CHAPTER 6
Krasnov drove us across the city to a part of town that was darker and more run down than what we’d seen so far. This time he’d ditched the gaudy limo for a plain sedan, and true to his word, he’d left his entourage behind. The neighborhood we were in now was mostly concrete apartment buildings with a lot of graffiti sprayed on them.
“So what’s the monster?”
“It is surprise. I do not think you have these in America.”
Great. I loved surprises, especially the kind that could murder you. I still wasn’t sure if this was a monster hunt, or if I was about to be kidnapped and held for ransom. “Can you at least tell me where we’re going?”
“It is old public pool. Broken down, not used for years. We got tip he is hiding there tonight. We have looked for this monster for many weeks.” He pulled the sedan into a parking lot in front of a squat, square, really ugly building. Judging by the broken windows and weeds growing around it, this place had been abandoned for years. The only other car in the lot was a police car. Krasnov drove up so the driver side windows were right next to each other.
The nervous looking cop didn’t seem surprised to see him. Krasnov began asking him questions and giving orders. I understood most of it, all pretty straight forward stuff, witnesses saw one creature, there might be some gunfire noise, keep out meddlers, if we’re not out in an hour we’re probably dead, that sort of thing. My mom had gone to school in Russia and was fairly fluent, and as a kid I’d loved playing language games with her. Lots of that had stuck. Krasnov, however, didn’t know I understood any of his language because I’d played stupid at dinner, waiting to see how much he lied, though his translating had been fairly accurate so far.
When he was done grilling the cop, Krasnov passed over an envelope full of cash. The cop shoved it into his vest and then drove off to block the street. My biggest take away from that conversation was the thing we were hunting was called a Vodyanoy.
Krasnov drove right up to the front door, parked, and killed the engine. “Here we go!” He got out.
I followed. “Am I supposed to just use harsh language?”
“What kind of terrible host do you take me for?” He walked around to the back of the car and popped the trunk. “Help yourself.”
There were several weapons in the trunk, just kind of dumped there in a haphazard pile. Krasnov pulled out a load bearing vest, covered in magazine pouches, and put it on. Only when he tried to buckle it around his belly, the straps were an inch too short. “Eh…It must have shrunk.”
“Yeah, ballistic nylon will do that.” I had a sneaky feeling that my host had been enjoying the good life a bit much and hadn’t gotten out in the field for a while.
He finally gave up on getting the vest closed, and pulled out a Bizon submachine gun for himself. I couldn’t tell what all was in there, it was such a mess, so I pulled out a matching one. At least that way if Krasnov got killed I knew I could use the extra weird helical magazines on his vest.
I hated borrowing equipment. That required me to have faith in someone else’s weapon maintenance. I worked the charging handle to clear it. Everything felt right. Then I dry fired it at the trunk to hear the snap of the trigger. Everything felt okay. I checked to make sure the weapon mounted light worked by shining it on the pavement. There was a clunky red dot sight mounted on it, and I made sure that worked too.
“You are familiar with Kalashnikov style, yes?”
It took me a second to figure out the hinge to rock a mag into place, then I chambered a round, and flipped the safety back up. “Remind me afterwards and I’ll tell you about Abomination.”
There was a pouch with some extra mags. I threw the strap over my shoulder like a camouflage purse. Very fashionable. I had my own flashlight in my pocket that I could count on. I missed my knives. But there was a nasty looking camp hatchet, so I took that and shoved the handle through my belt. “You got a secondary? Handguns I mean?” Krasnov reached into the back of the trunk and pulled out, I kid you not, a plastic grocery sack filled with pistols. “Nice.”
“Only the finest for you.”
I pulled out one of the Grachs and checked the chamber. The Russian pistol was ugly as sin and ergonomic as a brick, but it would have to do. I loaded it, then I felt really ghetto as I shoved it into the back of my waistband. Professionals used holsters for a reason. If I did anything more strenuous than walk in a straight line that pistol would probably slide down my pant leg and end up on the ground. I stuck an extra magazine into the pocket of my jeans just in case.
My host ditched his silly hat and pulled on a ski mask. He offered me one. I looked at it funny. “What? You do not cover faces when you work in America?”
