Chapter 12: MHI Alaska - A Dish Served Cold

Previous chapters:

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

Enough of this.

Rick was tired of being forced deeper in the forest. As the Hunters drew back together, he tried to count heads. It was hard to see clearly through the ice which was building up on his eyelashes, and the cold made his eyes sting and burn. 

He checked his rifle again, only to discover that the action had stiffened. The sporadic fire from his team had finally tapered off, and they were moving toward each other as silently as possible. The deep snow made movement difficult, but muffled the sounds of their passage.

There should have been six others, but he could only see five. One of us is missing. Rick couldn't identify faces because of the hoods and goggles, but he recognized a few of the parkas. He realized with a sinking feeling that Sandman, the shortest member of the team, wasn't there. 

"Has anyone seen Sandy?" he asked quietly.

No one had.

* * * * *

Back in the Chamber of Commerce offices, the furnace was losing the battle with the intense cold. Val tried to check the outside temp from her cell phone, but there was no signal. Nobody else had a signal, either. She poured the last of the coffee into two styrofoam cups, and started another pot.

She took a cup to Linda the secretary, and asked if there was a thermometer anywhere. "Yes, there's one by the front door, but it won't help," Linda replied.

"Why not?"

"Because it only goes to -40, and we passed that an hour ago."

"Then we're going to need more wood for the fireplace. No offense, but your furnace sucks."

"You're telling me," Linda said. "I've been telling 'em that for years."

* * * * *

Rick's team was somber, noting that Sandy hadn't been seen or heard from in some time, but this wasn't the time to dwell on it.

They kept trying to turn around, but the forest itself seemed to be working against them. Every southern view was blocked by branches, brambles, and heavy snow.

"Didn't I read about this in The Hobbit?" grumbled Dusty.

"This is worse," replied Rick. "At least they had warm weather."

The cold was painfully intense. The Hunters were fighting the terrain, the ice fog, and numbed extremities. They took turns brushing the hoarfrost off of each other, but the stuff formed as fast as they could knock it loose.

The only firearm still functional was a bolt-action hunting rifle, carried as backup. The dry lube on the bolt wouldn't freeze ... they hoped.

The gloom was depressing, and they couldn't see more than a few feet in any direction. The dark shapes ahead had disappeared. Or maybe they were still there, but couldn't be seen through the swirling ice crystals.

Rick's knee was giving him fits; he'd already lost feeling in his fingers and toes, and now his right leg didn't want to bend. He flexed his leg a few times, leaning against a tree for support.

When he looked up, he was alone.

"Guys? Anyone there?"  Great. And the radios still don't work.

There was no answer from the bluish-grey icy twilight. Even worse, he couldn't see the game trail they'd been trying to follow.

There were strange, faint sounds from somewhere up ahead, but he was pretty sure it wasn't human in origin.

"The hell with it," he muttered. "I'm going back."

He found a slight gap in the heavy brush behind him, and slipped through as quietly as he could. He check his compass, and found that the needle still moved, albeit slowly. 

He started moving from tree trunk to tree trunk, at the limit of his vision, reestablishing a southerly heading each time. As he moved slowly toward town, the gloom was fading, and the fog began to shift from dark blue-grey to faintly golden.

Then he stopped himself. What am I doing? Leaving my team? "Snap out of it!" he said out loud.

Turning around, he headed back into the gloom at as near a trot as he could manage. Somewhere over there, my team is waiting. 

I hope.

* * * * *

Val and Linda had finally reached the Department of Public Safety and convinced several secretaries to let them speak with the Deputy Commissioner.

"Sir," Val began, "My name is Val. Have you been read in on MHI? Okay, good. I think we need some help over here in Big Lake."

TO BE CONTINUED...

DISCLAIMER: I do not own MHI or any of its characters; those are owned and copyright Larry Correia. I only claim the ones I've created. And a BIG h/t to Mr. Correia for creating such a wonderful universe in which to play, and for his kind permission to use his concepts here.

A h/t also to Jenny S., who contributed a couple of crucial ideas to improve this short story and the graphic team patch above. Her help has been invaluable, both here and in my first book. 

