that the Mexican government had just forgotten about a team of American Monster Hunters. They were going to deny that they had ever contacted us. Better that than to admit there were supernatural creatures on their soil. They were probably already spinning some story to cover up the zombie outbreak and I was willing to bet that my team wasn't going to fit in with the official version of events.
'I can show you our copies of the contract, signed by your state governor. All I need is one phone call.'
'I think not. My superiors and the governor's office have already confirmed that they have signed nothing. You are a liar and I'm tiring of this game.'
Options were starting to run thin and I didn't want to spend the rest of my life in a Mexican jail. So I guess that meant it was time to see if the interrogator could handle the truth. 'Okay, I'll talk.'
'I'm waiting.'
I gestured with my head at the other cop. It was the best I could do since my forearms and ankles had been zip-tied to the sturdy chair. 'Does this guy speak English?'
The interrogator held up his thumb and forefinger. 'Un poco, a little.'
My whole body ached. At least if I could get rid of Cop #2 they'd quit hitting me for a while. 'You might want him to wait outside. You don't want what I'm about to tell you to get out, if you know what I mean.'
The interrogator slowly exhaled a thick cloud of smoke. The three of us were in a small, plain room. The only furniture was my chair, his chair, and a cheap plastic table. There was a bloody phonebook, a pair of needle-nose pliers, and a five-gallon bucket of water sitting in the corner. I didn't want to guess what those were for. Finally he gestured for the younger cop to leave. I heard the snap of a crisp salute, and then the opening and closing of the door behind me.
'Any chance we can settle this with some good old-fashioned bribery?' I asked. 'My company's very generous.'
'Mordida? Maybe if I only had one or two bodies. But this many? And half of them Americans? I'm afraid not. You see, someone must be executed for this. Tell me what I want to know, and it might not be you.'
'Gotcha. Figured as much, but you never know until you ask. I didn't think you had the death penalty here.'
He shrugged. 'There is the unofficial death penalty. So let us continue, Senor Pitt. Who are you?'
'I work for a company called Monster Hunter International. We're based out of Alabama. We specialize in discreetly handling monster-related problems.' He stared at me blankly. 'Monsters… For example we were paid to come here to deal with a pack of goat-suckers.'
'Chupacabras?' he asked slowly.
'Yes. A few weeks ago, some hikers were killed at the resort, and once those things taste people, they don't go back. We were hired because it was thought more deaths would be detrimental to tourism.' I suppose a massive zombie attack rendered that a moot point. 'The company I work for is considered the best in the world when it comes to dealing with things like this.'
'I see… and the reason that I have never heard of this is.. ' His voice betrayed no emotion.
'Government-mandated secrecy. Those of us who have monster experience are usually warned by the authorities to keep our mouths shut. That has been the policy for forever. If the regular population were to know that all of the stuff from the myths, and the fairy tales, and the bad movies was real, well, you can imagine the panic and the trouble it would cause.'
'And you believe this?'
I paused. I didn't know if he asked if I believed in the government's policies, or if I believed in what I was just telling him. I decided to run with the first option. 'No, I think the policy is stupid. People should know the truth. Instead, to keep the problem in check, most governments have some sort of system to keep the unnatural populations down. In my country there is a bounty system administered by the Treasury Department. It's called PUFF.'
'Puff?'
'Perpetual Unearthly Forces Fund. It pays money to any private citizen who kills a monster on the PUFF list. My company specializes in working the PUFF list, and also in private contracts from municipalities, companies, and private individuals, like your wealthy resort owners. See, lots of important people know about monsters, but they have to keep it on the down low, if you know what I mean. So they call people like us. Let's see, PUFF was started by Teddy Roosevelt, uh… he was our president back in-'
'I know who Theodore Roosevelt was. I attended UCLA.'
'Go Trojans,' I said.
'You're thinking of the wrong school.' He sighed and rubbed his temple with his fingers. 'Please continue…'
'I guess you don't want to hear the history of professional Monster Hunting…'
He casually examined the end of his burning cigarette. 'No, I really want to know about last night.' He glanced absently at his watch. 'Fourteen hours ago. What happened at the hotel. There were many deaths, and I wish to know why.'
'That was not our doing.'
'I have witnesses who saw you chopping people up with a machete.'
'Those weren't people. Those were zombies.'
'Zombies…'
'Yes. The walking dead. The man who created them, the man you are looking for is an Englishman.' I proceeded to give him a rough description of the real villain. I didn't know what the Englishman was, but he'd been there for me, which meant that the carnage at the hotel was partially my fault. 'Bastard works for the Old Ones,' I muttered under my breath.
'What is an Old One, Senor Pitt?' The interrogator casually reached under his chair and pulled out a manila file folder.
Screw it. It was obvious he thought I was nuts, might as well give him a good reason. I just needed to stay in one piece long enough for my team to find me. 'They're a race of ancient creatures. Evil and ugly.'
He pulled an ornate pen from his pocket and began to make notes in the folder. 'And how will we know when we find these Old Ones?'
My father had always warned me that I didn't know when to shut up. 'The real thing? They're hard to miss. The ones you have to worry about are their servants. Last summer…' I caught myself.
'Last summer what?'
I shrugged. He already thought I was a complete whackadoo, so what did I have to lose? Crazy prisoners probably got their own cells. I was guessing that you wouldn't stick them out with the regular population. 'Remember last summer, with the missing five minutes?'
'Yes,' he replied. Of course he did. Everybody on Earth had experienced it. Five minutes of time had been erased as if they had never existed. It had caused a global panic. People had instantly found themselves where they had been five minutes before, but with the memory of what had transpired during that missing time still intact. Pandemonium ensued. Thousands had been born twice, others had died twice, and others still, like myself, had died, only to have those moments erased to be given another chance.
'That was caused by the Old Ones. Last summer, one of their minions arranged for them to break into this world.'
'And did these… Old Ones… succeed?'
I snorted. 'Of course not. If they had, you would have known it. But that rift in time, the missing five minutes, was caused by somebody screwing around with one of their ancient artifacts.' I didn't mention that that had been me, or that apparently I was the only human in the world with the ability to do so. They had manipulated me in the hopes that I would open the door for them, and they had almost succeeded.
The interrogator leaned back heavily in his chair. 'Scientists are now saying that it had something to do with solar radiation. Increased activity causing a distortion in the atmosphere, along with psychological delusions of missing time caused by imbalances in our brain chemistry.'
'Yeah, I saw that on the Discovery Channel too, but I'm telling you, it was the Old Ones. That was no delusion. Those things are out there, and they are some bad mothers. This guy with the zombies, he works for them, and if he works for them, then we've got a serious problem on our hands.'
'Do we?' He continued writing. From my zip-tied vantage point, I couldn't see what his notes said, but I was