“Not usually.”
“Eh…It makes it harder for people to seek retribution after you accidentally break their things.”
When in Rome…I put the mask on. Whoever had worn it last had been a heavy smoker.
The last thing Krasnov pulled out of the trunk was a sledge hammer. Then he walked straight up to the double doors and smashed the lock. Three big hits with the hammer and the heavy door was toast.
The interior was extremely dark. The street lamps from outside didn’t help much when all the unbroken windows were covered in dust and cobwebs. I shouldered the AK and squeezed the pressure pad to turn on the light. I swept into the first room. The only thing inside was trash and some broken furniture.
Krasnov was humming. I’m pretty sure it was one of the songs from Tetris. He pointed his subgun’s muzzle at a faded sign on the wall. “The pool is that way. Our Vodnik friend will be in water.”
Nobody had been in here for years. “You’d think it would be drained.”
“He is smart. He would turn the faucet on. They like water. My mother always said after they rip out your spirit, they have to keep it in a little bubble under the water, or it will float away.”
I stopped. “Hold on. What the hell are we dealing with?”
“It is called Vodyanoy. A water monster from Fey age. This one has drowned many little childrens.” He went back to humming as he walked down the hall, kicking cans and bottles out of the way with his boots. Stealth and subtlety weren’t exactly his thing.
“How tough are they?”
“They are like men. Some tough. Some not so tough. This Vodyanoy is from the river, eh, should be medium tough at most.”
“That sounds like a pretty scientific measurement.”
“What we do is more art than science, my friend!” There was another door at the end of the hall. It was locked too, so Krasnov smashed it with the sledge hammer. Being a softer interior door, it flew right open. That made a bang that must have surely been heard through the entire building. “Like men, some Fey are nice, some are not so nice. This Vodyanoy is very not nice.”
“I take it we’re not trying to sneak up on it.”
“Of course not. There are only two of us. He will think two men are not so many to kill. He will attack, but we will show him who is getting killed! This way we will not have to search.”
The air in this corridor was warm and moist. It smelled swampy. We were getting closer to the pool. I was moving forward, crouched a bit, metal stock pressed against my shoulder, ready to fire in an instant. Krasnov was just blundering along, stubby Bizon casually in hand.
Our guns were only 9mms, which by MHI’s standards was a round reserved for pixies. They worked fine on people, but monsters tended to be more resilient, which was why we made the big bucks. “And what if he’s more than medium tough?”
“We run away and blow up building with bomb. But then the city pays less on contract. So bullets are more profitable.” Then he went back to humming.
There were locker rooms on one side, and saunas on the other. There was a slimy, black trail leading to one of them. That door was open just a bit, so I shoved it the rest of the way with the muzzle, then pied the corner. There floor was covered in bones, white, glistening, and licked clean. Most of them were from dogs and cats, but there were a few that were obviously human.
“Told you he liked to eat the childrens.” Krasnov leaned around and took in the whole sauna. “Looks like some grown-ups too! Quite the appetite this one has! This will be a fine bounty.”
Next was a set of double doors. The slime trail led right through them. Before Krasnov could gleefully hit them with his sledge hammer, I shook my head, then pushed on one of the doors with my boot. It swung freely. Looking a little disappointed, Krasnov set the hammer down and got his Bizon ready.
We entered, and the air was so moist, foul, and unnaturally warm that it was like getting smacked in the face with the Everglades. It was a big room. There was a large swimming pool taking up the center. The water had turned thick, green, and was covered in scum. It really stunk in here. A kind of fetid, humid, rotting stench. The only reason we could breathe at all was that that there had been glass panels in the ceiling, and some of those had shattered so the stench could waft into the night.
Clouds of little flies buzzed in front of my face and got in my eyes. Okay, one nice thing about wearing the ridiculous stinky balaclava was that the insects couldn’t fly up my nose.
“Come out, watery asshole!” Krasnov shouted. “We know you are here!”
The only response was when several large bubbles rose through the murk and burst open at the top. That made it smell even worse.
“He probably doesn’t speak English,” I suggested.
