Monster Hunter: The Second Bullet, Part 2
This story was made using the solo RPG: Monster Hunter, by La esquina del rol.
The drawing room only had two windows, and both of them were still intact. The rest of the room was bookshelves and fancy statuary, fitting for a high-class lady and sir to entertain their guests. Vic closed the room’s doors and forced a chair under the handle. There. They were as safe as they could be, for the moment.
The moment didn’t last long.
Only a few minutes after she had laid the man out on the threadbare lounge and seated herself on a ragged chair, a deep thudding sound tickled her ear.
Damn. Gripping her rifle, she moved to the windows. Leaning her back against the wall, she carefully tilted her head to peak out and see what was making the sound.
She couldn’t see anything. A fog was crawling up from the south and already starting to cover the ground in its white glow. The sullen throb was following the mist, an ominous heartbeat, slow and steady.
Vic licked her teeth. The building wasn’t a terrible place to fortify, but it could also trap. If she left the house, she could engage the monster — whatever it was — in the open, but that too could be a double-edged knife. If she could only see what the monster was, then she could…
Her eye fell to her unconscious companion. Damn, damn. If the man couldn’t move, neither could she. If there was more than one monster, or it decided to ignore her in favor of easier prey…no, she needed to stand her ground. As quietly as she could, she unlocked the window and pushed it open. Kneeling next to the window, she propped her rifle on the sill and waited.
The thudding grew louder as the mists grew thicker. Vic adjusted her grip on the trigger. She would need to be quick…
An earth-splitting crash shattered the unearthly silence. On instinct, Vic rolled back away from the window, narrowly avoiding the thick wooden trunk that carved through the ancient farmhouse wall like a hot knife through butter. A shuddering groan echoed around her as the walls and upper floor started to collapse inward. Rolling upright, she reached out to grab the back of the ragged lounge currently holding that the unconscious man. Jumping over the furniture, she pulled the lounge over, dumping its occupant on the floor and shielding both of them from the falling timber.
The sound of shattered wood on the floor was loud, but brief. The man stirred as an earsplitting roar shook their makeshift shelter. Damn it all to hell, Vic thought to herself. I recognize that sound. It’s a damned troll.
“Wh…uh…” The man groaned for only a breath before Vic’s hand was covering his mouth.
Locking her eyes on the man, she placed a firm finger to her lips. Another roar split the air, and the man managed to nod as he raised a hand to his head. Vic reached down to her belt and brushed her fingertips along the row of rifle shells. There. Pulling one out, she carefully loaded it into the rifle’s chamber.
She closed her eyes and took a breath…
In one swift movement, Vic nudged the louge out of her way and rolled out onto the splinter-covered floor. Old nails and shards of wood jabbed at her jacket, but she paid them no mind. Planting her knee and one foot on the ground, she aimed at the giant bulbous form reaching into the broken drawing room, and fired.
The crack of gunfire sizzled with energy as the charmed slug buried itself in the mishapen rocky flesh of the giant beast. The roar became a scream of pain as the bulbous pulsing lump reared back, it’s hand clenching in pain.
Cambering another shell, Vic ran to the hole in the wall and leapt out into the grass. Come on you big piece of — Vic barely had time to finish the thought. She ran only a few steps, in the hopes of leading the troll away from the building, but it was faster than she had expected. The heavy tree that was its club crashed into her side, knocking both her body to the ground, and the air out of her lungs.
She lay there, gasping, as the deep crunching sound of the monster’s footsteps grew closer. The fog filled her lungs with a sickly sour smell, rotten and damp. Scrabbling at the ground, she found her rifle and swung it around, planting the stock firmly on her shoulder. She could hardly breathe. The gun shook in her hands. She raised the rifle just as the looming shape parted the mists…
There was a crack of sulpher, a horrific groan, and the sickening squelch of the troll’s bulbous form collapsing to the ground.
Standing upright, Vic coughed to clear her lungs of the horrid fog. Pausing only to make sure the monster was fully dead, she made her way back to the broken wall of the farmhouse. “Hey,” she called into the wreckage. “You alright in there?”
A haggard cough and a clattering lounge met her ears. The man staggered to his feet, brushing off his clothes and ragged beard. Grabbing at what remained of the walls for support, the man peered out at the slowly fading fog and the large form that now lay dead. “You…are a Hunter, then.”
Vic didn’t bother to respond.
“This is all that’s left.”
