Matt Archer: Monster Hunter (Matt Archer #1) (26 page)

Sitting in the middle of Jorge’s hut, getting painted with
mud by the light of a camping lantern, wasn’t how I thought the hunting party
would start.

“Um, Jorge, are you sure this is gonna work?” I asked.

He put the finishing touches on a symbol on my right
shoulder in the thick, gloppy mud. “These symbols offer protection against
evil. Considering how well the knives work, maybe you ought to trust me. What
do you have to lose?”

“Our self-respect,” Ramirez muttered. He shifted
uncomfortably, his chest and face decorated with mud-birds, whorls and lines.
“Just make sure the troops don’t see me like this.”

“Put your camo on if it bothers you, Major. The symbols
still work even if you cover them up.” Jorge said, dabbing five random
splotches onto my back.

“What’s up with the dots?” I asked. The paintbrush tickled
and the drying mud had started to itch right between my shoulder blades.

“Paying tribute to the four elements and the spirits who
govern them,” Jorge said. He drew a line of mud under each of my eyes, like a
football player would before a game. “There, that should do it. All right, I
set the trap this afternoon. Everyone understands the plan?”

We nodded.

He sprang to his feet then knotted his rope belt around the
waistband of his khaki pants, knife sheathed at his side. When he smiled, the
dried mud on his face cracked a little and dust drifted onto his bare, painted
chest. “Gentlemen, shall we?”

Just like we were going for a stroll. This dude was insane.
A genius, maybe, but insane. Ramirez quirked an eyebrow and pulled his t-shirt
on.

We walked into the jungle under a clouded sky, unarmed
except for our knives. I went without my t-shirt, just like Jorge. Wearing only
camo pants, boots, mud and bug spray, I followed the two men through the dense
plants. The night was pitch-dark around us, so Ramirez and I turned on our
night-vision goggles. Jorge moved on silent feet without any light to guide his
way. He led us to a small trail running through the dead center of the Gator
hunting grounds.

“Stop here,” Jorge whispered. He backed me against a tree.
“Stay quiet. I will call them.”

He lined Ramirez up against a tree directly across from
mine. Once we were set, he melted into the shadows against a third tree,
putting the three of us in a forty-yard wide triangle around the trail. The
leaves rustled. Muggy heat sat on me like a blanket. Crickets, frogs, cicada
bugs and birds twittered and chirped the night away.

Over the natural jungle sounds, I heard a raspy voice
speaking Spanish in guttural tones. Jorge was calling the Gators. Soon they’d
come. The last three. And the big Gator would come for me. Sweat trickled down
my back, probably taking mud with it. The knife hummed in a soothing way. Words
like mist formed in my head.

Your
strength is mine.

My eyelids grew heavy, closing on their own. Armies of dark
shadows, indistinct and impenetrable, swarmed across an endless plain of sand
burned white in the strong light of day. A small group raced toward the black
mass in seven Humvees; soldiers wearing desert camo. At the head of the
caravan, a young, dark-haired man leaned out the passenger window of the lead
truck, holding my knife in his right hand. A tiny pentagram was tattooed onto
his wrist. He turned his head. A flash of blue eyes, darkened with fury…

I jerked against the tree. The knife buzzed my fingers again
and I stood up straight because in that moment I knew.

I had a long road to travel and it didn’t end in the jungle.

Everything started falling silent. The birds stopped singing
first. Then the frogs quieted down. Finally, the bugs hushed. A large shape
crept along the trail between our trees, followed by two others.

“¿Dónde estás?” a Gator croaked.

“Me has encontrado. Bueno,” another croaking voice answered.
Jorge’s imitation of a lost Gator was eerily good as he thanked them for
finding him.

The three Gators huddled together. “¿Estás herido? ¿Era el
chico?”

“No estoy herido,” Jorge croaked in reply. “But the boy
is
here. Now, Matt!”

I clicked a lighter and lit the fuse Jorge had laid earlier
in the day. The flame ignited a slow burning powder, ringing the beasts in a
circle of fire. I stepped into the light, blade drawn. Ramirez and Jorge
appeared, materializing out of the shadows, and drew their blades, too.

