The Hunters (3)
After finishing our meal, we took a short break and hit the road a bit early. With takeoff at 10 a.m., starting preparations by 9 would be ideal.
Richfield was a town bisected north-south by two irrigation canals for agriculture. The county office, which had designated part of its expansive public grounds as a heliport, sat right up against the southern canal on the edge of the developed area.
Unauthorized overnight camping prohibited.
The county assumes no responsibility for accidents, thefts, or any incidents occurring on public grounds or the fairground. All risks are borne by the individual users.
Outside the fence with its sliding gate, a rowdy group of protesters waved massive flags and shouted at the top of their lungs.
"Animal lives are precious! Hunters, stop the wild boar massacre!"
"Stop it! Stop it!"
"Animals have spirits too! Humans and animals are equal lives! The government must scrap its policies promoting slaughter and guarantee animals' right to survival!"
"Guarantee it! Guarantee it!"
When I'd heard rumors of self-proclaimed fairies showing up in this town, I'd figured these types would be here too. The Animal Liberation Front (ALF)—twin troublemakers to the Earth Liberation Front, infamous arsonists cloaked as an illegal militia under the banner of animal rights. Judging by their talk of "spirits" and such, these folks were going through their own stormy adolescence, much like their buddies.
I wonder if their faith in veganism has shifted.
If fanatical vegetarians who'd once torched meatpacking plants in the name of meat's evil were now facing a dilemma thanks to the Trembling Giant's existence, that'd make for a pretty amusing comedy. Though, given humans' habit of believing only what they want, they might not wrestle with it at all.
Bored-looking cops leaned against patrol cars right by the main gate, arms crossed. Beyond the waist-high fence, heavily armed militiamen and hunters chatted casually. They occasionally glanced at the protesters with sneers of disdain.
Finding the Pioneer Hunter Brigade that Kyung-tae had booked was easy enough.
"Over there—see the flags and banners?"
The brigade's flag marked a snowy field across the parking lot and road. Rudimentarily fenced with wood and wire—likely some private pasture—it was now functioning like public land, hosting landed helicopters. Judging by the snapped and toppled posts, T-hogs had rampaged here too. The hunters were using the gaps in the downed fence as entry points to the landing zone.
One brigade hunter spotted Kyung-tae and waved enthusiastically.
"Oh, Mr. Kim! Early bird, huh!"
He greeted me, Suyeon, and our one security detail in turn. We'd kept our group to just four to avoid drawing eyes. No weapons carried, either.
Kyung-tae eyed the militia's chopper with exaggerated awe.
"Whoa, just like I heard—top-notch gear, Jack. Supercharger on that bad boy?"
"Haha! You spotted that? Sharp eye."
The man called Jack nodded proudly.
"Spot on. This area's high elevation, y'know. Near the Giant's forest, you've got peaks over 10,000 feet everywhere. Without a beast of an engine, you can't even fly properly. Tuning's a must."
A supercharger was a type of forced-induction device that boosted engine power by diverting some output to intake air for max performance. It guzzled fuel, but as the hunter explained, unavoidable for running civilian helos at 10,000 feet.
Kyung-tae kept up the expert praise.
"Thermal imager's high-end too. Wide-angle lens, rangefinder standard—gotta be five, six grand?"
"Hahaha! Gotta invest for the best hunt for our clients."
"Whoa, M210 V2 drone set! Killer stuff. Top-tier civilian gear, right? You're geared to wipe out every last pig."
"Hahahaha!"
"Hold up—that rifle a Sig MCX? Ammo's .300 Blackout, obviously?"
"Hahahahaha! You know it! Pairing 5.56 with an MCX? That's for queers! Blackout's gold for exotic game—punches clean through a man, but for bears or hogs..."
"Right, right! Gotta hit over 100 grains or it ain't sticking—"
Jack's laughs grew longer and louder, drawing fellow brigade members who piled on, laughing, chatting, clapping. Kyung-tae's knack for bonding was, as always, masterful.
"Expensive gear's expensive for a reason, cheap's cheap for a reason. With 50% gov subsidy and $800/hour, I wondered... but seeing it firsthand? Pioneer Hunter Brigade earns every penny."