Vic descended into the damp cellar. The door had been well hidden in the scullery, a suitable disguise and hiding place for the Grand Order. The room itself was small, suitable to hold a band of four or five Hunters at most. Empty shelves lined the walls, save for a few dusty books and some rusted knives. Some leather outer-garments lay arranged on the small table and over the backs of two stools. A large backpack sat leaning against a table leg. It wasn’t much at all.
Vic turned. “What is your name?”
“Drake, ma’am,” the ragged man tapped his forehead. “Faithful servant of the Grand Order for ten years now. I kept the plantation and farmhouse workin’ until…” his voice trailed off.
“You stuck around just in case someone like me’d show up?” Vic asked.
“Swore an oath, ma’am,” Drake stood as straight as he could. “Been living off what little supplies were left when —”
Vic picked up the backpack. It looked like it could hold more than her saddle bag, and more comfortably too. “You got maps?”
Drake scratched his neck. “They took most everything when they left. Even took the copies o’ the sacred texts. Still have a bit of the library in the safe, might be some maps with them. Got some food and ammo they couldn’t take with them too, and some charms and a few —”
Vic thrust the backpack into his arms. “I need food, water, all the ammo you can spare, and any other supplies for the journey.”
“Of course, ma’am,” Drake tapped his forehead again. “Beggin’ your pardon’, but where are you headin’?”
Vic stared at the dusty books. “Not sure yet, but it’s gonna be long walk.” As Drake moved to the other side of the room, Vic began reading. They were old texts, useful notes on various monsters and surviving in the Borderlands. Vic knew most of them by heart.
One of the books was an old journal, written by an old retired Hunter. She didn’t recognize the name, but she knew the tradition of leaving all you’d learned with the Hunters to teach the next generation. Vic scanned through the journal as quickly as she dared, searching for any information about the legendary bullets, where they might be hidden, and what guarded them.
“Here’s a map, ma’am.” Drake held out a thick folded parchment. “If you don’t mind me sayin’, if you’re lookin’ for more Hunters, well, the folks from here moved on months ago. I doubt you’ll be able to find them if they don’t want to be found.”
“They’re dead,” Vic unfolded the map. “I’m the last one.”
Drake choked. “Oh, no ma’am, that can’t be true. Why, them that left…Missus McFadden were with them, and she’s the best damn Hunter this side o’ the mountains. And that Master Lylle, well he could —”
“They’re all dead,” Vic repeated. She had seen the familiar leather hat, the cold iron knife, and the silver hatchet. All charred, melted, clutched in skeletal hands.
“You…you seen ’em?” Drake whispered.
“And I know who done it,” Vic stared at the map, tracing lines with her finger. “He’s comin’ for me soon; he’s not the sort to do a job half-way.” She looked up. “So I figure this is our last chance to see him dead and gone.”
“Dead and…” Drake swallowed. “Old Splitfoot? Are you lookin’ for the six…I always thought they were just a legend.”
“Maybe some of it is,” Vic sighed, patting her father’s gun. “I know some of it ain’t. My pa and ma found and hid two o’ them, and I got to find the other four.”
“Well,” Drake crossed his arms, leaning closer with his voice low. “I done heard a story about one o’ them bullets from a Hunter who came here about two years ago. He said one were made by some native thunder spirit. Hid it in a lightning bolt and sent it to the earth like all the others in a great storm. Only a wolf caught it in his mouth, right? So now the bullet’s buried deep in his gullet and it’s made him mad.”
Vic cocked an eyebrow. “And?”
Drake gave a sneering grin. “And I been here long enough to know about old Fang. See, the plains to the northwest here,” he pointed on the map, “they’re ruled over by the biggest wolf you ever seen. Dire in tooth and eye, big as a bear and three times as mean. I reckon’ if you’re lookin’ after legends, well…could do worse than lookin’ there, right?”
Vic gave a small sigh as she folded up the map. “It’s a start, I suppose. You got me food?”
“And water, and ammunition,” Drake lifted the backpack. It still looked dissapointingly empty. “All we had left, I’m afraid. Reckon’ it’s time for me to head back east, now there’s nothing left here for anyone.”
Vic glanced in the bag and felt her heart lift. The food and water supplies were better than she had feared; there were small and tightly packed jars and cans of potatoes, fruits, vegetables, and meat. If she ate sparingly, she could last quite a while before she ran out. The ammunition was suitable, and it looked like the rest of her supplies from her saddlebag fit in the rest of the empty space.
“You served me well,” Vic said, slipping the map into the bag. “Go back to civilization with my thanks. Your oath is met.”
“And yours?”
Vic looked at Drake. His eyes were haunting, filled with concern. “Mine,” her tone was as stll and quiet as an empty pond.
“Good luck,” he said, at last.