CHAPTER 29
Rock’n’Roll Party in the Street
“Shit, shit,” Shelbye radioed. “Trevor is down. Who’s in charge?”
“This is Hand. I’m in charge.”
I jumped up on the dumpster, did another jump to a window ledge, then up to the roof.
“Where are you going?” Caleb shouted.
This way would be faster, but Caleb probably wasn’t athletic enough to make it. “Get to the car and grab more guns,” I yelled down, then got back on the radio. “All teams converge on Royal. Shelbye, what are we looking at?”
“Crawfish? Giant lobsters? Hundreds? Thousands? They’re coming out the river and…Shit. They’re cracking people’s heads open and sucking out their brains. I think they got Trevor.”
“Who else do I have?” They began to check in. Fred Ramsey and Brent Waters were heading for Trevor. Caleb was getting more weapons and Shelbye was above. That was all of Hoodoo Squad.
I was up on the roof of the Place d’Armes by then and could see what Shelbye was looking at.
They were arthropods, for sure. Similar to crawfish or lobster but they were multicolored, mostly white and red with some electric blues, and about a yard long. In addition, rather than having two smallish claws, like a crawfish, they had one massive one that looked more like a blunt instrument. Which was exactly what it was.
Decatur Street was crawling with the things right by Jackson Square. As I watched a middle-aged, short, balding guy was desperately trying to run away up St. Ann. One of the arthropods used its tail to jump through the air and land on the guy’s back. The club-claw flashed blurringly fast and his head was cracked wide open. As he fell to the ground the…crawfish? lobster? no, mantis shrimp stuck a proboscis in the brains and sucked them right down.
Then it started crawling after more prey.
Most of the mass seemed to be heading into Jackson Square and up St. Ann. People had seen what was happening and were running for their lives. Unfortunately, the Mardi Gras crowds, drunk as skunks, were surging that way to see what fais do-do was going on over there! Woo-hoo! Love Mardi Gras! That was keeping the runners from getting away. Luckily when the gunfire started, that got most of the mob moving in the right direction.
Most of the businesses on the lower floors were closing their doors when they could. Panicked people were pushing in and preventing that. Mantises were flooding in behind them.
“All teams assemble near Royal and Ann. Get up on the balconies. We can’t fight these things in the crowds.” I took my own advice and climbed onto a balcony. Elevation worked for shamblers, so hopefully it helped with killer crustaceans too. “Forget collateral damage on this one. We can’t let these things get to Bourbon. They’re some sort of killer mantis shrimp.”
“Copy,” Shelbye said. “Mantises moving through Jackson Square, up St. Ann and the alleys.”
“Anyone passing SIU or SRT, drag them over here,” I said. “We hold the line at Royal! We do not let these things get to Bourbon.”
“This is Fred. We’re moving up Dumaine as fast as we can, but the crowds are insane and there’s a parade in the way.”
“Throw flash-bangs if you think it will help!”
I drew my pistol. The range was long for .45 but I’d been practicing constantly. The ones jumping were a no-go. The ones crawling—and most of them were—or feeding were targets I could hit. I nailed one that was feeding, blowing the crustacean away but hitting the already dead female victim beneath it too. The mantises weren’t very big.
“Shelbye, concentrate on the ones in the park,” I said. “Fred, status?”
“Can’t…get…through…Get the hell out of my way, you fat fuck!”
“This is Caleb; I’ve got some long guns from Honeybear.”
“Caleb, Hand; get the hotel to get you up on the roof, then head to Chartres and St. Ann.” I went back to shooting. Everybody for blocks would hear those gunshots. If it kept them moving away from the monsters, good.
“MHI, cease fire! Cease fire!”
“Who the hell is this?” I radioed, but I already knew. Trevor had given Castro our channels a long time ago.
“This is MCB SRT. Cease fire! You will cease causing a major incident during Mardi Gras! Are you insane?”
“You already have an incident!” I shouted. “And I don’t have time to hold your fucking hand. You’ve got people dead already and a wave of angry, brain-sucking crustaceans headed right for the parade, which is being broadcast live on national television! So are you going to get your head out of your ass and help?”
“Those are not our orders,” the unknown agent said. “Stand by.”