Chapter 11: MHI Alaska - A Dish Served Cold

Previous chapters:

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

Rick led several Hunters along what he hoped was the trail, but the path was impossible to follow in the fog. "Stick together, team. We don't want to get separated."

He could see figures behind him, but there was no response. 

"Guys? Keep it tight; I won't insult you with stay frosty."  Still no response. He stopped and turned around. "Too cold to talk, Hunters? At least say you heard me." But as the shadowy figures drew close to him, they faded from view.

"Dammit, I'm getting too old for this."

Then he heard footsteps from the other direction. A southpaw, he pivoted to his right to keep the muzzle toward the enemy. There was nothing there. Then there were too many somethings there. Safety off. "Identify yourselves!"

There were no sounds except the crackle of the woods in a deep freeze, and footsteps. The fog behind him had a soft, golden glow, but the mist ahead had a dark blue tint. 

As the shapes grew closer, they remained indistinct but got taller. The cold grew more intense, and he was cold enough already.

There was a muffled cry of "Rick? Can you hear us?" It sounded like Sandy, but seemed to come from far away. The light dimmed even more, and Rick had had enough. Those things are bigger than humans. He flipped the safety off and pulled the trigger.

* * * * *

"Jamie? Fellas? Can anyone hear me?" Dusty asked in a stage whisper. He couldn't see much past the end of his rifle, and couldn't even hear the Hunters who had been a few feet away. 

There was no reply.

His world had contracted to a small patch of monochrome grey. The nearby tree trunks looked like indistinct posts, disappearing a few feet above the ground. Even the snow he was lying in looked grey. There were muffled sounds that might have been human-made, but it was impossible to determine the distance. Occasionally, he saw brief pinpoints of red light, but even those vanished as quickly as they appeared.

He shivered, and not just because of the intense cold. The atmosphere felt heavy and malevolent, and - if anything - it was getting colder.

Dusty nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of a large branch cracking from the intensely frigid air. Large pieces of frost-covered bark continued to fall from time to time.

Enough of this "where is everybody?" stuff, he thought, and keyed the mic. "Dustpan here. What's going on?" Still no response.

He had just decided to get up and move before hypothermia set in, when someone tripped over his legs with a curse.

"Okay, who found me?" Dusty asked the indistinct shape lying at his feet.

"It's me: Jim." a muffled voice said. "We're supposed to meet up at that big spruce, but I can't find anyone else."

"That should be directly ahead of us, but I lost the path." 

They both pulled their lensatic compasses, but the liquid was frozen; the needles didn't move. "Should we backtrack to see if we can find it again?" 

"No, Jim, I don't think so. Your footprints are already gone."

"So what do we do now? Sit tight, or try to find the rest of the team?"

Suddenly there was a rifle report. Then there was a LOT of gunfire.

* * * * *

Tom heard the shots coming from his left, and dove into a prone position. The ACOG scope revealed nothing, but he kept his FN SCAR shouldered. Then there were several large, dark shapes ahead, and they were way too close ... and clearly not human-shaped. He fired.

The shapes kept getting closer as he emptied one magazine, and then another. 

* * * * *

Dusty and Jim heard one rifle, then a second. 

"Do you see anything, Dusty?"

He pointed to their right. "Naw, but it's coming from over there. That first one was .30-06, I think. That'd be Rick. The second one was ..." 

"It sounded like Tom's new SCAR. It's a .308, isn't it?"

"Something like that, but I think I see what they're shooting at."

"Hey - do you see that?" Then they were both too busy to discuss it.

* * * * *

The snow seemed to grow deeper with each passing step, despite no sign of actual snowfall. Walking was difficult, and the air seemed to be thicker in the direction they wanted to go. It was almost like it was pushing back. 

Gunfire had been heavy but sporadic when they were separated, but tapered off as they got closer together. Finally aware of each other's locations, they were moving from tree to tree in an attempt to keep something ... anything ... between themselves and the large shapes they could all see but not identify.

The only thing they had agreed on is that shooting hadn't made any difference to the dark, shadowy forms which continued to circle their position. And it seemed to be herding them farther into the forest.

TO BE CONTINUED...

