The Last Hunter - Descent (Book 1 of the Antarktos Saga)
Read The Last Hunter - Descent (Book 1 of the Antarktos Saga) Online
Authors: Jeremy Robinson
THE LAST HUNTER
By Jeremy Robinson
OTHER NOVELS by JEREMY ROBINSON
Threshold (coming in 2011)
Instinct
Pulse
Kronos
Antarktos Rising
Beneath
Raising the Past
The Didymus Contingency
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THE LAST HUNTER
By Jeremy Robinson
For the real Solomon, my son and inspiration
© 2010 Jeremy Robinson. All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and should not be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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Table of Contents
Prologue
1911
Douglas Mawson tasted blood. The chapped skin of his lower lip peeled up like flakes of shaved coconut. The cold had started the injury, and then it worsened thanks to his habit of chewing the skin from his lip. But he was careful about it, nibbling at the still dying flesh like a preening bird. It was the sneeze that split the lip, tearing it down the middle. The sting cleared his mind, but the blood made him hungry. He looked around, hoping to see something that might take his mind off food, but he saw only white ice and blue sky.
Three hundred fifteen miles separated Mawson and his two men from camp; three thousand more from civilization. No man had ever ventured further from home, and only one of them would make it back.
Mawson, commander of the expedition, stood before a white glacial expanse. His angular face, typically clean-shaven but now covered by an inch-thick beard, hid behind a dirty tan scarf. The scarf did little to protect him against the Antarctic cold, which grated his lungs. The rest of him, bundled in a thick, beige snowsuit, felt warmer when moving. Not so much when standing still.
Dr. Xavier Mertz had stopped. He was the point man, riding on skis while Mawson followed with a dog sledge team and Lieutenant Ninnis brought up the rear with a second team and the majority of their indispensable supplies. That Mertz had stopped meant he’d seen something. Most likely something dangerous, like a snow-covered crevasse. They looked solid enough until you put weight on them. Then they could fall through like a trap door.
“What’s the problem, Mertz?” Mawson shouted.
But the man didn’t reply.
Mawson removed his hood in case the man’s words were being muffled. He asked again, “What is it, Mertz?”
The only sign that Mertz had not frozen solid on the spot was his head, craning slowly from side to side.
Mawson signaled for Ninnis to remain behind and stepped off his sledge. He petted the nearest dog as he passed, then headed for Mertz. His feet crunched over the snow and ice, signaling his approach. Still, the man did not move.
Five feet away, Mertz finally responded, his hand snapping up with an open palm. The sudden movement sent Mawson’s heart pounding. But the message was clear:
Don’t. Move.
And he didn’t. Not for three minutes. Then he spoke again. “Bloody hell, Mertz, what is it?”
Mertz turned his head slightly. “Saw someone.”
“Saw something?”
“Some-
one
.”
Ridiculous
, Mawson thought. They were the first human beings to set foot in this part of the world. So sure was he of that fact that he spoke his mind aloud. “Ridiculous.”
He stepped up to Mertz’s side. “The land is frozen. Not only is there no way a man could live here, there’s nowhere to hide.”
Mertz turned to Mawson. “He wasn’t wearing clothes.”