“Of course!” And then Krasnov launched into a giant tirade of profanity laced insults in Russian. I only understood about half of it, but it was mostly about the Vodyanoy’s mother and her promiscuous nature.
I nodded to the side, warning him that I was going to go right. Since he’d told me nothing about what this thing could do, I didn’t want to be standing right next to him in case it turned out it could breathe fire, or spit acid, or who knew what. Things that got filed under Fey get weird. I had to step carefully. The tile was slick with mold.
Krasnov kept up the insults for a couple of minutes, and I’m fairly sure he never repeated himself. I couldn’t speak for the aquatic monster, but I know I would’ve been insulted. But after that initial gurgle of bubbles, there’d been no sign of the thing.
The fat man stopped his tirade. He looked over at me. “Eh. Maybe he is not hom—”
The pool exploded.
Disgusting filth sprayed the walls as the monster launched itself from the bottom of the pool. A green bolt of enraged muscle hit Krasnov like a truck.
It was hard to tell what was happening because sludge had gotten all over my weapon light. Blinking slime out of my eyes, I swung my gun over, but the monster was on him, and the two were rolling across the floor. I didn’t have a shot. Slipping and sliding, I tried to get closer.
Krasnov was shouting and trying to lever his subgun around, but the beast was shaking him back and forth like a terrier with a rat. It was actually a little smaller than the hunter, but it must have been really strong. I timed it, and the instant it raised one misshapen arm to rip his face off, I popped off two quick shots into the back of its head.
It turned around and hissed.
The Vodyanoy was part man, part frog. It had two great big glassy eyes far out on the top of its lumpy head, and a mouth that had to be a foot across. It was jowly, and had a green beard made of algae. The creature was fat, squat, and sitting on top of Krasnov’s massive gut, with one webbed hand wrapped around the straps of his load bearing vest. A pink tongue popped out of its mouth, way too long, and rubbed the spots where I had shot it, glaring at me the whole time, as if to say I can’t believe you did that.
I had like fifty something more where that came from so I opened up on it.
The monster leapt off, bounding halfway across the room to stick to the wall, and then it instantaneously rebounded and launched itself at me. It was lightning fast. I tried to dodge to the side, but the floor was slicker than snot, and I slipped, crashing against the tile and sliding through the mold. The Vodyanoy flew past, landed behind me, flipped over, and started waddling back toward me.
I rolled over, lifted the gun, aimed, and snap. In an instant, that pink tongue shot out like a whip, stuck the receiver, suction cupped on, and then ripped it right out of my hands. The tongue detached from the gun somewhere on the way back, and the Bizon went spinning end over to end, to disappear into the pool with a plop.
It started waddling toward me again. The weird googly eyes seeming to point in different directions. I tried to get up, to make distance, but it was like the floor was greased, and all I succeeded in doing was sliding around and embarrassing myself. I reached for the Grach in my waistband, but of course, it wasn’t there. Because we use holsters for a reason.
But then one of its big eyes compressed violently as Krasnov put a bullet in it. The eyeball didn’t burst, but the way the Vodyanoy started blinking its massive eyelids, it had certainly felt that one. It tilted its head violently, then bounded right over me, nearly reaching the tall ceiling, and heading straight for the Russian. It seemed to want to kill him more. Maybe Krasnov really had hurt its feelings when he’d made fun of its mother.
Krasnov kept on shooting. I found a rusty metal towel rack on the wall and used that for stability as I got back to my feet.
“I do not think this is medium tough!” Krasnov shouted as his bullets did basically nothing against the rubbery beast.
With one gun in the drink and the other bouncing around, the light in here was awful. I pulled the Streamlight out of my pocket and turned it on. I spotted the Grach where it had fallen out of my waistband, and picked it up. I liked my flashlights actually mounted on the gun, but if you hold a little light through your fingers like a cigar in your off hand, you can still get a pretty good two handed shooting grip. I shot the Vodyanoy repeatedly in the back. It turned, the tongue flashed out again, and wrapped itself around the muzzle of the pistol. It was warm, slimy, and really, really gross on my hands. I barely got my finger out of the trigger guard before the pistol was sucked away.
This time it simply swallowed the smaller gun. The creature actually looked smug about it.