DISCLAIMER: I do not own MHI or any of its characters; those are owned and copyright Larry Correia. I only claim the ones I've created. And a BIG h/t to Mr. Correia for creating such a wonderful universe in which to play, and for his kind permission to use his concepts here.

A h/t also to Jenny S., who contributed a couple of crucial ideas to improve this short story and the graphic team patch above. Her help has been invaluable, both here and in my first book. 

Chapter 10: MHI Alaska - A Dish Served Cold

(Chapter 1) 
(Chapter 2) 

(Chapter 3)

(Chapter 4) 

(Chapter 5) 

(Chapter 6) 

(Chapter 7)

(Chapter 8)

(Chapter 9)

Big Lake:

Rick tried to pull himself even further into his parka. Man, it's cold out here, he thought. He'd seen cold weather before, into the -70° range outside of North Pole, but this was unnaturally frigid. Back in the '70s, when Harvey traveled in an unearthly pocket of supercooled air, it had been this cold. But even that flash-freeze zone wasn't spread across this much territory.

He turned his head as a gust of wind blew icy snow crystals into his face. No matter how tightly you cinch everything down, cold always gets in. 

Except these temps could kill you before you knew you were freezing.

"Hey, Rick - how large a perimeter do you want make with these detectors?" asked Tom. "I'm having trouble tightening the straps."

"That's the trouble with extreme cold: you lose the ability to do simple things, and everything takes a lot longer."

Tom just nodded, and kept strapping temperature sensors and motion detectors to trees about 30 feet apart. Just breathing was painful, and talking was an effort.

"We need plenty of notice if this ... whatever it is ... gets any closer."

"Okay, but my hands are really cold."

"Let's get back inside, and you send the next guy out to take over. None of us should stay outside any longer than we have to."

* * * * *

Once inside, Rick joined the others in the meeting room. The baseboard heaters were hot to the touch, but the room remained cool.

He took a seat and cleared his throat. "Okay, listen up, Hunters. Let's start with the obvious: we've got woods to the north, a pond on the east side, and the green belt to the west and south. When the source moves our way - and you know it will - it won't be so accommodating as to take the belt, out in the open. So the woods are the probable approach. We can't stay inside to fight it, so prepare for the coldest temps you've ever seen. Make sure your gear is lubed with aircraft grease or machine oil. The grease is good to 50 below, but it's already colder than that. Any prolonged time outside is going to make the action stiff."

"Also remember that we brought Harvey down with a heavy rate of fire. We don't know if this is the Sons of Harvey, or something else. But one thing we're good at is putting a lot of rounds on target, in a short amount of time."

There was some laughter at that, but it died quickly. Chairs squeaked as people sought more comfortable positions.

Rick stretched his leg out, to ease the ache in his knee. "Since everyone's here - and I'm looking at you, Jamie - we don't really need to talk strategy; this is nothing new. Don't let 'em sneak up behind you, keep an eye on the trees around you for any sign of a sudden temperature drop, and watch your flanks. Questions?"

Dusty asked, "Are we going to use the new drones?"

"No. I'd love to get some eyes in the sky, but it's too cold. The batteries and motors will freeze at these temps."

Rick raised his hand, pointing at the back of the room. "Val, bless her heart, sent several cases of hand- and foot-warmers. Be sure to stuff your boots and gloves with as many as you need. Put extras in your pockets, too. We don't know how long we'll have to wait.

* * * * *

Not long, as it turned out. The Hunters were still moving to positions inside the southern edge of the woods when they began hear branches snapping, up ahead.

There was a thick fog moving toward them. Trees took on a fuzzy appearance as the hoarfrost rapidly thickened. Ice-laden branches broke off and fell, landing with a whoompf in the heavy snow drifts. 

The air grew darker as the fog swallowed them up. 

TO BE CONTINUED...

DISCLAIMER: I do not own MHI or any of its characters; those are owned and copyright Larry Correia. I only claim the ones I've created. And a BIG h/t to Mr. Correia for creating such a wonderful universe in which to play, and for his kind permission to use his concepts here.

A h/t also to Jenny S., who contributed a couple of crucial ideas to improve this short story and the graphic team patch above. Her help has been invaluable, both here and in my first book. 

