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

through the maze of cars all my remaining .22 ammo.
    By my third pass I took just one of the magazines she offered, reloaded, and in the last bit of light fired three careful rounds into the heads of the last three zombies.
    Zombie apocalypse averted. God, fifty-three (once the count had been established), bad guys…too many.
    And then the cops finally arrived. And it started to get complicated.
    I let Mr. Anderson, the gentleman whose Cadillac I had put boot prints all over, do most of the talking. He was one of the local attorneys and knew all the cops involved. The sheriff arrived and closed the scene down. Wounded were evacuated. People thanked me and called me a gift from God. I told them to thank God, not me. I was just his instrument. This sounded like humility and went over well. I did not get into the whole “there will be a sign” thing. I was questioned by the police. I showed them my discharge papers, ink still fresh. Tow trucks arrived. All the vehicles had somehow been disabled. Mine got added to the group to be towed.
    Then the FBI arrived by Bell Jet Ranger.
    I’m not sure when (or if) this will be read and how it works in your time. But in those days, the supernatural was super-secret squirrel stuff. FBI Monster Control Bureau should have been renamed the “Intimidate Witnesses, make up lies and kill anyone who breathes a word” bureau. Later, I was to find out why and it made sense to an extent. At the time, it was a pain in the ass.
    The lead agent was a tall, slender, good-looking guy named Showalter. He was trailed by a gigantic brute named Franks. Franks had pretty much the same expression on his face as the guy who had driven off in the U-Haul. Like everyone he met was a hen that was off her lay and probably needed to be chopped in the neck and put in a pot.
    I really would not be surprised if the guy actually had bayoneted babies. And eaten them spitted over a fire on his bayonet. If they weren’t raw.
    I went full-up Marine-perfect. I had the sneaking suspicion I was in deeper shit than when I’d woken up under my desk.
    “You’re the shooter,” Showalter said.
    “Yes, sir!” I barked, standing at parade rest. I sort of expected congratulations from them but something told me the best I was going to get was “we’re going to let you leave alive.”
    “And you just happened to be driving by?” Showalter asked.
    “Sir, yes, sir!”
    “That doesn’t quite hold water, kid,” Showalter said. “Try it again.”
    “Sir, upon medical retirement from the United States Marine Corps due to wounds suffered in the bombing in Beirut I elected to drive back to my home of record in Louisville, Kentucky, sir!” I barked. “I elected to use side roads as I was attempting to determine what future I might choose given that my prior plans had been to be a career Marine, sir! The time driving gave me time to think, sir! My experiences in the bombing of the Barracks in Beirut had led me to consider the world of religion and faith, sir! I have recently converted to Catholicism, sir, having been raised as an atheist, sir! When I saw the sign for the revival, having never attended one, I elected to take the turn, sir!
    “My vehicle was disabled at the base of the hill, sir! Two young women ran down the hill seeking aid, sir! They reported zombies, sir! I observed one subject following them which met the parameters for an undead subject, sir! I retrieved my PW from my trunk where it had been carefully stored, readied my PW and terminated the threat, sir! I determined that said subject was, in fact, something resembling a classic risen movie zombie, sir! I determined that more people required aid, sir! I rendered aid, sir, fulfilling my oath of enlistment to protect against all enemies foreign and domestic, sir! Am I in trouble for terminating the Zulus, sir?”
    “Zulus?” Showalter asked.
    “Zombies, sir,” I said. “Your pardon, sir.”
    “Still not buying it, kid.”
    “Sir, God’s hand does