Krasnov bashed the monster over the head with the metal folding stock of his Bizon. It retaliated by grabbing him by the shoulders, swinging him around, and tossing him through a glass partition into the showers. Krasnov hit the wall hard. From the way he struggled back to his hands and knees, he was obviously dazed.
I pulled the little camp axe from my belt and followed. I had to use the wall to keep from falling over. It was like going to the roller rink as a kid and wearing skates for the first time.
One googly eye looked at Krasnov with the other looked at me, like now I’m gonna eat your friend, what are you going to do about it, human? Then it toddled over to finish him off.
Except I managed to get there just as it was picking Krasnov up, and planted my hatchet into the back of its fleshy head. The blade hit with a very solid thunk.
It dropped him. The weird Fey made a noise that sounded like mrrrrrrpp? It spun, but I planted one boot onto its slimy back and wouldn’t let go of that axe handle. We began to spin around the room. I dropped my flashlight and held onto the axe with both hands. It kept twirling, trying to reach me. It was like a dog chasing its tail. I was getting dizzy. It was a Vodyanoy rodeo. Pink blood started squirting out of the hole in its head. It almost looked like shampoo.
As we spun by, I saw the Russian was trying to get up. “A little help here, Krasnov!”
Since it couldn’t flail around with its arms enough to dislodge me, the monster decided to head back to the pool. If I wouldn’t let go, it would just drown me. My flashlight got kicked by a webbed foot, but at least it ended up being pointed at a tile wall, so the bounce back made it so I could clearly see my approaching doom. It waddled for the edge. If I went in that muck I probably wasn’t coming back out, but I didn’t want to let this jerk get away either.
Only I didn’t have to make that call, because with a roar, Krasnov ran over and body checked all of us back to the floor.
This was a real mess. I ended up on the bottom of the dog pile. The frog man was rolling and thrashing. Krasnov got up and kicked it in the chest. I wrenched the axe out, and hacked the hell out of it again, but I didn’t have as good an angle. It was spraying bubbly pink blood slime in every direction. It kept hitting me with its squishy elbows.
It rolled off, flipped back to feet, and crouched, like it was going to launch itself back to the safety of the pool.
I slammed the little axe through its knee. The leap turned into a sprawl.
Krasnov apparently remembered that he’d been lugging a sword around this whole time, quit giving it the boot, and drew his blade. It was a long saber of some kind. He swung it hard. When he hit the Fey in the back, the flesh parted and gave us a pink shampoo lawn sprinkler effect.
At that point the two of us just went to hacking at the Fey. It was hardly what I would call professional. I would have given anything for my kukri right then instead of this dull little hunk of thrift store garbage. Luckily, the monster didn’t have claws, but it could still knock the hell out of you. It clocked me in the side of the head and sent me sliding into the wall.
Krasnov retaliated by running it completely through with his sword. He speared it through its back so hard that steel pierced out its chest. The Vodyanoy seemed really perturbed at that, spun around, and threw him back into the showers again. But since it had to turn around to do that, it presented me a perfectly good sword handle, which I grabbed, twisted hard, and ripped back out.
“Mrrrrrrrp?” the annoyed Vodyanoy asked, as it turned around to beat me to death.
Somehow I’d wound up with a sword, so I lifted it, and kept it pointed between us. I didn’t know a damned thing about sword fighting, but that part seemed pretty self-explanatory.
Krasnov struggled back up, but rather than getting back to the fight, he headed for the door.
“Where are you going?” I shouted after him.
“Do not worry, you have got him!” Krasnov said as he fled.
“Son of a bitch!” That’s what I got for trusting a gangster. But then I had to concentrate on the slimy frog man that was flailing away at me with its ridiculous gorilla arms. The swords grip was only long enough to get one hand on it, but it was light enough that I could swing it really fast. I wasn’t going to get any points for style, but I just kept hacking at the rubbery thing. Most of the hits bounced off, but a few parted flesh and more pink blood spilled.
Only the Vodyanoy didn’t seem to notice the cuts or care. If this was medium tough I’d hate to see what they considered difficult around here. It was backing me into a corner. Because of how slick the floor was, I couldn’t even do much about that except try not to lose my footing. I should have been scared, but I was too busy being angry. For several tense seconds the two of us kept trying to murder each other.