Chapter 9 - MHI Alaska: A Dish Served Cold

(Chapter 1) 
(Chapter 2) 

(Chapter 3)

(Chapter 4) 

(Chapter 5) 

(Chapter 6) 

(Chapter 7)

(Chapter 8)

Mid-Air over the eastern Matanuska-Susitna Borough:

Dang it, he's asleep again. This guy can sleep through anything! Jamie took a deep breath and let out a little scream. Sandy jerked awake with a start. Annoyed, he turned toward her to say something, but she cut him off.

"Sandman, if I thought it would keep you awake, I'd make you ride on that float out there."

"Dammit, Jamie, what'd you go and do that for?"

"We're only about 30 minutes from Big Lake. Rick said the lake's still partly open, so I get us close to the road. He's sending Tom with the van."

"Cool! Tom always has the big guns."

"We have three Barretts, remember?"

Sandy winked at her. "If he doesn't remember to bring ammo, they're just ballast."

Jamie shook her head. "Oh, thee of little faith. Just look at the pretty glaciers and go back to sleep."

Nelchina:

"Dang it, Jim, you drive like an old lady. Did you have to take classes to drive this slow, or what?"

"Leave me alone, Rick. This station wagon you borrowed at Glenallen is only running on five cylinders, and we weigh a lot. What with the guns, ammo, and all these bodies, you want to overheat?"

Rick shook his head. "It's 12 degrees, Jim; I don't think we'll get too hot. Just keep driving, Grandma."

At that, the team erupted into laughter, and tossed a few paper cups toward the driver. "C'mon, guys, I'm trying to get us there safely!" he protested.

Dusty looked around with a sly look on his face. "We just wanna get there this week."

"Oh, man." Jim shook his head sadly. "No gratitude at all. Life ain't fair, I tell you."

The rest of the cups, and several burger wrappers, went airborne.

Big Lake:

An ice fog had settled across the area north of the lake. The windows of a hundred cars on the Parks Highway had frosted over instantly, with resultant crashes on and off the road.

At the Chamber of Commerce, three men had just staggered into the meeting room. All were badly frostbitten, despite heavy winter clothing.

Tom was on the phone. "There were nineteen guys, Rick. Nineteen ... and now there are three. These guys are locals and they've all lived here for years. They know the woods, they know the area, and they know how to dress for winter. So is this that extreme cold you told us about, like when you hunted Harvey?"

"Sure sounds like it, Tom, but it never covered an area that big before. You'd best get out to the lake and make sure Jamie still has a place to put that Beaver down. She's running floats, not skis."

"You bet. I've got the ammo she wanted, too, and it's a heavy load. It'll be good to get it out of the office van. Remind me to talk to you when this is all over, about getting a one-ton vehicle instead of this people hauler."

"You could always off-load some of that where you are. You're picking up Jamie, Sandy, and all their guns, remember?"

"But boss, that ammo's heavy!"

"Cowboy up, Tom, or did you forget the company motto? In the meantime, get whoever else is with you to debrief those hunters. We need to know what those guys saw out there. And listen, we're past the Eureka Roadhouse, so have someone set up a table at the local eatery. These guys are going to be cranky by the time we get there. And whatever we're facing, it'll be better on a full stomach."

TO BE CONTINUED

DISCLAIMER: I do not own MHI or any of its characters; those are owned and copyright Larry Correia. I only claim the ones I've created. And a BIG h/t to Mr. Correia for creating such a wonderful universe in which to play, and for his kind permission to use his world here.

A h/t also to Jenny S., who contributed a couple of crucial ideas to improve this story, as well as creating the book cover and team patch, above. Her help has been invaluable, both here and in my first book.

Trying to Rouse My Muse

My plans for today include taking the time to re-read the first eight chapters of my fan fiction, "MHI Alaska: A Dish Served Cold", to see if it stirs up inspiration for another chapter.

 

 

 

Beyond that, I'm dealing with a recalcitrant heating system at work, which doesn't want to do what it's been told. The software shows me what it has ordered the control nodes to do, but doesn't always show me what's actually happening.