The Gators separated, like gladiators who knew they had no
escape save victory. The big one pointed at the knife in my hand. “Cuchillos!
Matar o morir, amigos.”

The sound of its voice sent me spiraling back to the night I
almost died. I could feel its breath on my face, hear the rasp of its chuckle
as it held its claws over my chest. My entire body started to shake and my grip
on the knife’s handle loosened. I hesitated just outside the fire ring, unsure
if I could do this. I failed before. Would I fail again?

Do you
trust in the blade?
Jorge’s voice seemed to bubble up from
nowhere.
Do you trust
yourself with its power?

That’s what it came down to, wasn’t it? How much did I
believe? Would I accept this power and allow it to shape me as it saw fit? And
if I did, what would happen to me? Would I be able to finish this fight?

So many questions, and the Gators wouldn’t wait for me to
decide. I was balanced on the edge of my knife; one slip, and I’d fall the
wrong direction.

Flashes of the last six months ran through my mind; of me
getting stronger, faster, better. Some of that was the knife. But some of it
was me. I wasn’t a monster-killing machine only because of the knife. Not
entirely. Part of that power came from the blade-spirit, but also because I
augmented its power. Because I allowed us to be two parts of one whole.

And I wanted to be whole.

Strength surged up my arm, into my chest, into my soul.
Right then, I understood I’d passed a final test. My connection to the spirit
solidified into something permanent and, with its help, I would become a
weapon. I didn’t need to be afraid in the dark. Not tonight.

Filled with strength and righteous rage, I forgot about the
other wielders and jumped through the fire ring first. Ramirez called out for me
to wait, to stop. But I wouldn’t. This fight was mine. I’d show that big Gator
I wasn’t weak.

All my thoughts focused on a single objective: kill the big
Gator and end this thing. No obstacle would stand in my way. Not even the other
two Gators. They leapt at me, snarling, claws out. Ramirez screamed something
and ran my direction, but he didn’t make it in time.

In the blink of an eye, my arm swung out, slashing one
through the chest, cutting the other’s throat. They dropped to the ground and
Ramirez skidded to a halt, staring at the bodies, then at me, his eyes wide
with astonishment.

I ignored him and turned to the big Gator. “You ready for
me?”

With a rasping, derisive chuckle, the Gator rasped, “Matar o
morir, chico!”

Kill or
die.

I raised the blade over my head. “You might want to rethink
that because I’m not planning on losing this fight. Not this time.”

The Gator froze, staring at me with what could’ve been
surprise. Then it turned and fled the fire ring at top speed.

I took off after it, slashing at the vines and plants
blocking my path. The Gator was having an easier time making its way. It had
dropped on all fours and slithered through the jungle up ahead like a snake in
a field of tall grass. I’d never outrun it, not in its own hunting grounds. My
only chance would be to corner it somewhere, but I didn’t know the terrain well
enough, so I kept running. Filled with grim purpose, I knew I’d find that Gator
if I had to run forever.

The monster was almost out of sight when a series of blue
sparks exploded across the jungle to my right. For a moment, the Gator popped
up on two feet, then dodged left.

The sparks could only have come from one person. Jorge was
herding it somewhere.

I changed course and followed the big Gator. Every time it
pulled away, sparks would flare up and it would turn away from the light,
allowing me a little time to catch up. It wasn’t quite enough, though; even
with Jorge’s help, I was wearing out. A stitch pinched my rib cage, I wheezed
like I had emphysema and my steps slowed more and more the farther we ran. I
wouldn’t be able to keep up much longer. Only sheer will kept me on my feet.

Just when I thought I’d collapse from exhaustion, the Gator
stopped short and turned to make a stand. I barreled ahead, thinking it was
about time to finish this fight, not seeing the danger. I didn’t register the
black ribbon yawning through the earth behind the Gator until I’d almost run
out of ground; it had stopped right at the edge of a gorge cut deep into the
jungle floor. A gorge that seemed to have the intention of swallowing me whole.

I pulled up, skidding, praying I’d slow enough, but it was
no use—the ground sloped down sharply and gravity dragged me along. There was
nothing for it; I was going over the edge.

