The worn out trailer rolled slowly into the city, pulled by a truck that had seen better days. The caravan’s arrival was announced by a trumpeting of guttural noises that teetered between human and animal. The stink of musk and feces masked the stench of factory pollution. The hunters, smelling of their own fear, covered their mouths and noses to keep from breathing it all in. It was clear from the way they rocked back and forth on the balls of their feet that they were nervous. It was also clear by the way they kept looking over their shoulders that they were involved in something illegal.

"This better be worth what we paid, Teddy," one of the businessmen said to the leader of the group. "And you better stick your neck out for us if something goes wrong here."

Teddy ran a hand through his spiky red hair and tried to stay calm. These guys worried about everything. "Don’t sweat it, Leonard. You’ll get your money’s worth, and nothing will go wrong unless you screw it up. Everything’s under control. Trust me."

"And if something does go wrong? What then?"

Teddy gritted his teeth and took a deep breath. "If it does, there are plenty of cops who owe me favors that would look the other way at least once. I’ve done the same for them on occasion. That’s the reason you hired me in the first place. You needed somebody on the inside. Are you questioning your own judgment now?"

Leonard Richards, stock broker and connoisseur of the finer things in life, smoothed his hunting jacket and shook his head, satisfied with Teddy’s reassurances. The other guys seemed to loosen up when Leonard did.

Normally accustomed to the opulence of their private hunting club which was equipped with a wet bar, big screen television, and sauna, the hunters in Leonard’s group rarely ventured to this side of town where back alley abortions and high-dollar drug deals were common. They felt this class of society was beneath them. They were also afraid of getting shot or mugged. Tonight was different. Each of them carried high-powered hunting rifles loaded for big game. No thug in his right mind would try to jack their vehicles or talk smack.

Hoping to ease his own jittery nerves, Teddy lit a cigarette and inhaled the pungent smoke. Leonard stared at him with contempt. "Those things’ll kill ya, you know."

Teddy smiled and took another drag. "I would have charged more if I had known you were going to nag like my ex-wife."

"Your funeral," Leonard said, shrugging his shoulders as the truck grumbled to a stop. The things inside the trailer, however, continued to grumble after the engine died. Whatever they were, they were clearly unhappy.

After several minutes of quiet anticipation, the door to the old Ford swung open. The man that emerged looked like he had stepped out of another time in history when gunfights at high noon were an acceptable method of problem solving.

The leather he wore might have been stylish and eye-catching at one time. Now, it was faded and weathered. Yet despite the way he was dressed there was a shine in the man’s eyes that made you forget everything else but the hunt. His gaze was alive with fire and electricity. It was a look that could be found in the eyes of any successful tent revival evangelist. It was a look that demanded conversion.

"You gotta be kidding me," Leonard said. "Frankie, get a load of this guy! I didn’t know we were working with Indiana Jones. I shoulda brought my bullwhip and my chaps."

"If you did that your wife and her boyfriend wouldn't have anything to play with while you're at work," Frankie quipped.

Leonard scowled as the men laughed and clutched their rifles tightly. "Bite me, Frankie."

"Gentlemen," the leather-clad man interrupted as he walked toward the rear of one of the wagons. "I suspect you’re ready to get started. My name is Captain Jack Omaha. You have hired me to provide you with the experience of a lifetime. I will make good on my end of the bargain. I assume that Mr. Archer has explained to you how this normally works. You are here to hunt. I am here with your prey."

The hunters grumbled and pretended to make adjustments to their guns. Excusing himself from the group, Omaha opened the door to the trailer, and stepped inside. The hunters could hear him cursing the beast they would be chasing and fighting with it. The creature obviously realized that its fate was close at hand.

The hunters looked at each other uncertainly.

Without warning Omaha dragged the creature out of the trailer and onto the dirty pavement. It roared with pain and embarrassment. The alley suddenly seemed much too quiet and much too small.

"My God, what is that thing?" Leonard asked, taking a cautious step back.

"It looks like your mother before she shaved her back," Frankie said around a mouthful of chewing gum. "Or maybe it's one of Kemper's ex-girlfriends." "Kinda reminds me of your toupee, Frankie," Kemper fired back, drawing a dirty look from his buddy. "What’s the gag?"