“Overridden.” That was Special Agent in Charge Castro. “I can see this from the chopper. This is a Class Four, Yellow, say again, Class Four, Yellow. SRT and all other MCB and SIU teams will deploy, immediately, to protect the parade. If it hits the main body of tourists, right on broadcast network, it goes to Class Five, Red.”
“Our orders are to—”
A police helicopter passed overhead. That had to be Castro.
“This will be essentially uncontainable if they make it to the parade, Special Agent, and I will absolutely kill your career if you sit this out. You know what? Fuck this desk jockey chicken shit. Somebody tell Franks the forces of evil are going nuts over here. We need SRT at Royal and St. Ann, stat. Everyone switch to MHI’s channel to coordinate.”
“Moving forward to observe. SRT out.”
I didn’t understand MCB internal politics, but invoking Agent Franks must have worked. I’d been potting crustaceans and reloading furiously as the conversation continued. The problem being, because we had been working low profile, I was getting low on rounds. We were going to have to finish this in minutes or the wave of mantises were going to hit Bourbon like an all-you-can-eat human buffet.
Frankly, all my pistol fire was pissing in the wind. We needed claymores and belt-feds for this. This was worse than Portland’s spider problem. More mantises were making it up the street than the number I’d killed.
Suddenly, Caleb appeared at my side on the balcony. He passed over my Uzi and an assault vest full of magazines. While he began firing his M16, I threw on my vest. That was much better. There were so many mantises moving down the street that they were hard to miss. Together, the two of us started stacking bodies.
The mantises were scurrying about, each one about the size of a dog, but faster. They didn’t appear to have any strategy other than to head directly toward the nearest living thing, club its head in, and slurp out the contents. There was a wave of them, and it was about to crash right over us.
Several MCB in SWAT gear ran up the street below. I heard them coming, because they were shouting at the fleeing civilians something about drug gangs getting into a shootout, and to get out of here. They were more worried about the people being witnesses than surviving.
“Oh, hell,” the agent in the lead said.
“Sorry, did you think I was exaggerating?” I said, not taking my eye from the sights.
The SRT opened fire.
More down. I was getting about one kill for every two shots. And at that rate I was going to run out of ammo long before we ran out of mantises. Just filing the PUFF was going to be a pain in the ass. I think we might set a record with this one. Or someone else would if we all got killed.
I took out one of my white phosphorus grenades and tossed it at a cluster of the things in the road. It wasn’t going to hurt any people. Everyone in the intersection was already dead. The Willie Pete had very little effect. A couple mantises were badly burned but the rest just kept on trucking or went around. So much for fire.
As I was thinking that, a mantis peered over the roof above me.
I lifted my muzzle and fired. It dropped past me and fell into the street. Then I looked around.
The fuckers were climbing up the walls of the buildings, and going in through second-story windows and doors.
The SRT agents were mostly using MP5s, and their subguns were chattering like crazy. But there were so damned many targets that we were still getting overrun by brain-sucking crawfish. Good news was, getting your skull crushed looked like a quick way to go. Better than fucking spiders.
Caleb’s M16 was doing a fair job on the crustaceans climbing up the wall. I’d worried that the light rounds wouldn’t penetrate their thick carapaces. But they were going right through and apparently doing a real number on them.
I wished right then I had an M16. First time I’d wished that in…ever. Lots and lots of rounds would be good about now. We were piling up mantis bodies on the street below. But more were just going right by up St. Ann. We were completely surrounded and about to be engulfed.
“Caleb, climb for the roof. I’ll be right behind you.”
The mantises began leaping up at us, and man could they jump. MCB agents below screamed as they were dragged down, and bludgeoned or clawed to pieces. I pulled myself up onto the roof and discovered that there were already more mantises swarming up the other side.
“Fuck this,” I said, drawing Mo No Ken.
I wasn’t sure how well the sword would work. A mantis was skittering right at me. I swung, slicing right through its giant claw and deep into the top of its body. The carapace was hard but no match for Japanese steel. I jerked Mourning out and the mantis slid over the edge, twitching. I started slashing and kicking crustaceans off the roof while Caleb kept shooting.