The big Gator flung its arms wide and laughed its terrible
laugh. “Morir!”

The knife buzzed urgently, reminding me, demanding I find a
way to change my fate.

I had a long road. And it didn’t end in the jungle.

I sprang upward and whipped the knife over my head, catching
the blade on vines hanging from the trees growing at the edge of the cliff.
Grabbing one in my left hand, I swung out. It felt like I was flying in slow
motion and my next move became crystal clear in a split second.

As the vine was beginning its upswing, I had just enough
momentum to kick the Gator in the midsection with both feet. With a shriek, it
wrapped a hand around my thigh, digging in with one of its talons. Blood
coursed through my BDUs and my hand slipped down the vine, muscles cramping
under the monster’s pull even as it flailed with its free arm to keep its feet
on the ground.

It didn’t end here, my brain insisted. Not in the jungle.
The knife’s handle flashed in agreement.
Don’t let go.

I shuddered at the sound of that alien whisper. No, don’t
think about where the voice came from. Deal with that later. Just don’t let go.
Make the
Gator
let go.

I slashed down, cutting the Gator’s hand off at the wrist
before I lost my grip on the vine. I reached the peak of my swing and the
monster’s body was flung out over the gorge. The beast didn’t make a sound,
glaring at me with hate-filled eyes as it fell to its death.

I swung back to the edge of the cliff and let go of the
vine. My left leg buckled under me; I fell on my ass with a graceless thump and
blood trickled down my thigh where the monster’s talon was still embedded.
After working the severed hand loose, I threw it into the gorge, then lay on my
back to catch my breath. The Tarzan moment couldn’t have taken more than six
seconds, but it felt like hours had passed. Lightheaded from blood loss, I
tugged off one of my boots and tied my sock around my thigh to staunch the
bleeding. I needed help, that much was for sure; tired or not, I couldn’t just
lay here. I stood slowly, then started limping back toward camp.

Not even two minutes later, Jorge appeared on the trail,
Ramirez following behind. Jorge glanced at my leg, then met my eyes. “You
finish the job?”

Not bothering to wonder at Jorge’s preternatural ability for
knowing exactly where I was at all times, I sat down on the ground and let out
a long breath. “Yeah. Yeah, I finished the job.”

* * *

Friday morning brought the helicopter, and it was time for
me to go if we wanted to keep Mom in the dark. In a hurry to make my good-byes,
I caught up with Ramirez as he walked on guard duty.

“Archer, it was good to meet you.” Ramirez answered my
salute, then pulled me into a bear-hug. “Thanks to you and Jorge, we get to
leave Peru in a few weeks. Colonel Black agreed to give us a month’s leave
before he sends us to Australia.” He clapped me on the back hard and let me go.

I flushed. “Thanks, sir.”

“Hey, I want to show you something.” He grabbed my arm and
steered me toward camp.

The team was moving back to its original position closer to
the helipad. Johnson barked orders this way and that as the soldiers worked to
crate up gear and tear down the tents. Ramirez led me to Jorge’s hut.

“Take a look,” he said.

I knocked on the wall next to the door opening, then pushed
the curtain aside. The hut was empty, nothing left but a small lump sitting in
the exact center of the dirt floor. I whirled around to Ramirez.

“He’s gone! He was here last night when we all went to bed.”

“No one on watch saw him leave, either.” The major pointed
at the lump on the floor. “I think he left that for you, though.”

A scrap of fabric covered something hard, half-buried in the
dirt. I dug it free and brought it out into the sunlight to see it better. An
arrowhead. It was made of gray stone, rough-hewn and shaped into a sharp point.

Ramirez looked at it over my shoulder. “Nice.”

I turned the arrowhead over in my hand. “W” was etched onto
its middle section…or maybe it was an “M.” It depended on which end was up. But
I knew, whichever way I turned it, Jorge had left it for me.

Matt Archer, the warrior.