"No gag," Omaha said.

"Whatever," Kemper said. "I’ll pretend to be scared."

"You don’t take this seriously, I presume," Omaha said.

"How am I supposed to take this seriously?"

"I thought you knew the terms of the agreement."

Kemper shrugged his shoulders. "Well, yeah. I understood it all right. But this isn’t what I expected."

"So what did you expect?"

"Not this," Kemper said, unwilling to elaborate.

The beast growled to show its agitation and strained against its chains. Despite his doubts, Kemper jumped back in surprise.

Teddy was also taken aback by the creature’s horrific appearance, but he was secretly delighted at the fear and loathing it brought out in these suit-and-tie types. He wasn’t used to dealing with this kind of beast on a daily basis, but he'd encountered his fair share of monsters over the years. And monsters, as he'd learned, could look like almost anything: the crack dealer on the corner of Westborough and Fifth, his ex-wife, or something like this which was all claws and teeth and rage. Given his experience, Teddy considered himself to be an expert on the subject.

Even without the overhanging blanket of smog, it would have been difficult to discern anything about the nature of the beast other than the hatred in its eyes. The hunters had certainly never seen anything like it before. They all looked at each other uncertainly, wondering what they had gotten themselves into.

Omaha smiled. It was clear that he was used to this sort of reaction. "This is what you will be chasing," he said. "I caught him in the mountains of Wyoming, and let me tell you from experience that he’ll definitely prove a challenge." He unfastened three buttons on his shirt to show a nasty white scar that snaked across his chest.

Omaha’s battle wound seemed to get the men’s attention, giving them a concrete reason to be afraid. Frankie smacked his gum a little too loudly. Kemper chewed his thumbnail down to the quick, drawing blood. Leonard, meanwhile, wasted no time fishing a cigar out of his hunting vest. The match wavered a little as he brought the flame to the Havana. His hands were shaking. He leaned his rifle against the wall of the alley and thrust his hands into his pockets to hide his unease.

The beast was covered in a coarse black hair and smelled like musk and decaying meat. It growled at the hunters once, reminding them to keep a firm grip on their rifles. Then it jerked violently against the chains that bound it. The hunters jumped in surprise and took a few steps back. It was clear they hadn't been prepared to chase this sort of creature down dark streets and shadow-filled alleyways. These were city men who had convinced themselves that they were just as tough as the men who grew up on farms, hunted to put food on the table, and could survive off the land if hard times required it. These were men who were sadly mistaken.

"Teddy, is this some kind of joke?" Leonard asked. "Please tell me this is your way of being a wise guy."

"Does it look like a joke, Leonard?" Teddy asked. Men like Leonard were bold until it came time to act. Questioning everything was just Leonard’s way of forestalling the inevitable. In actuality it just made him look like a little boy running scared.

Times like these made Teddy proud to be a blue-collar guy. Cops weren’t all that well respected anymore, but despite the vast difference in income, Teddy felt like he was the richest among them right now. He could take care of himself if times got tough. These men couldn’t. For once in his life, Teddy Archer felt like he was the one with the upper hand.

After several seconds of listening to the men grumble and express their discontent, Teddy gave Omaha an exasperated look that seemed to say, "I know these guys are a bunch of pansiesl." Omaha gave Teddy a little wink that seemed to confer a special knowledge about these kinds of men. Quite likely, Omaha encountered hunters like this on a fairly regular basis and was used to it by now.

The beast, however, was not accustomed to any of this. Despite its size and menacing appearance, there was a glassy shine to its eyes that softened the threat of its claws and teeth.

"It looks a little like Chewbacca," Kemper observed. "What is it called?"

Omaha took a step toward the creature and prodded it with his boot. It took a lethargic swipe at him with a clawed hand. The monster hunter dodged it easily.

"I hesitate to name it because you won’t take it as seriously as you should. You’ll think of it in movie terms and consider it to be less of a threat than it actually is. Why don't we just leave him nameless for now."