THUD.
The Vodyanoy froze. Both of its great googly eyes turned inward to study the sledge hammer that was embedded deep in the top of its head. Krasnov had not only come back, he’d come back with his hammer, and hit it so damned hard that its skull seemed to deflate. He lifted the sledge hammer to strike again, and the Fey just stood there quivering on its stumpy legs, probably because Krasnov had given it brain damage.
That gave me enough time to set up and slash the monster hard across the abdomen. It was such a solid hit that I felt the jolt clear up to my elbow. The rubbery meat opened and all sorts of disgusting, stinky, pink, awfulness fell out. The inside of the Vodyanoy smelled a lot worse than the outside. Hey, there’s my pistol.
Krasnov hit it in the skull again with an awful crunch. I took a wild guess at where its heart would be and stabbed it there. One of those must have worked because the Vodyanoy toppled in a smelly, disgusting, slime covered heap. But neither of us was feeling confident that it was actually dead, so we spent the next few minutes bludgeoning and hacking it by the light of our discarded flash lights, until we were out of breath, but we were absolutely sure it was finished.
“Apologies.” Krasnov was panting and sounded like he was about to have a heart attack. It was a good reminder to keep up on my cardio so I wouldn’t end up looking like him in a couple decades. “That was little bit more aggressive Vodyanoy than I was expecting.”
“No shit?” I gasped. “I just thought you really knew how to throw a rampage.”
* * *
A little while later I was back in the parking lot, watching the sunrise over the concrete apartment buildings. I’d found a working hose around back and rinsed most of the Vodyanoy’s slime blood off of my clothing, so now I was soaked in cold water and freezing my ass off. But that stuff had been so foul that the shivering was worth it.
“I have vodka in the car,” Krasnov offered.
“No thanks.”
“I do not understand turning down good vodka.” Krasnov was leaning on the trunk of his car, also soaked to the bone, but the advantage of being fat was all that insulation. Plus he was a Siberian, so this wasn’t cold by his standards. He had however gotten the living crap kicked out of him by the Vodyanoy, had two black eyes, a split lip, and was generally beat to hell. He was smoking a Cuban cigar and had put his ridiculous beret back on so he’d look respectable when the government authorities who were on their way arrived to tag the body and pronounce the contract filled.
“You seem grumpy. I must admit I was not the most honest with you, Owen.”
“This is my shocked face.”
“Not about the Vodyanoy. That was surprise. He was supposed to be little fellow. But you saved my life, and a Krasnov never forgets such a thing. We have killed a monster together, and that makes us like brothers! Brothers should not keep secrets one from the other. I suspect I know why you have not told me what brings you to Russia.”
He wasn’t currently blustering, posturing, or yelling, so I was tempted to believe him. However, I wasn’t going to commit to anything until I was certain he wasn’t going to immediately sell our mission out to Asag. “Let’s hear your theory.”
Krasnov sighed at my obvious evasion. “I know that my reputation is not so good among western Hunters. Things are done different here. I do what I must. I do not have luxury to be picky about how business gets done. But you must know that there is one thing that a Krasnov will never lie about.”
“Yeah? What’s that?”
He looked me square in the eyes. “I hate monsters.”
“Welcome to the club.”
“No, no.” He shook his head. “You do not understand. There is a game with people. You play, you try to win. You can stretch the truth for business. It is only money. But when it comes to monsters, it is us against them. It is war! Monsters must be beaten, no matter what. My worst enemy becomes best friend when beasts attack us. Men put aside our differences to defeat monster evil…It is said that you killed a god, yes? I think you intend to do it again, no?”
“Something like that.”
“Then you would not have come seeking my help if it was not needed. I tell you this with all the sincerity of my heart, if it is a big monster you have come here to destroy, then I will help. I must help. It is my duty.”
He sounded sincere. “I am here about a particular monster, one that endangers us all. But secrecy is of the essence. I’d need assurances that you’d not talk about my mission…our mission, to anyone.”
