The Last Hunter - Descent (Book 1 of the Antarktos Saga) (10 page)

I dream of a jungle. It’s tropical and lush. The animal calls are like nothing I’ve heard before. Life surrounds me. I can’t see it, but I can sense it. Living, beating hearts. They’re getting closer. Hunting me. I long for home, for safety, but don’t know the way. The branches scratch me as I run, snagging my clothes, tearing my skin. The cries get louder. Closer. I feel heat on my neck. Something inside me changes with that heat. A sudden rage that spins me around to face my attackers. But I’m alone. That’s when I see it—a long gray building, like an airplane hangar. I recognize it immediately.

I sit up, eyes wide. Awake. Collette is quiet now. Mira is staring out the window. A rising panic grips me. We’re going to miss it! “Stop the Cat,” I say.

Collette snaps to attention, “We’re only a few miles away. If you have to pee, you can hold it.”

“I need to get out,” I say, my voice gravelly with either sleep or anger. I can’t tell which.

“Just let him out,” Mira says.

“Look, kid, I know that—”

“I’m going to throw up!” I shout. It’s a lie, but it gets the desired effect. Collette the mechanic would no doubt be in charge of detailing my lunch from the back seat. The Cat rumbles to a stop. I fling open the door with the desperation of someone who is truly about to puke. I jump to the ice, thrilled to be on my feet again, and run.

I don’t know exactly where I’m running, only that I’m drawn forward. I’m focused on the ice, but feel my gaze drawn upward. There are mountains in the distance. The sight of them stops me in my tracks. I’ve seen them before. Not just the range, but these exact mountains from a slightly—what should be imperceptible—different angle. About fifteen feet below.

I waste no time thinking about how I can sense the difference in angle. No one is that smart. Not even me. Instead, I fall to my knees and with bare hands, dig into the packed snow. I still can’t feel the cold, but I can feel pain. At first, my fingers sting, then they throb. I see streaks of blood in the hard snow, but don’t stop. I’m almost there, I’m almost—

A hand on my shoulder stops me. I turn to see my father looking down at me with worried eyes. “What are you doing?”

I’m breathing heavily. And I don’t have an answer.

“Where’s your coat?” he asks next. But then he’s looking beyond me, at the hole I dug. He takes a step back and I see the rest of our crew gathered around in a semi-circle, looking at the boy with no coat and bloody fingers. But my father’s not looking at me. I trace his line of vision back to my freshly dug hole and see a gray aberration just beneath the surface.

He kneels down and wipes the snow away. The metal surface is ribbed and slightly curved. He looks at me. “Is this?”

I nod. “Where I was born.”

I hear Collette asking “How did he know?” over and over.

“Sol, you shouldn’t—”

Something about the tone of his voice coupled with a surge of embarrassment sets me off. “Shouldn’t what!” I stand and face him, unleashing years of frustration over my hidden past. “You’re the one who hid this from me! You’re the one keeping secrets!”

To my surprise, and my father’s, I shove him. Hard.

He stumbles back. “Sol...”

I step toward him, bloody fists clenched. Collette is shouting something, her voice warbling like an injured turkey’s. I hear my mother’s voice, but not her words. “I opened your safe. I found the rock. Why didn’t you tell me what would happen.”

“What happened?” my father asks.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I shout again. The people standing around me become blurs. I can’t see anyone through my tears. My energy drains suddenly and I fall to my knees. The world turns black.

As I fall, my father catches me and picks me up like I’m five years old again. I can feel him carry me back toward his Sno-Cat. I’m asleep before we get there and have no memory of the rest of the trip to Clark Station Two.

10

I wake up confused, not because I don’t remember where I am—I know exactly where I am—but because the noise of the place is unfamiliar. I feel like I’m in a subway station and somewhere in the dark, there’s a train barreling toward me. Shaking metal. Screeching. A deep resonating rumble that chatters the teeth.

 
But there is no train. I’m in a bed. There’s a wool blanket pulled up to my chin, but it’s not itchy. The room is small and formed from four metal walls and a metal ceiling. I’ve seen bread boxes with more style. There are no windows. A desk with a lamp on top is next to the bed. The lamp is the room’s only source of light, glowing a dull yellow.

A rumble rolls across the ceiling, like a wave of energy has coursed through it. Fear twists my gut. Is this my fault? Has the ice broken? I jump out of bed, steadying myself on the desk. Stumbling toward the door, I notice I’m fully dressed. I’m not wearing a coat, but I’ve got on insulated pants, full body long johns, a turtleneck and a sweater. I twist the door handle and give it a pull. The door opens and I hear a gentle ring somewhere, but don’t bother trying to figure it out. I need to find out what’s...happening.

I stop in the hallway and listen. I hear nothing. No storm. No shrieking metal. No subway car. The world has gone silent.

The hallway is long and lined with doors on either side like a college dorm. I’m sure my parents are behind one of these doors, but don’t want to risk walking in on a half-dressed Collette or someone else I have yet to meet. I find my feet and walk down the hall, careful not to make any noise.