"We’re not here to get ripped off, Omaha," Frankie said. "I paid you $10,000 to join this hunting trip. I want my money’s worth."

The others grumbled in agreement. The mention of money was what got their attention.

Omaha shifted his tobacco to the other side of his mouth and muttered an obscenity under his breath. "I understand your concern," he said. "But realize that I’ve got a lot of satisfied customers to back me up. If you're scared it's perfectly respectable. This is a very dangerous beast you're going to be hunting. There's no shame in being a little cautious. I’d be scared too if I were you. That’s part of what makes this exciting. That’s part of what you’re paying for."

"We're not scared of the muppet, just of getting scammed by a wise guy like you," Kemper said. The camouflage pants he wore looked strangely at odds with his clean-cut baby face. He couldn't have looked any less like a hunter if he'd been wearing a tie-dyed t-shirt and Birkenstocks.

"We know you’ve got some guy dressed up in a suit," Frankie added, eyeing the beast with suspicion.

Omaha had learned to anticipate such a reaction. There was no possible way these men could ever understand the kind of danger they would be in once the hunt was underway. "How about sticking your hand into the beast’s mouth then," he suggested. "If it’s just a man in a suit, you’ll still be able to type up your spreadsheets with ease. If the creature is authentic then you may be reverting to the hunt-and-peck method. The beast has a certain affinity for fingers, you know?"

Frankie made no move to stick his hand in the creature’s mouth. It was clear that he wasn’t as sure of himself as he pretended to be.

"If you go into this hunt making light of the situation, you’ll all end up dead," Omaha said, eyeing each one of the businessmen carefully. "Fortunately, I took that into account and made some...adjustments on my own. Notice the shine in the beast’s eyes. I gave it a 20cc tranquilizer to sedate it until the time came for the hunt. Without the drug’s numbing effects, it would have already snapped those chains like strands of thread and torn you all to pieces. If you don’t take the threat of those claws seriously now, you most definitely will when the drug wears off and your guts are hanging out like streamers at a birthday party. I tell you this because I don't want to see any of you die. But it will be an inevitable consequence if you don't heed my warning. I’ll not be held responsible for your stupidity. You’ve all signed the waivers. You know I’ll be blameless if something happens to you. I’m off the hook. Your lives are in your own hands now."

"I don’t understand why we had to do this in the city," Kemper spoke up. "Why didn’t we go out into the woods and hunt this thing?"

"Think about it for a minute," Omaha explained. "You’re paying for the thrill of a lifetime. You’re paying for excitement, adventure, all the things that middle-aged guys like you miss. With that in mind, you are hunting in the city for two reasons. One, you have an advantage because it’s a place you know. Two, the possibility of getting caught by the police only adds to the thrill of the hunt."

The men looked from Omaha to the beast and back again, unsure of which one was actually the most deadly.

"Maybe the beast is real," Frankie conceded. The others nodded their heads, even though the truth didn't agree with what their minds kept telling them. The logic of stock options and accounting balances just didn’t apply in this case.

"You'll see just how real he is momentarily" Omaha said.

"Wait," Leonard spoke up. "We’re not trackers. We’re businessmen. How are we supposed to find this thing when you take the chains off and let it go?"

Relieved that the men were finally coming to their senses, Omaha nodded to show he understood their dilemma and pulled out a hunting knife that remedied their problem. With a quick slash the beast was opened up and bleeding. There was a look of raw anger and fear in its yellow eyes. Now, more than ever, it knew the nature of its fate and wasn’t the least bit happy about it. The beast roared in agony and rage.

"You shouldn’t have any trouble following the trail of blood," Omaha said. "Now, why don’t you guys go and have a smoke or something while I give the beast a fighting chance. Meet back here in five minutes. Then we'll get started."

Horrified by what Omaha had done to the creature but feeling a little more at ease because of it, the men did as they were told, going off to puff on expensive cigars and muse about what such a trophy might look like stuffed and mounted in the den. When they returned, the blood trail was much more distinct than that single knife wound could have produced. Undoubtedly, Omaha had done quite a bit more cutting.

