“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.
Chapter Thirty
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.”
Matt Archer: Monster Hunter Page 24