“I am very good at keeping secrets.” Krasnov stroked his magnificent mustache thoughtfully. “I will do better than make promises. Promises are just words.” He’d taken off his sword and sheath to clean the slime off of it, and left it sitting on the trunk of the car. Krasnov picked it up, studied it for a moment, and then stood up with a grunt and a pained grimace. The Vodyanoy had really done a number on him. He hobbled over to face me. “This is a Cossack blade. It belonged to my grandfather who carried it in the Great Patriotic War, and his grandfather, and maybe his grandfather before him. For generations Krasnovs have defended this land against demons and Fey, and when I learned of this, I left the army to do what I must to carry on such legacy. And whole time I used this!” He presented the sword to me. “Here!”
“I can’t take—”
“Not to keep, but you take it until our work is done. It is symbol of trust! When battle is joined, and I have proven a true and faithful friend, you can give it back. This way you know that I only speak the truth!”
Damn. That really was something. I took hold of the sword. “Thank you.”
Only he didn’t let go yet. He squinted at me. “And my company keeps all Russian government contract funds for any monsters killed in my territory.”
“You shifty, conniving, dirt bag.”
“Thank you, Owen.”
“We’re putting up the muscle, half.”
“Ninety percent. You Americans can’t claim it without me anyway.”
“Sixty, forty.”
“Ha! For such a pittance I would not even be able to guarantee the safe passage of your equipment. At eighty percent I would be able to take care of customs and bribery. There are many thieves in Russia.”
“You don’t say…” He was way better at negotiation than Kevin the junior lawyer. “Seventy, thirty.”
“Excellent.” Krasnov grinned, thinking I was a sucker. “MHI gets thirty percent of Russian contract monies. We have deal, yes?”
Normally PUFF could only be collected if it was killed in the US or its territorial interests, unless the MCB categorized the monster as a potential extinction-level threat or minion of a potential extinction-level threat, and then they didn’t care where you killed it, as long as it got dead. Asag would certainly count. That took care of the US. Because of their byzantine laws I hadn’t thought we’d be able to collect any of the Russian government’s version of PUFF, but there was nothing better than getting paid multiple times for the same work. “You’re on.”
“Then it is settled.” He let go of the sword. “Please, take good care of that.”
“I will.” Then he engulfed me in a ridiculous, rib crushing, bear hug. He actually lifted my boots off the ground. My back popped. “Ooof.”
He dropped me. “Now, that we are officially associates, what can I really do for you?”
This was as much as I could hope for. I had to go for it. “We need to conduct a large scale operation on Severny Island.”
“I know this place.” Krasnov scowled. “Do not tell me you wish to visit the anomaly at Sukhoy Nos Cape.”
“That’s it.”
“That is a very bad place, my friend. There is great evil there.”
“I certainly hope so.”
* * *
While Krasnov spoke with the government officials from their shadowy MCB equivalent, I wandered over to where Holly had been spying on us the whole time. Of course she’d followed us. I’d carried a tracking device on me. I hadn’t trusted Krasnov as far as I could throw him, and since he outweighed me, that wasn’t very far at all.
She was leaning against a light pole down the street. “You look like shit.” Holly said as I approached. “Want me to call a taxi?”
“Naw, I’ll ride back with Krasnov. We’re business partners now…or something.”
“Sweet. You’re a made man.” She opened her coat to show me she had an old Stechkin machine pistol tucked in her pants. “I stole this from your buddy’s car after you went inside, so you’ll probably want to put it back in the glove box before he notices.”
“Were you going to bust in and rescue us eventually?”
“When I realized it was an actual legit monster in there and they weren’t just abducting you to harvest your corneas to sell them on the internet, I hung back. I didn’t want to break up the male bonding moment. I figured two big strapping studs like you should be able to handle a whatever that was. The way you smell, I’m assuming some sort of sewer squid.”
“I wish.” I handed her the Krasnov family ancestral sword. “Check out my awesome new sword. It is a symbol of our trust and enduring friendship, and him getting seventy percent of any Russian bounty money for basically nothing.”
Holly half drew it and studied the shiny blade. She ran her thumb down the edge. “You do realize this is probably a fake and he bought it at a gas station, right?”
“Very possibly, but I figure with Krasnov it’s the sentiment that counts.”