The monster hunter smiled at their startled reactions. "The beast’s heart is beating at about three times its normal rate. The drug will be wearing off quickly now as the adrenaline rush kicks in. You guys might want to pick your rifles back up and start the hunt. It's got a head start, but you shouldn't have any trouble catching up to it if you get moving."

At the sight of so much blood the men wasted no time shouldering their rifles. Already they could hear the sound of cars honking their horns about three blocks up. None of them had to ask what had gotten the drivers’ attention.

"You guys really should hurry," Omaha advised them. "The beast was bleeding pretty badly. I’m sure you want to catch him before he collapses from blood loss. My part of the deal is finished now. I caught the beast. It's up to you to kill it."

"Let's go," Leonard said to the rest of the group. "Time to prove that we're more than just a bunch of pretty faces."

The hunters immediately looked to Teddy for guidance. None of them seemed eager to move deeper into the city.

"You guys didn't pay me to go on the hunt with you," he said, holding his hands up in protest. "I've fulfilled my end of the bargain. I'm going to grab a beer. Have fun."

Leonard looked at the dark city and the even darker alleyways that snaked through it like a network of veins and arteries. There was no way to hide the fear in his eyes. "I'll pay you an extra grand to come with us."

"Not interested," Teddy said.

"Fifteen hundred," Leonard said.

"Two grand and that nifty rifle you've got there," Teddy said with a sigh. Leonard nodded in agreement and motioned for Teddy to lead the way.

Teddy sighed and climbed into the driver's seat of Leonard's Hummer. "Looks like we've got ourselves a fur coat to catch."

Soon the cavalcade of Humvees was moving down the unlit streets, spearing the shadows with their high beams and million candle-power spotlights.

The hunt was on.

Omaha smoked a cigarette and checked his watch. A little less than five minutes later he heard the beast howl in pain. The hunters had obviously found it and weren’t content to put it out of its misery without having a little fun first. He didn’t hear the roar of gunfire until several more minutes had passed. Then the wail of sirens broke the ensuing silence.

The monster hunter sat in the dark for a moment, listening to the thrum of the engine and likening it to the beat of a heart. Hearts sometimes stopped, he remembered, through no fault of their own. The engine sputtered in confirmation of that fact. No lesson brought that home with any more certainty than the night that Amber’s heart stopped after The Demon of Algiers found her during the last night of their honeymoon. It was the one thing that made him feel better about what he was about to do.

The truck was nearly at the end of the block when he stopped and ran around to the camper shell. There was another cage in the bed of the truck. He carefully unlocked it and pulled the beast out by the chain around its neck. It had reptilian characteristics, including a scaly crocodilian tail, teeth like shards of broken glass and sharp fins where hands might have been. He remembered just how deadly those fins were, recalling the jagged white scar that ran along the length of one arm, from elbow to wrist.

Omaha laughed to himself. "If only the world knew that the tabloids aren’t wrong about everything. Wait'll those mama's boys get a load of The Dragon of Bone Island."

Carefully keeping his distance from the creature's fins, Omaha took a stack of money out of his jacket pocket and waved it under The Dragon’s nostrils.

"Just follow this scent," he said, "and you’ll find them."

Omaha kept the creature at arm’s length while somehow managing to unlock the chains. Once the shackles clattered to the ground, he wasted no time getting back inside his truck. Unaccustomed to freedom, the creature immediately ran away from the truck and the man inside who had kept it captive for so many months.

It wasn’t long before the screaming and gunfire began again, deep in the heart of the city. The hunters had found their real challenge. Or rather, it had found them.

Taking a pinch of tobacco from his pouch, Omaha consulted his map, tuned the radio to a country/western station, and headed to Crowley's Point, the next town on the route. It was just off the main highway and would bring him within a couple of miles of the campgrounds where the rest of his wagons were being stored. If the research he had done was correct, there was a zoo in Crowley’s Point which made it the perfect place for his next stop.

Something growled from the back of the truck, voicing its disapproval. Omaha ignored the sound and took the Crowley's Point exit anyway. This sleepy little town had no idea what was about to roll through its quiet streets like a living, breathing plague.

It would find out soon enough.