I landed in Billings on Friday afternoon. No fighter jet
this time—I flew in the passenger seating area of a cargo jet from Iquitos to
Colorado. After a debrief with Colonel Black at Fort Carson, I flew commercial
from Colorado Springs to Billings on Saturday morning. The sergeant sent to be
my escort walked me to my gate, then I was on my own. I spent the flight
watching the clouds float by. That was easier than trying to sort through
everything that had happened in the last week. I’d rest up first, then I’d deal
with the questions about my future…and the unfamiliar voice that had started
quietly whispering in my head every so often. Yeah, I’d face that later.

When the seatbelt sign turned off after I arrived home, I
gathered up my backpack and the knife. The Army had cut a deal somewhere,
getting me a permit to bring the knife on the plane. Sure, it rested in a
six-by-six-by-fourteen lockbox sealed with red safety tape, but at least my
friendly ancient spirit didn’t have to ride in the luggage compartment.

It felt weird to leave the airplane by myself. I’d never
flown alone, so I followed the adults as the crowd worked its way through the
doors to baggage claim. When I exited the terminal, my shoulders relaxed. Mamie,
Will and Ella were waiting. All of them started my way, but Mamie took off
running, beating everyone to the punch. She threw her arms around my neck,
nearly suffocating me with her quilted pea-coat.

“You had me scared out of my mind!” she cried. “Thank God
you’re home!”

I raised my eyebrows at Will over Mamie’s shoulder. He
crossed his arms and glared at me, like he was aggravated that I’d worried her.
“Sorry, Mamie. I really am.”

Mamie pulled away and wiped her eyes. “It wasn’t your fault,
Matt.”

Will squeezed her shoulder and she stepped aside. “Dude,
next time? Make sure you bring me. I’m a better wingman than those Green
Berets. I could’ve kept you out of trouble with just my flashlight.”

He smiled, but I knew he was serious. And seriously pissed
that I’d gotten hurt so badly. “Yeah, I’ll keep that in mind.”

Ella hung back, watching our little reunion. She was an
amazing sight in a short, plaid skirt, tights and cardigan. I hoped I wasn’t
drooling while I checked her out.

Mamie broke into my daydream, saying, “You know, I think
I’ll go get the car. Matt doesn’t need to walk so far in the cold.” She nodded
at Will. “I don’t know how to work all those buttons on your Mom’s Mercedes.
Why don’t you come with me?”

“Oh, uh, yeah. Sure,” he said. With his back to Ella, he
mouthed, “have fun,” and gave me a thumbs up before following Mamie.

Ella and I drifted away from the luggage belt to sit on the
plastic chairs bolted to the floor near the windows. I knew Mamie would drag
out finding the car, so we had some time to catch up.

“Some spring break, huh?” Ella reached for my hand and ran
her thumb across the greenish bruises that hadn’t faded from my knuckles.
“You’re a brave guy, Matt.”

Here I was, a country-hopping, world-saving monster hunter,
and those five words made my head spin. “I kind of have to be. Long story, but
maybe we can have lunch tomorrow, so I can tell you all about it.”

But how would I explain I had to fight dark spirits and save
the human race without sounding all melodramatic? My new job might be the kind
of thing that made a girlfriend run. A new thought occurred to me then; would
being a wielder mean I’d have to isolate myself from the people I cared about?
Would it mean I’d have to be alone?

A thread of a voice, coming from somewhere deep in my mind,
answered.
You will never be
alone. I am here. Always.

I drew a sharp breath. Always?

Ella must’ve seen the concern on my face because she
squeezed my hand. “Mamie told us some of it already, about what happened in
Peru. Whatever I can do to help, count me in.” She laughed. “Except for Bear
hunting. I draw the line at coming anywhere close to one of those things
again.”

I shook off the knife’s response and smiled at Ella. “
I
draw the line at
you coming anywhere close to one of those things again, too. They’re just about
finished off, anyway. Will and I killed twelve, so there’s probably only one
left. One last hunt ought to do it.” I kissed her forehead. “All this stuff is
a little hard to wrap my brain around. Guess I’ll figure it out as I go.”

“You will. I knew you were special. I’ve known that for a
long time.” Ella brushed her cheek against mine and my face flushed hot.
“That’s why I chased you down at the lock-in. I’m not usually that…aggressive.”

