The Last Hunter - Collected Edition (53 page)

15

To say I’m confused is an understatement. The air flowing through this tunnel should be icy cold. Granted, I couldn’t feel the temperature during my previous time here, but the science—

My eyes pop open as I remember the cause. When I bonded with Nephil, he reached out and became bonded with the Earth. The bond lasted just a moment, but it was long enough for him to reposition Antarctica at the equator. Billions died. I sensed it. But I hoped it wasn’t true. But now there can be no doubt. The world has been remade. Antarktos has thawed under an equatorial sun. It explains the flooding. The air. The smell. And the disappearance of most subterranean species.

They’ve headed to the surface.

Back
to the surface.

Most of the creatures eking out a living in the underground were originally surface dwellers. Like the Nephilim, when the continent froze, they moved beneath the surface. If not for the strange properties of this continent, they would have most likely died out long ago. But they are once again enjoying their time in the sun.

The sun.

I haven’t seen it in years. And as I head for the surface, following tunnels I know well, I’m filled with a sense of dread. The feeling is similar to what I felt when I was first dragged underground by Ninnis. The surface is an unfamiliar world now, even more so now that the snow is melting.

When I reach the final tunnel leading outside, I pause. There’s the crack where I hid the Polaroid photo of Mira and me. Not far away is the section of wall upon which I carved the words, “I forgive you,” for Ninnis. The words are illegible now, scratched away, most likely by Ninnis himself. Up ahead is the tunnel exit through which I would normally see a deep blue sky. Now the sky is full of thick, dark clouds. Thunderheads. The kind you see in New England in late spring.

The scent of ozone lingers in the air. Lightning, I think, just before the sky flickers with a brilliance that makes me shout in pain. The dark clouds had made the light of day bearable, but the sudden flash is as bright as the sun. I clench my eyes shut, holding my hands over them, and I see the bright green image of a lightning streak as though it’s etched into my eyelids.

Everything about my return to the surface feels awful. That is, until the booming thunder rolls past, vibrating the ground beneath me. It’s like Behemoth has just fallen down next to me. The power in that rumble brings a smile to my face. I used to lie on my bed and watch thunderstorms, as they swept past and out to sea. I’ve missed them.

After donning my sunglasses, I inch toward the surface. I’m sure I look like a fool—a long haired, Tarzan-like, bearded teenager wearing sunglasses. But unlike during my years in school, there will be no one around to point out my ridiculous state. As I near the end of the tunnel, light fills the sky again. I squint against the light, but the dark sunglasses take the edge off.

Even with the cloud cover, when I step out of the tunnel, the daylight hurts. I close my eyes as I step out into the world. The first thing I notice is the land beneath my feet. It’s soft and squishy, like the remains of some dead creature. Through squinted eyes, I look down and see a dark goop pushing up between my toes.

Mud.

I crouch and scoop some of the soft earth into my hand. The grainy wetness feels similar to the insides of a centipede. I bring it to my nose and inhale slowly and deeply. The scent triggers memories. Playing in the back yard with Justin. Gardening with my mom. Exploring a swamp with my father.

I wasn’t dreading the surface. I was dreading the memories a thawed Antarctica would bring. Just the smell of mud is potent enough to send me back in time. It’s not that I don’t want to remember, or that the memories are bad, it’s that they hurt. I’ve been here for more than twenty years, even though from my perspective it’s been closer to three. I can’t return to the life I knew. It’s gone for good and now, thanks to Nephil’s repositioning of the world, potentially destroyed. My parents could be dead. And if I give these things any attention, I will enter my own personal Slough of Despond.

I flick the mud off my hand and stand up. My eyes slowly acclimate to the sunglass-darkened, cloud-dimmed daylight. I look up and find the world remade.

Where a glacier once slid slowly into the ocean, there is now a lush, green valley. A variety of tall trees, few of which I recognize, cover the land. The barren, frozen desert of Antarctica is now a thick, green jungle.

How is this possible
? I think. Cronus said I’d been away for just three months. And my time in the deep underworld was brief. It couldn’t have added more than a few more weeks. These trees couldn’t have sprung up so quickly. This looks more like twenty years worth of growth!

Have I been gone for another twenty years? My stomach twists at the idea. Not only would my parents certainly be dead, but the outside world would have been dominated by the Nephilim long ago. Em, Kainda and Luca will all be adults, if they’re even still alive.

Don’t get distracted, I tell myself. You don’t have the answers. Stay out of the Slough.

I step into the jungle, heading downhill to where Clark Station 2 once stood. The thick canopy of large leaves far above is a relief. It blocks out so much of the light that I’m able to take off my sunglasses. It’s almost like the under-ground, but above the ground. As my eyes continue to adjust, my senses that are unaffected by light, take in my surroundings. The smell of earthy decay reaches me first, and then the scent of animals, some familiar, some new. But there is no doubt that the denizens of the subterranean world now inhabit the surface. If the smell alone didn’t convince me, the sounds permeating the jungle would have. Though I have yet to see a living creature, I can hear them loud and clear. A cresty barks in the distance. Other creatures call out warnings as the hunt plays out. All around, I hear birds.