 

And you remember that I mentioned, just a day or two ago, that we "could see temps of -20 or colder in the next six weeks"? AccuHunch is calling for -16° tomorrow night.

 

Me and my big mouth.

 

Otherwise, it's a quiet day. That's a good thing. Later, folks - and thanks for stopping by.

Anti-Political Friday

It was 15° at our house this morning, and 12° down along the river. But the roads are dry & the morning commute went without incident.

I gave a few minutes' thought to a topic for the day, and realized I'm pretty much done with the all politics, all the time mentality ... at least, for now.

So here's some antipolitics to start the day:

Just a bit o' range time, for some much-needed recoil therapy & conversation with the local club.

Your tool of choice may vary.

The national organization, and the local group. :)

Mt. Spurr (active volcano) and the Tordrillo Mtns, visible above the berm.

Tools of the trade.

The view from my office (#1)

#2

#3

#4

And a late-summer view of the drive home

Chapter 8 - MHI Alaska: A Dish Served Cold

(Chapter 1) 
(Chapter 2) 

(Chapter 3)

(Chapter 4) 

(Chapter 5) 

(Chapter 6) 

(Chapter 7)

Copper Center, Alaska:

Rick's phone buzzed, waking him from a sound sleep. By the time he dug it out from under the furs and blankets, it wasn't buzzing anymore, but the text from Val woke him up:

Something large attacking cabins between Big Lake and Willow. Red-eyed moose sighted again. Locals patrolling with big-game rifles. V.

We're already stretched too thin. "Up and at 'em, guys. We've got work to do."

"Do we have time to stoke the fire, boss?"

"No, Sandy. Sounds like something big's going on at Big Lake. Let's get loaded up; we've got seven hundred miles to cover," Rick replied.

Dang, my knee hurts. What did I do to it this time?

Angoon:

Jamie and Sandy loaded the last of the supplies in her floatplane.

"There's a lot less now than when we got here," Sandy said. He glanced at her and continued. "That's what happens when you use all your ammo on a giant frozen crab, I guess."

"If that last rocket hadn't penetrated its shell, we'd have used all the rest of the ammo," Jamie agreed. "But I'm glad we're loaded up. Rick called; there's something going on back home."

"At Wasilla?" Sandy asked.

"Near enough," she replied. "Big Lake, moving toward Willow. And before you ask, we don't know what it is. But it sounds like Harvey's back. Or the Son of Harvey, I guess."

"Harvey? Oh, geez. Better stop at HQ, then," Sandy said. "We need to restock."

Five miles north of Big Lake:

Nineteen local hunters and trappers were moving slowly through the woods. The only sounds were the wind in the tree tops, frozen branches rubbing together, and the noise of all those feet treading in the crunchy snow.

The organizers had given good advice as they started out. "Stay sharp, and don't get a case of the nerves. Spread out a bit, but stay within sight of the guys on either side of you. Fingers off your triggers. Keep your heads about you, and keep your eyes open."

The man second-from-the-left-end of the line heard a noise above the sound of branches rubbing on his pants, and looked to his left. Wait a minute ... where did Bob go? He stood still for moment, remembering to inhale through his mouth, and exhale through his nose, to conserve body heat.

Trying to see through the thick brush, he called out, "Bob. Hey, Bob!"

Serge Ludislov, one of the leaders, came striding over. "What's goin' on, Jim?"

"Bob Johansen was right there, but now I don't see him. And he's not answering."

"Uh-oh," Serge said. Turning his head, he shouted over his shoulder, "Stay alert, guys: we're not alone!"

Serge turned back just in time to see a large, dark form rise up. He felt cold ... then he felt nothing at all.

TO BE CONTINUED

 

DISCLAIMER: I do not own MHI or any of its characters; those are owned and copyright Larry Correia. I only claim the ones I've created. And a BIG h/t to Mr. Correia for creating such a wonderful universe in which to play, and for his kind permission to use his world here.

A h/t also to Jenny S., who contributed a couple of crucial ideas to improve this story, as well as creating the book cover and team patch, above. Her help has been invaluable, both here and in my first book.

Monster Hunter Legion

Just finished reading the e-ARC. My review? Larry Correia's done it again, bigger & better than ever.