And then more of the MCB arrived on the street below. Franks was just chewing gum placidly, as if all these tourists dying didn’t seem to matter to him. He looked over the carnage and the swarm of monsters trying to rip us to pieces, and nodded, like no big deal.
Then he laid in with that pussy MP5 like nobody I’d ever seen in my life. In a second it seemed, the wall of the building, the balcony, the far building, were clear. Then he reloaded faster than any normal human should, went down the street, and went on a fucking rampage. One of the mantises leapt through the air at him. He grabbed it out of midair and hit it in what on a mantis would be the face. The thing shattered in a spray of blood, coating him in red.
I could see the mantises going into the apartment across the street. People were dying in there as well. There were screams from under our feet. The street was littered with bodies of the dead, wearing bead necklaces, their heads cracked open and so much blood and brains spilled out the blood was running into the sewers.
Down the street, a shotgun went off. The men from the dinner party I’d literally crashed were out on the balcony with double-barrel shotguns. Henri was standing behind the gentlemen, calmly holding a large satchel full of shells. I guess the visitors had decided to get in on this New Orleans thing.
“Hand, Shelbye,” Shelbye radioed. “Uh…these things climb.”
I looked over at the cathedral. The walls and roof were crawling with mantises. And more were headed up the bell tower. She leaned out on one side, firing down. But there were more coming up behind her.
“Tell my folks to have a right nice fais do-do with these. Gonna be a hell of a party. Sorry to miss it.”
About seven mantises made it over the back side of the bell tower. We could hear her shots. The gunfire stopped. Then the surviving mantises started climbing back out.
“Shelbye. Come in.” Nothing. There was no time to think about it. All I could do was go back to swinging.
I realized many of the SRT guys were already dead. The agent who had been calling the shots had been buried under a pile of falling claws. Franks was off in the intersection by himself, murdering piles of mantises. The big agent had drawn many of the monsters away, but it looked like the rest of the SRT was getting routed. Someone down there needed to step up and lead them.
“Alpha, reinforce MHI and SIU,” Myers said over the radio. “Charlie, hook left and block Royal that way. Bravo, right. Stop these things before they get to Bourbon. We hold the line here.”
The SRT listened and got their shit together.
“We got more crawfish coming up,” Caleb said, pointing at the next wave. “I should have stayed in California.”
“Stay up here. Stick and move. Don’t let them cross Royal.”
“What are you going to do?” he asked.
Most of the mantises were concentrating on Franks in that intersection. “I always like it when big guys plow the road for me,” I said, stepping lightly onto the coaming then jumping off.
I landed with one foot on the railing of the balcony, just slowing myself, then jumped off again. Both jumps were about a story and a half. No way Caleb was going to follow me down. And I didn’t want him to. Safer on the roof. Maybe he’d survive up there.
There was a clear spot where Franks had gone through. Well, clear of living mantises at least. And humans. Bodies of both were scattered everywhere.
Franks was bouncing around the intersection of Chartres and St. Ann like a rabid squirrel, dodging mantises, firing in every direction. From time to time slinging his subgun, and wielding two Bren Tens at a time. Nobody could do that. Not and hit anything worth shit.
Franks could.
I sliced an incoming mantis out of the air and closed in from behind.
“Angel six!” I shouted. Not sure why I shouted that. Just made sense. I definitely wanted him to know that a friendly was coming up from behind. Franks didn’t seem like the kind of guy you wanted to surprise.
As I approached, a mantis managed to come in from behind as Franks was killing one to the front. It slammed its claw into his helmet. Lacking a cover, the helmet split in half, and fell to the ground.
That was bad news. I’d planned on my helmet protecting me.
Franks pulled the mantis off and tore it in half, but another landed on his shoulders as he was doing so. It lifted a claw.
I didn’t even think about it. I drew my 1911 and fired.
The round hit the mantis, but it continued through, and struck Franks right in the back of the skull. It was a killing wound.
But Franks just turned his head, his face covered in mantis blood and nodded. I took that to mean Thanks.
“Got six,” I said as I arrived. I holstered, hefted Mo No Ken and spun to cover the agent’s back.