There were no birds in the underworld, so where did they come from? I’ve read that birds can sense things like volcanic eruptions and earthquakes, just before they strike. The birds take to the sky. If the same thing happened when the Earth’s crust shifted, it’s possible that the world slipped by beneath the airborne birds and they found themselves transported to a new continent. I know my theory is sound when the distinct red, blue and yellow plumage of a macaw flaps past overhead. The bird is a native of Brazil. It must feel right at home in this new rainforest.

Advancing carefully and quietly, I move down the grade, deeper into the forest, where the trees grow to impossible heights that could easily conceal an army of Nephilim. When I’ve covered the precise distance between the cave exit and Clark Station 2, I stop. There’s a tree where the metal hangar-like station should be.

I creep forward. Maybe the land has changed? Maybe it was pulled away by ice as it flowed out to sea. It seems unlikely, because ice melted by the sun would melt from the top down and the buried structure would have been freed from it slowly and gently.

Whump-bump.

The ground beneath my feet bubbles down under my weight and springs back up when I step off. I’ve stepped on something. Falling to my knees, I quickly brush away a layer of detritus and several inches of soil. When I’m done, I stare at my discovery. It’s a metal panel, ridged like the surface of Clark Station 2. Was it buried again? I wonder. But I quickly find the outer edges and lift the rusted metal from the ground.

A quick search of the surrounding area reveals more of the same. Clark Station 2 has been destroyed. There’s nothing left.

Sadness grips me. I’m not sure what I expected to find here. Maybe comfort in the familiar, or…the note. I’d forgotten about Mira’s note, but some part of me must have hoped to find it. But it’s long gone now, like Mira herself.

My thoughts turn to Clark Station 1. It’s just five miles from here. Not only is it the place of my birth, but it was also home to Luca, Em and Tobias for a time. If there are any clues to their location to be found, they’ll be there.

Moving fast, I begin a reckless charge through the jungle that will get me to Clark Station 1 in thirty minutes. I’m noisy and leaving a path that is easy to follow. Like I said, reckless. I already knew there are cresties hunting nearby. What I didn’t know was that a different sort of hunter now stalked the jungle—one equally as deadly as the ancient dinosaurs.

16

The man is as surprised by me, as I am by him. He spins around with wide eyes, like a child caught stealing cookies. His complexion and facial features look Arab, and his clothing is modern military—fatigues, boots and weapons. He’s got some kind of automatic weapon slung over his back and a handgun on his hip.

I didn’t see the man crouched by a tree and nearly bowled right into him. But my reflexes are fast and I lunge to the side, avoiding a collision that would have been painful. I roll back to my feet and spin toward the man with open hands—what I hope is still universal for “I mean you no harm.”

Unfortunately, he’s not of the same mind. When his hand comes up, it’s holding a handgun. He aims it at my chest, but doesn’t pull the trigger. He’s no doubt confused by the half-naked teenager standing before him. In all my time below ground, I never felt self-conscious about my scant clothing. Everyone underground dressed like this. Survival depended on it. But under this man’s bewildered gaze, I’m feeling wholly underdressed.

His eyes linger on the sharp blade and spiked mace attached to either side of my waist where Whipsnap is clipped.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” I say.

Something about my words enrages the man. I can only understand one word of his reply. “American.” And it sounds more like an accusation than a question. What has happened in the world that the first person I come across wants to kill me because I’m an American?

Rather than tempting fate, I shake my head, no, and say, “Antarctican.”

He seems to understand what I’m saying. Antarctica is Antarctica in any language. But as expected, the claim makes no sense to the man. With no way to elaborate verbally, I motion to my lack of clothing and repeat, “Antarctican.” I point to the earth beneath my feet. “Underground.”

Again, I think he understands because his face screws up like he’s just stepped in cresty dung.

He shouts a long string of words I can’t understand. I don’t know if he’s telling me to do something, telling me I’m an idiot or performing last rites before shooting me in the head. When I don’t react, he takes a step closer and waggles the gun angrily in my face. “Knees!” he says.

That, I understand. He wants me on my knees. And as fast as I am, I can’t outrun a bullet. With no powers to assist me, I have no choice but to comply. I drop to my knees, hands still raised.

He puts a hand to the back of his head, pantomiming what he wants me to do and shouts, “Hands!”

I place my hands behind my head and lock my fingers together. I’m not sure if I’m being taken prisoner, or if I’m about to be executed. I’m not even sure what this man is doing here. His presence is an enigma. If twenty more years had passed, and the outside world had been dominated, then there would be no way this man could be here. And he can’t be part of any kind of resistance, not with those weapons. Given his surprise by my appearance, I’d guess that he, and the world at large, has yet to encounter the Nephilim or even a single hunter.

There’s still time, I think. The sudden growth of this rainforest is a mystery, but no more strange than the half-human, half-demon monsters aiming to wipe humanity from the globe. If only I had a way to explain all this to the man. We’re on the same side. He just doesn’t know it yet!