The hall opens up to a large room that is one part kitchen, one part lounge. Lights triggered by motion sensors illuminate the room. There’s a counter-top, sink and fridge to my left; a TV and two couches to my right. A laptop sits closed on a desk. There’s a door directly across from the hallway. I head toward it, not knowing what’s on the other side.

The door is heavy and thick, but swings open with little effort. The short hallway beyond is lined with jackets and snow gear hanging from hooks. Each set of clothing is labeled with a name. I see mine down near the end.

I pause in front of my jacket, knowing it’s not necessary, but consider wearing it anyway.
No
, I think,
it will just get in the way
.

Get in the way of what
?

The door leading outside opens just as easily as the first door. I step out into the night and am dazzled by the stars above me. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen so many, even in the back woods of Maine. But there is an aberration in the sky. One of the stars is moving. It grows closer and I can focus on it, seeing it for its true self—a snowflake lit by the light pouring from the hallway behind me. I’ve left the door open.

I turn to close the door and notice the sky behind me. There are no stars. Every pinpoint of light in the sky to the south has been blotted out by something massive.
The snowflake
, I think.

That’s when I hear it. A tiny
tick
, like a grain of sand falling on a tile floor. I close my eyes and hold my breath. A moment of silence passes before I hear it again.
Tick
. Then again.
Tick
,
tick
.

It’s the snow. I can hear each flake as it lands on the ice.

I smile at the magic of it, of my home, and know I won’t be sleeping for the rest of the night.
This is what I came for
, I think. I want to experience this new world and up until this moment, I haven’t really. I’ve made a fool of myself. I’ve been feared. Maybe even threatened. And I’ve freaked out almost everyone I’ve met. Not that everything has been all bad. I consider all the Clarks to be my friends. Dr. Clark is a confidant and mentor. Aimee is a friend and emotional support. And Mira, well she might be all of the above and something more. I’m not sure how teenage courtship is done, but since I’m the only teenage boy within a three thousand mile radius, I think my chances are pretty good. Probably won’t be this good ever again.

Carpe diem
,
Schwartz
, I think.
Carpe diem
.

I sense a presence behind me, but unlike so many other times in the past, I’m not frightened. I remember the jingling bell I heard. Dr. Clark no doubt rigged my door so the bell would sound when I left the room. Can’t have me walking around in the snow, can we?

I stand there, looking at the stars, waiting for him to give me a coat or tell me to go inside. But he does nothing.
Must be looking at the stars, too
, I think. This late at night, he must figure that no one will see me.

The tick, tick of the falling snow has picked up. “There’s a storm coming,” I say.

“You have no idea,” replies my visitor, but it’s not Dr. Clark. The voice is higher and wet.

I turn toward the voice, still not fearing it, then quickly realize I should. A flash of something red, hair maybe, and a streak of dirty flesh is all I see before something strikes me in the stomach and sends me sprawling back onto the ice. I climb to my knees, but the air has been knocked from my lungs. I suck in a breath, but all I manage is a wheeze.

The man laughs at me from the darkness. I can see the door ten feet away, but my attacker has disappeared into the night. I spin around, looking for him, knowing he’s going to attack again. But he’s invisible, he’s—behind me!

I duck low to the ground in a crouch, pivot around and lunge. I throw a punch that feels wild, but the solid impact I feel on my hand tells me I found my target. I see a large shape fall to the snow and pounce on it. One hand has a fist full of fabric, pulling the immobile form up. The other is raised high, ready to strike again.

I let out a roar that sounds something like an angry ape. Then I see her face.

Her
face.

Aimee’s face.

The hatch opens and Dr. Clark’s silhouette fills the space. “Aimee!” he shouts, jumping to her side. As he lifts her head in his hands, I see her face, swelling and bloody. He turns to me. “What happened?”

But I’m speechless. I can’t fathom how to explain what happened, or why. I stand there, as frozen as the ice beneath my feet and for the first time since setting foot on Antarctica, I feel cold. Not my skin. My heart.

Dr. Clark’s eyes drift from mine to my clenched fist. He squints at it for a moment and then his eyes are wide and full of fear. He scoops Aimee up and carries her inside without saying another word. When he’s gone I look at my fist. It’s covered in blood.

Aimee’s blood.

11

“What happened?”

I’ve been asked that question twenty-two times by five different people in the past ten minutes. I suppose they keep asking because I have yet to give a good answer. I’m in shock, but mostly I’m worried sick. I just cold-clocked the person who welcomed me into this world with a smile.

The first thing I did after coming back inside was wash the blood off my hand. It wasn’t a matter of erasing the evidence. I had no intention of denying the truth...but I didn't fully know the truth, either. Someone was out there. Someone attacked me. But telling them that—well, it will just make me look crazy.

Crazier
.

Aimee is lying on a cot in the living area. Dr. Clark and my mother are tending to her. The rest of the crew stands around waiting like sentinels. Mira kneels by her mother’s side, her eyes wet and closed.
Is she praying
? I wonder. My father stands behind me, hands on my shoulders, but I’m not sure if he’s comforting me or restraining me.

Aimee moans and blinks for a moment, but doesn’t regain consciousness. Dr. Clark looks back at me, his face a mix of anger, sympathy and fear. As the rest of the eyes turn toward me I know the question is going to come again. “
What
happened?”