I laughed and felt a little bit of the burden I carried lift
from my shoulders. “Given that you’ve seen me face off with an eight-foot-tall
Sasquatch, you should know aggressive doesn’t bother me. Really, feel free to
be ‘aggressive’ any time you want.” I grinned down at her, thrilled to see
those green eyes staring back at me. “Now would be good.”

We got in a good five minutes of kissing before Mamie pulled
up. I wasn’t quite ready to let Ella go, but I owed my sister too much to keep
her waiting. Ella stood and tugged me to my feet. We headed outside to the
passenger loading lane. The cool wind, after all my days in the jungle, felt
like a sock in the jaw. Mamie rolled down her window when she saw us coming.

“Nice wheels.” I asked. Brent’s Toyota was a piece of junk
next to Mrs. Cruessan’s S-class Mercedes.

“Well, we wanted to drive you home in style.” Mamie adjusted
the rearview mirror and clamped her hands to the steering wheel. “We’ll drop
Ella off on the way. Then you’ll need to call home from Will’s, acting like you
just got back from Aspen. Mom thinks you have bruised ribs, by the way, from
ramming into a tree while hot-dogging on a black diamond course. Best plan we
could make to keep up the scam.”

“Mamie, for someone so sweet and honest, you’re better at
this cover story stuff than I am,” I said. “Thanks. For everything.”

Will leaned forward and winked. “I called shotgun.”

I held the car door open for Ella, grinning at him over the
top of her head. Will made a good wingman.

“Shouldn’t I be helping
you
into the car since you got stabbed a
few days ago?” Ella asked.

“Nah, I’m good.” I climbed in and showed her my new scar,
which had healed into a thin, white line. “See, just a scratch.”

Ella ran her fingers along my side, whispering, “Girls like
battle scars…you know that, right?”

I took a chance we weren’t being watched and kissed her. “I
was counting on it.”

That night, I ate dinner at home. Mom served meatloaf while
arguing with Brent about cleaning up his room. Mamie asked when she’d be
getting her own car. Mom wanted all the details about my “ski trip.” Brent
talked about the Washington State football training camp he’d go to over the
summer. I listened to every word, soaking it all in. I’d never really
appreciated how wonderfully normal my life was.

Time to pay more attention.

* * *

Just before school let out for summer break, Colonel Black
called to ask if Mamie could drive me to the airport early the following
Saturday morning.

“General Richardson, the senior officer for the entire
monster program, wants to meet you. He’s coming to Fort Carson this weekend.
Think you can sneak away for the day?”

“Of course,” I said.

I knew I should enjoy the slow times. Who knew when I’d get
the next timeout in this game of chicken with the forces of evil? The monsters
might be gone, but the war wasn’t over, not by a long-shot. Now that Will and I
had taken out the last Bear, though, I was antsy for a little action, even if
it was only meeting a General. So I flew to Colorado aboard a Black Hawk,
laughing when I realized I was bored halfway through the flight. Kind of weird
the things I took for granted now.

After I arrived at Fort Carson, Colonel Black brought me
into the office General Richardson was borrowing from the base commander. It
had dark wood paneling and smelled like forty-year-old cigarette smoke. The general
sat behind a huge, green metal desk, chewing on an unlit cigar which added its
own aroma to the stale tobacco smell.

I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to salute indoors so I just
stuck out my hand as he stood up to greet us. General Richardson wasn’t very
tall, but his presence more than made up for it. So did his head—it was way too
big for his body. He had a big voice, too, and he used it. He pumped my hand
harder than necessary, booming out, “Matt Archer! Darn good to meet you, darn
good. Have a seat, young man.”

I rubbed my ears, which were ringing from all the bellowing.
“Thank you, sir.”

The colonel and I plopped down into dark-red leather chairs
with wooden arms that were filled in with matching leather panels, like the
ones you see in fancy restaurants. The colonel crossed his legs. I copied him. If
I was talking to the brass, I should do things right.

“So, you ever been to the Australian Outback?” General
Richardson asked.

My pulse sped up. “No, sir, but I’ve always wanted to go.”