With the gun aimed at my face, he steps closer. I feel uncomfortable staring into the barrel of the weapon. I cast my eyes downward. That’s when I see what the man was doing by the tree. There’s a grenade tied to the tree. The pin keeping it from detonating is attached to a taut wire stretched across the ground, and it’s tied to a second tree. The wire is only partially covered with leaf litter. The man must have been covering it when I showed up.

He shouts something at me, drawing my eyes back up. He’s leaning down, reaching out for Whipsnap. The gun is just inches from my face. He takes hold of the weapon—and tugs. He’s totally unprepared when Whipsnap detaches from my belt and springs to life in his hand. He stumbles backward and squeezes off a shot. The round zips over my head, but I don’t give it a second thought. Once the man recovers from his surprise, I have no doubt he’s going to shoot me.

I charge forward as the man brings the gun back down. When the barrel comes level with my face, I take hold of his hand and push up while ducking my head to the side. The second shot misses, but the violent report in my ear stuns me for a moment. The man takes advantage of my disorientation and whacks me in the side with Whipsnap.

Thankfully, the man has no idea how to wield the weapon of my creation properly and the blow is nothing more than a gentle thump. I keep the gun at bay with my left hand and take hold of Whipsnap’s shaft with my right. This might normally become a contest of strength, but I know my weapon, and despite the man’s tight grasp, I’m able to use it against him. With a quick twist and pull, the top end of Whipsnap bends. Careful not to use crushing force, I bring the mace down on the man’s head.

His grip on Whipsnap falls away. The gun falls to the ground, followed by the man. He’s not unconscious, but he’s stunned. He shakes his head and blinks his eyes. When blood trickles over his forehead, he reaches up and feels the wound, wincing as he touches it. His confusion melts to rage as he screams at me.

“Please!” I shout back, raising a single open hand to the man. “I don’t want to hurt you!”

But the man is beyond reason, even if he could understand what I’m saying. He reaches over his shoulder and starts to pull around his automatic weapon. If I allow him to do that, I’m a dead man. But what can I do? I don’t want to kill a human being. I don’t know if I could live with myself. A harder strike with either end of Whipsnap would kill the man. Then I remember my other weapons, ones I rarely have a need for when I’ve got Whipsnap.

I jump forward and punch the man hard in his face. Pain radiates up my arm, but the effect on him is much worse. He slumps to the ground, unmoving. I stand over him breathing heavily.

Why
? I think.
Why would this man want to kill me
? He didn’t know who I am. Didn’t recognize me personally, or as anything that could be explained by his worldview. But here he is, armed for war, laying traps and ready to murder a perfect stranger. It’s just as twisted as anything I encountered during my time underground, but it makes less sense.

This is not the homecoming I had hoped for.

I take the man’s weapons and look them over. I don’t recognize the handgun, but the rifle is an AK-47. I consider keeping the weapons, but they don’t feel right. They’re designed for killing people, not Nephilim, and could only be useful in the hands of a skilled marksman, which I am not. Not with modern weapons anyway. Tobias trained me on his bow a few times, and I was pretty good, but that was when I had the wind to assist my aim. I toss the weapons into the jungle in different directions. Removing the man’s weapons might be a death sentence, but I won’t be the one killing him. And I won’t have to wonder if he’s killed anyone else. I carefully cut the grenade free from the tree and wind up to toss it, but pause, wondering if I should keep it. While a gun won’t be effective against a Nephilim, a grenade could certainly do some damage. At least temporarily. But I’ve never used a grenade, and I have no idea how long it would take to explode. It’s being used with a tripwire, so maybe this variety detonates once the pin is pulled? With no way to find out, I decide to err on the side of safety and toss the grenade away.

I search the man’s body and find a knife, which is duller than mine, so I toss it. I’m surprised that he’s not carrying any other grenades. Then it occurs to me that he probably was carrying more grenades. There might be tripwires set up all through the jungle.

Going to have to be more careful
, I think, and I look around me for anything that looks like a concealed wire. Finding nothing, I search the man’s pockets. He’s got a canteen of water and some dehydrated food supplies. Enough for just a few days, which makes me think he’s not alone out here, or he’s stashed the rest of his gear someplace else. In his breast pocket, I find a folded piece of paper.

I unfold the paper. It expands to the size of a poster. In fact, it looks a lot like the poster of Antarctica that hung on my bedroom wall before Justin and I coated it in volcanic red dye. I can’t read the words. They’re all in Arabic, but the South Pole has been flagged.

Is this man traveling to the South Pole? He doesn’t seem like any explorer I’ve ever heard of. He’s more military than anything. After folding up the map, I place it in a belt pouch, return Whipsnap to my waist and without a second glance back at the unconscious man, resume my trek toward Clark Station 1, only much more slowly, and much more carefully.

I arrive fifteen minutes later and despite finding the place of my birth still standing, I also find it inhabited. And the squatters are decidedly not happy to see me.