Jack nodded, nearly teary with gratitude. Another brigade member chimed in.
"We always aim highest. Thrilled to host a client who gets it—as our leader."
"Leader? Name?"
"Ryan Christopher Nielsen, brigade commander. Nielsen's fine."
Nielsen shook hands all around. If those chest badges weren't fake, he'd been a hotshot soldier once. Now a capable natural-circuit Awakened too.
Then the makeshift pad buzzed at the edges. Amid light chaos, three front-wheel-drive pickups rolled in tail-to-tail. Each sported Walmart logos on the sides.
A man hopped from the lead truck, grabbing a mic hooked to speakers.
"Weapons and ammo delivery! Pick up your orders!"
We'd placed an order too—Nielsen directed his men to fetch. The ammo crates bore Walmart logos as well. I snagged a flyer blowing in the wind.
Premium hunting supplies delivery for the best hunters! Guns, ammo, all hunter needs straight to your hunting ground!
Join monthly membership for 5% off listed calibers—limits by tier—
...Talk about a marketplace.
I let the flyer fly off and quietly watched Kyung-tae and Nielsen plot the course. Agreement reached, Kyung-tae paid $5,336 total: two-hour flights for four, temp licenses, hot springs and BBQ extras, gun rentals with unlimited ammo, plus a voluntary 15% tip they hadn't even asked for.
Nielsen happily issued the receipt.
"You won't regret this—I guarantee it."
Kyung-tae kept schmoozing the crew. From the chatter, most were Awakened with primitive magic who'd lost jobs to recession—family men. Nielsen, pitying them, restructured as a for-profit, pitched high-risk hunts. A few execs liquidated assets; state/fed loans built the base.
Ever the actor, Kyung-tae teared up at their tales.
Then one hunter approached with a tray of steaming paper cups.
"Cocoa, folks?"
Aimed at me, but his eyes flicked to Suyeon beside me—despite her balaclava covering nose to nape. Guess those eyes were enough.
I took a cup, sipping hot sweetness. Steam fogged my dark shades. Suyeon politely waved it off, disheartening the kid; our security guy murmured thanks and sipped his.
I addressed the deflated hunter.
"Heard the gist, but three helos? Impressive. Used, that's at least a mil each, right?"
"Ah."
He shrugged.
"Two were investments. Only bought the small one's parked there outright. Still, $8K monthly for ten years."
"Investments? In helos?"
"Yeah. Big leader bird? Gov loaned it from military surplus for high-risk hunts. Other one's from local bigwig Thomas Finner—profit share."
"Lucky break."
"Three birds make a formation."
"Huh?"
He blinked.
"Our boss said the same."
"Obvious if you think."
"...Yeah?"
Two points make a line; three, a triangle—the minimal plane. Worlds apart for enclosing or surrounding. Especially mobile helos.
Meaning Pioneer Hunters could drive hunts solo, no allies needed.
Light choppers are solid investments.
Not black market—legal demand surge prediction. Awakened beasts were just starting. Soon, manufacturers couldn't keep up. Split names across firms, order ~100 units; when lightweight demand explodes, flip orders at premium. Decent ROI in 1-2 years. Hoard gov surplus too.
Plenty of money plays—which wisest? Tough call.
The hunter glanced elsewhere.
"Rest of the guests."
Three helos, one hunter per passenger: six seats open. Leader bird bigger, but Nielsen loaded it with spares and rescue gear—solid prep.
Our four left two seats. Twenty minutes to takeoff: a sunglassed couple arrived. Jack and Nielsen's vibe toward them? Icy compared to us.
"Off the record..." The kid whispered en route back, hand to mouth. "Their bird handles dullest drive duty. Usually rotate, but those cheapskates whined nonstop—'others cheaper, discount!' Gear-blind hagglers. Nearly lost it."
"Why not tell 'em to buzz off?"
"Did."
"And?"
"Screamed about gov-subsidized gouging, threatened complaints... Nearly shot 'em in rage. New biz—couldn't risk the stink, so caved."
Bold idiots, mouthing off to armed militia.
Recognizing risk scales with intellect—a brain function. Rephrasing it didn't change facts.