“Thought that might be the case,” the general said. “We need
your help. Your mother is going to get a visit next week. One of my people will
come meet with her, claiming you’ve been selected for a gifted-and-talented
program through the school district, and that you’ve won an all-expense-paid
trip to Sydney. Don’t worry, we’ll make it look legit—website, references, the
whole bit. We’re pretty good at these things, you know, and the man I’m sending
to speak with her can play the part well. I think you know him—Specialist
Davis?”

I tried to swallow a laugh and made myself cough. Colonel
Black whacked me on the back. “Archer knows Davis, sir. He conducted Archer’s
equipment training last fall, and he’s the right man for the job. Thoroughly
believable as a straight-laced educator.”

“Complete with the stick up his butt,” I whispered. The
colonel gave me a sideways glance and I canned it.

“Anyway, you’ll ship out in July,” General Richardson
continued. “We’re planning on a month-long op. The Australian Army will provide
some military support, but Major Ramirez’s team will deploy with you, along
with Lieutenant Johnson and Master Sergeant Schmitz.”

“And Cruessan,” I said, thinking fast. “Will comes this
time. I’m sure Specialist Davis can convince his parents, too.”

He’d earned this trip as much as I had. I figured asking if
Ella could come along, sharing my tent of course, would be pushing it. But
Will? Will was going, or I wasn’t.

Colonel Black jumped in. “Cruessan has been a very effective
assistant to Archer. If we want to finish the Dingoes off fast, then we need
everyone.” He glanced at me and raised his eyebrows once. “These boys are a
part of my team, sir. Cruessan should go. Besides, it would give us a chance to
put him through some formal training, like we did for Archer.”

The general steepled his fingers together and rocked back
and forth in his big chair. “All right, I’ll see what I can do.”

I sat up straighter, trying not to whoop and holler. Will
and me, in Australia? Hell, yeah! Maybe we could smuggle back a kangaroo. His
parents would never notice it hopping around their backyard.

“Thank you, sir.”

The general nodded, bobbing his big head. “Least I can do.
In all seriousness, good job out there, son. I’d like to talk about a bonus of
some kind. We’ve been holding your pay in an interest-bearing account, but…”

“Wait, my
pay
?”
I asked. What pay? I was a knife wielder; I had a duty. Just like Jorge said.

“Matt, you and Cruessan are military contractors,” Colonel
Black said with a hint of amusement. “You’ll be compensated for your time. The
problem is your age.”

When I gave them both confused looks, General Richardson
said, “You’re fifteen, son…we’re violating a whole host of child-labor laws. We
could find ways around that and the tax issues, but we’d rather avoid a congressional
audit if we can help it. When you turn sixteen, we’ll turn control of the
account over to you.”

I had money in a secret account somewhere? Wow. “Thank you,
sir.”

“No, Archer, thank you,” the general said. “But even if we
can’t give you the money yet, I think you deserve a bonus for Montana and Peru.
I’m close to the President; I’m sure we can work out a gift of some kind. All
you have to do is ask.”

Wild visions raced through my head—Ella and the tent at the
top of the list. “Anything?”

“Well, don’t ask to visit the International Space Station.
That’s not even within the President’s reach.” The general guffawed at his own
joke. “But maybe a ride along in a fighter jet during a training flight, or we
could let you drive a tank, an Abrams, and shoot the guns. Or an Apache attack
chopper. That’s a pretty sweet ride.”

I shrugged. “I’ve ridden in a helicopter bunches of times
and I’ve already been in a fighter jet. Not sure I want to do that again
anytime soon.”

“And you’ll get some Humvee time in the Outback,” the
colonel added. “We can let you and Cruessan both take the wheel some. Not much
to crash into out there and those things are practically indestructible for
regular driving. Safest Driver’s Ed course you’ll ever have.”

The general looked crestfallen, like Colonel Black had
stolen his thunder. “Well, surely there’s something we can do for you. The
nation owes you a debt, Mr. Archer.”

Colonel Black smiled and gave me a tiny nod. “We do.
Whatever you want.”

My heart skipped a beat or two as I caught on to what he was
saying. I could ask for that? “Well, General, there is one thing….”