I don’t know how long we fought in that intersection. I’d just try to keep up with Franks as he moved back and forth. It was tough. The guy was clearly inhuman and inhumanly fast. But he was facing the mass of the remaining approaching mantises. I’m pretty quick, but I only had his back.
That was bad enough, but having finished off the inhabitants, the mantises were pouring out of the nearby buildings. I could hear the continuous crackle of fire from up the street. Mantises kept leaping at us, but fortunately all the hits were cuts, nicks, and grazes. And we really didn’t have time to deal with grazes.
There wasn’t a moment to think. At one point in my early training, back in high school, Mr. Brentwood would toss apples at me and I’d try to slice them out of the air with an old cheap katana.
It was like that. But more like a bunch of baseball guns firing thirty-pound lobsters from random directions. When they landed, and several landed, they’d hit hard.
I stumbled as one hit me square in the right side of my head, and before I could even react, slammed me in the helmet so hard I saw stars. It was like being shot in the helmet with a pistol round. I was stunned by the impact. I could sort of hear the helmet crack and knew I was going to die. I fell to a knee and one hand, trying to prop myself up.
As the helmet fell away, carrying with it my commo, I sensed the weight come off my shoulders and heard another cracking noise.
I looked up as Franks was just done wringing the thing.
“You gonna lie there?” Franks asked, tossing the mantis over his shoulder.
I lunged up at him with Mo No Ken, drove the point within inches of his ear and speared the inbound mantis square in the brain.
“No,” I said, flicking the thing off my sword.
The nice thing about a blade is you never run out of ammo.
But damn were my arms getting tired.
That was partway through our knock-down, drag-out party in the street. I couldn’t even tell you how long we fought.
* * *
Most of the monsters were dead. The street was littered with brightly dressed revelers, dead, their skulls split open, and fluorescent bodies of the mantis shrimp. I knew if someone could paint it properly, it would sell for a pretty penny at the Salvador Dalí Museum.
“We got more in the buildings,” I told Franks, shaking my head and looking around. “And I’m about flat out of rounds.”
A helicopter approached. I assumed it was Castro surveying the carnage.
Mais non. The helo dropped in close. I looked up to see my gentleman, Remi, hanging from the door. He lowered my spare assault ruck full of ammo from a rope.
Tom waved from the pilot seat. Borrowing that helicopter was getting to be a habit.
Once the gear hit the street and was grounded out, I unhooked the carabineer and thumbed for them to lift up again.
I made a mental note to invite the Lamberts to dinner.
“I need to link up with my people. What are you going to do?”
Franks didn’t answer. He just started walking up St. Ann Street.
I let him go. There were more mantises to track down. Our male bonding moment was over and somehow I knew it was anything but.
I don’t get Franks. I don’t know what he is. He’s not a human and not a werewolf, I know that. But the truth is, I like him. I don’t like what he does most of the time but that covers MCB as a whole. All I know is when the shit hits the fan I’d rather have Franks at my back than Earl. And that’s saying something. We honestly combat click better.
Even with Mardi Gras, NOPD had managed to set up a perimeter and close the zone to personnel or traffic. From St. Peters to Dumaine, from the river to Royal, there was hardly a soul left alive. Bodies were everywhere. Coroner was going to shit a brick.
And there were more mantises scattered around. I let those come to me, shooting them as they crawled into jumping range. I stayed away from enclosed areas, just wandering the deserted streets.
Choppers were circling. FBI, NOPD, Sheriff’s office. Nobody came to my assistance. Bare is back without brother. I was out of commo but I was sure that if there had been a rest of the team, they’d have found me. I wasn’t exactly hiding and was occasionally using my 1911 so they’d hear the shots. The only shots I was hearing were from up by Royal.
Occasionally I heard the distinct chatter of an MP5. It was coming from over by the front of St. Louis Cathedral. I knew who it was but there was no point in trying to link up with Franks again. He did his thing. I did mine.
The MCB being the MCB was already spinning some story, and New Orleans, being New Orleans, had returned to celebrating. I could tell when it was midnight, the official end of Fat Tuesday. The sounds in the distance slowly died and the party was over.
The party was never over. Not in my book. This party, this job, this mission, wouldn’t be over until God let me go home.
I’m a Monster Hunter.