This one's bigger than The Condition/Arbmunep storyline, and plays better. The cast is larger, the bad guys (okay, unearthly forces, but you know what I mean) badder and more devious, and there are several plot twists you won't see coming. There are characters from each of the previous novels including Alpha, as well as at least one from Larry's short stories published on his blog.

If you're a fan of the MHI series, Legion is a fantastic read. It not only continues the MHI universe, it escalates things to a whole new level. Miss this one, and you'll be sorry.

Saturday Plans

We're going to see The Avengers and MIB3 this afternoon, followed by barbeque and an evening around the fire. Marshmallows, hot dogs, s'mores, you name it. Also, I just downloaded the Monster Hunter Legion e-ARC.

Gonna be a good day.

Enchanted Forest?

What do you think, MHI fans?  More importantly, what would Trip say?

Chapter 7: A Dish Served Cold

(Chapter 1) 
(Chapter 2)

(Chapter 3)

(Chapter 4) 

(Chapter 5) 

(Chapter 6)

Copper Center, Alaska:


The team was huddled in a hunting cabin on the Klutina River, most of them sitting near the fireplace. Two-inch-thick hoar frost coated everything, the world seemingly one shade of white with the sky, trees, buildings, vehicles, and ground all matching. It made their eyes hurt to stare too long, as optic centers worked in a vain attempt to perceive depth.

"What's the temperature out there?" Tom asked for the third time. 

"About 48 below," answered Jim. "Practically break-up* weather, pilgrim." Everyone laughed, but not for long. "When you go to the outhouse, you'd best wear snow goggles, and take along a few sheets of newspaper to spread on the seat. You don't want the 'ring of shame' from frostbite around your backside."

"Dude, TMI!" and other remarks and catcalls greeted Jim's announcement.  "Fine, gentlemen. Go ahead and freeze to the toilet seat. Then we'll see how tough you really are.

   "Hey, speaking of people ... has anyone heard from Jamie or Sandman?"

Rick looked up from the e-mail reports he'd been reading. "They've got their hands full in Angoon." He pushed back from the table and stretched his long legs. "You guys want to hear the rest of the story about Harvey?"

Angoon:

At that moment, the two Hunters were face-down in a clump of tall grass near the floatplane harbor. Flaming debris sailed over their heads, splashing into the water behind them. 

"What the heck WAS that thing?"

Sandy shook his head. "I've never seen anything like that. It's the size of a luska, but ..."

Jamie asked, "Isn't a luska that giant-squid-with-a-shark-head thing?"

"Yeah, and they can be anywhere from the size of a car to a bus. That thing's the right size, but it looks ... frozen. It doesn't have tentacles, either."

"Then what's it using to throw that stuff in the air?"

"I don't know, Jamie. Did your dad ever mention anything like it?"

"No, he never fought anything from the ocean at all. The teams in his day were busy with were-creatures: bears, moose and a few vampire salmon."

"Vampire salmon?  You're just making that up."

She grinned. "You wish. Come on; I've got an idea."

Copper Center:

"Come on, Rick, don't keep us in suspense."

"Okay. Where was I?  Oh, right, the attacks on the hunting cabins...   Zeb Cavanaugh taught Jake to be a Hunter, and told him about the things they'd caught - and the things that got away. Jake always hoped he'd get a chance to find out about that 'moose with the glowing eyes'.

"They had the usual monsters: were-bears, ice zombies, wolf packs that would suddenly attack settlers for no reason ... stuff that we've all seen. No reports of a zombie moose, or any other kind. Then shortly after I came up in '75, we started hearing the stories again. A hunter or trapper would fail to check back in, or a popular hunting cabin would be found in splinters, that sort of thing. 

"We'd check 'em out, and sometimes found some really large moose tracks mixed in at the scenes, but there were never any survivors to tell us what happened. We took a few of the were-bears, and the PUFF bounty was coming in steady. It kept us in equipment and food, and we were able to improve our gear and equipment. Bought some better weapons, too. It was a good time to be a Hunter.

