted his goggles, settling them over the brim of his helmet.

Jared, eldest of the twins by a couple of minutes, twisted the throttle, the scream of his motor echoing across the hills. As the engine settled into a grumble, he turned with a mischievous grin. “Mom can’t kick the shit out of us anymore.”

Kyle raised a dubious eyebrow.

“Not both of us at the same time, anyway.” Jared chuckled, but the doubt in his voice carried the simple truth that their mother probably still had a few tricks up her sleeve. She was that sneaky…and that good. “And besides,” he carried on with more bravado, “we turn eighteen tomorrow. She’d never kick our asses on our birthday.”

“Maybe,” Kyle muttered.

“What’s that?” Jared shouted as he revved his engine again.

“Nuthin’.”

Kyle put his goggles back on, revved his engine, and let a smile crimp his face. He popped the clutch and wheelied down the rocky slope, leaving his brother in the dust.

“WHOOP!” Jared shouted and gave chase.

* * *

Jared drifted his back tire around a massive outcropping of rocks, a boot dragging through the dirt as his engine screamed.

A dark SUV loomed dead ahead.

“SHIT!” he shouted.

He jerked the handlebars, rose out of the turn, and angled for a small mound of dirt at full speed. He popped his knees up and yanked on the handlebars as he sailed over the SUV. His back tire skidded across the roof, and then he slammed down on the far side. Grabbing a handful of brake, he came to a wrenching halt, his heart pounding.

He turned to see his brother skid around the far side of the SUV, his knee grazing the rear fender.

“You okay?” Kyle yelled.

Jared nodded with a thumbs-up. Then he noticed the SUV. It was a gray Santa Fe, with all the windows shattered. A small, pink, stuffed kitten dangled from the rearview mirror, swaying in the breeze. A weathered Ford Focus sat parked a short distance off, but all its windows were intact.

“What the hell?” Kyle asked. “Isn’t that Cindy Wilson’s Santa Fe?”

“Sure looks like it.”

“Jared…look.” Kyle pointed past the SUV at what remained of a campsite, dread filling his voice.

Three tan tents lay flattened and slashed to pieces. The nylon of one was spattered with droplets and streaks of what could only be dried blood.

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