"Then a family in Kenny Lake told us they'd seen a big moose with red eyes. A guy had gone out with an M1 Garand to track the moose, but didn't come back. His wife told us she'd heard a few shots fired, but then nothing else. We searched the area and finally spotted tracks along the ridge above the river. We found some empty brass, and prints from hiking boots, but no blood or other sign. The strangest part was ..."

"C'mon, Rick, don't leave us hanging again!" said Dusty. "You can't rightly jus' stop there."

"Sorry; got lost in my thoughts for a minute." Rick walked to a frosted window and tried to see out without success. He moved his chair closer to the fire and put one foot up to rest his aching knee. "Anyway, there was the strangest feeling in the air, like the first breath of cold air when you open a freezer door. Weird thing was, it was already cold out, probably ten below. But this air was really cold. Freeze-your-face-off cold.

"We tracked that moose, or whatever it was, for a day and a half. Near sunset the next day, we finally got close enough to see it. Jake Cavanaugh spotted it first, and motioned for us to get low. There it was, on the next hilltop, making huge puffs of frosty air when it breathed.

"Now remember, it was already -10. Well, when Harvey exhaled, we could see frost forming on nearby trees, and could even hear the branches cracking from the cold. I'm talking intense cold. And this thing was HUGE ... seven feet tall at the shoulders."

Jim held up a hand. "Why'd you call it Harvey?"

Rick smiled. "You remember that movie with Jimmy Stewart, about the guy that could see an invisible rabbit he called 'Harvey'? Here they'd been chasing rumors about a big moose that no one could actually say they'd seen ... and one of the Hunters decided to call it Harvey, too. Jake never said who came up with it first.

"So we fanned out and tried to flank the moose, and for whatever reason, it didn't move. The first Hunter to get close was about 15 feet away - his name was Dodger -  just raising his rifle when that moose was suddenly facing him. We didn't see it move; one second it was facing away, and the next second it was facing him. I swear it didn't move; it just ... changed. 

"It gave one snort, and the edge of that cloud reached Dodger. He must have felt something, and turned to look at us. His head was just starting to turn when ... you know those movies where someone gets 'flash-frozen' and you a sound like ice crinkling and cracking? ... that's what happened. He went from pink, to greyish-white and frosty ... and then he just shattered. He literally fell to pieces. It was the most horrifying thing I'd ever seen, at the time."

Rick's voice trailed off as he stared at the opaque window, then shook himself and looked around. "It was awful to see a friend crumble into a pile of ice cubes, but it explained why we hadn't found any bodies at the other scenes.

"Well, Jake and the others kept their wits, and they all opened fire at the same time. They must have put 30 or 40 rounds into that thing. I wasn't sure we could kill it, but down it went. We took pictures and wrapped it up for study and the PUFF submission. No one at Treasury knew what it was, and finally decided to lump it into the same category as ice zombies. We made a lot of money on Harvey, but a lot of good folks died before it was all over."

"Whatever happened to him?" Jim asked.

"We gave the skeleton to the history museum in Anchorage. He's still on display there," Rick replied. 

"You should check it out, next time you go through there."

Angoon:

Jamie and Sandy removed an M1919 from her floatplane, and carried it into a shed. There, they worked quickly, mounting it onto a powered-parachute. They pushed the craft into the yard, and examined the mounting in the waning daylight.

"Jamie, I think you've outdone yourself. Let's just hope the ... what did you call it, again?"

"Ice crab."

"Okay, let's hope the ice crab isn't full of hydrogen like the blimp thing was."

"You're not big on remembering the names of things, are you?" she asked with a smile at her partner. "Let's hope it doesn't blow us out of the air; this craft doesn't move very fast. But it should make a stable shooting platform."

"I like the way you think, lady."

* "Break-up" is the Alaskan term for spring, when the ice on the rivers and streams begins to, well, break up.

TO BE CONTINUED

DISCLAIMER: I do not own MHI or any of its characters; those are owned and copyright Larry Correia. I only claim the ones I've created. And a BIG h/t to Mr. Correia for creating such a wonderful universe in which to play, and for his kind permission to use his concepts here.

A h/t also to Jenny S., who contributed a couple of crucial ideas to improve this short story and the book cover & team patch above. Her help has been invaluable, both here and in my first book.