Matt Archer: Monster Hunter (Matt Archer #1) (8 page)

Mike dragged me past him, following the narrow dirt path
we’d run on in the morning. Surprised we didn’t even stop to say hello, I
asked, “Aren’t we gonna wait for the Master Sergeant?”

I turned back to ask Schmitz what I’d be learning. He was
gone. Poof. Like a ghost. “Whoa! He was
right there!”

“Who was right there?” Mike asked. “I don’t see anyone.”

“Schmitz, you idiot. Where did he go?”

“Careful or I’ll make you drop and give me fifty.” Mike
grinned, then cupped his hands around his mouth. “Schmitz!”

“Sir,” he called, from somewhere in front of us.

“How did he move so fast without us seeing him?” I hadn’t
seen or heard a thing, but in thirty seconds he’d gotten past us.

Mike yawned. “That’s what you’re here to learn. I’m going to
take a nap. Major’s privilege.” After a sly glance, he turned toward base. “You
can come back once you find him.”

“Oh, that’s just great!” I kicked at the ground. “Find a
ghost in the forest. Great.”

Schmitz called out—now behind me to the left. “Have a good
nap, sir. This’ll be a while.”

“Can someone tell me why I’m hunting the invisible man in
the woods?” I thrashed through the sagebrush along the trail, not finding
anything but moss and a few crickets.

“Because if you can learn to move the same way I do, you’ll
be able to sneak up on monsters,” Schmitz said, breathing down my neck.

I jumped in surprise and spun around to find him right
behind me. “That was seriously awesome. Can you really teach me how to sneak
like that?”

“If you listen to me, by Friday even the Major will have a
hard time finding you out here. That’s what we’re working toward. A little
de-mon-stray-shun.” Schmitz bobbed his head as he spoke.

A grin spread across my face. “Excellent. Show me how.”

Most of the week passed in an exhausting, non-stop whirl of
early morning runs, brush-crawling, learning how to track monster prints in the
dark, and equipment training. I went through four sets of sweats in the first
three days, ripping holes in the knees or elbows, and I was constantly filthy,
sweaty or bloody. Usually all three at once.

My favorite part of the training turned out to be
hand-to-hand combat exercises. I spent two hours every morning getting my butt
handed to me in a small gym with stark-white walls and a worn wooden floor.
Fighting equipment, including staffs and practice swords, were on racks bolted
to the walls. Serious work went on in this place. Lucky for me, thick, red mats
padded the hard surfaces, otherwise I would’ve been sporting some broken bones.

Lieutenant Johnson, my fighting instructor, was a huge black
guy with a deep voice and a lot of patience. He was well over six feet tall,
and broader than a bus, so he had to stoop to square-off with me. Which didn’t
make me self-conscious or anything, especially since I was supposed to be
trying to hit the guy.

“Archer, feint right, more weight on your back leg, so
you’re stable.” He chuckled when I moved. “Your other right.”

With a sigh, I shifted the other direction. I kept making
stupid mistakes, and it was starting to wear me down. “All right, all right.
Let’s go, old man.”

“Oh ho, talking smack? Kid, I invented smack.” Before I
could blink, I was upside down, hanging by my knees on Johnson forearms. The
blood rushed to my head. He swung me back and forth a little, just to be a
smartass. “Most officers would do worse than this for back-talk. Maybe make you
clean the floor with a toothbrush. Lucky for you, I’m nice.”

“Understood, sir.” I squirmed, but he didn’t let go.

“You want down? Say please.”

Feeling like a bat at roost, I crossed my arms. “Fine, let’s
see how long you can hold me, sir. I bet I can outlast you.”

Johnson laughed, a rumble that vibrated against the hard surfaces
in the room. “You weigh, what, a hundred pounds? Archer, I can walk around all
day carrying a hundred pounds.”

To prove it, he walked around the gym, me dangling with my
ankles over his left shoulder, his arms around my waist, and my head banging
into his knees. My gray t-shirt slid downward, showing off my belly-button.
Here I was, fourteen years old, being carted around like a preschooler. Johnson
knew how to make a point.

Properly embarrassed, I gave up. “Fine, you win. Please put
me down, sir.”

He flipped me over and set me on my feet. Once my head quit
whirling, I picked up my practice knife and assumed the correct stance, knees
bent, knife hand down and back, left fist up.

“Ready.”

And then I was hanging upside down again.

“Archer, the monsters aren’t gonna give you a minute to
collect your wits. Don’t tell me you’re ready, just
be
ready,” Johnson said. He put me down,
his expression stern. “Fighting fair doesn’t count in a life or death
situation. Stealth, cunning, and decisiveness–that’s what matters. Make sense?”

Life or death. Like I needed that little reminder. In a way,
maybe I did, though. I couldn’t let myself fail. “It does, sir.”

“Good.”

He rushed me. I dodged and managed to duck Johnson’s arm as
he swung out to catch my shoulder, but I didn’t get away fast enough. He
grabbed my hip on the follow through, and I landed on my right side, ear first.

“Ow!” My tongue ached and I tasted blood. “Crap, sir, that
hurt!”

Johnson pulled me to my feet. “Is that what you’re gonna say
to those mutant grizzlies? ‘Crap, Bear, that hurt!’”

“No, sir. I’m gonna sneak up on it and stab it.” My voice
sounded tougher than I felt, but I gritted my teeth and assumed the stance
again.

Johnson lunged. I struck out with my right hand, aiming for
his head. I missed and he flipped me onto the floor. On the plus side, I did
land a punch on his shoulder before I went down.

“Better. You anticipated an attack, kept your guard up,”
Johnson said. “We need to work on avoiding an attack more. You’re quick—it’s
just a matter of practice and knowing what moves to make.”

I forced myself to sit up. “Don’t make me anticipate
anything for the next five minutes, okay, sir?”

He laughed and sat next to me. “You got it.”

“Why’d you call my Montana monster a Bear?”

“You said they looked a little like a grizzly in the
briefing. Why not Bear? Fits with Panda and Gator,” Johnson said. “Good enough
code name, right?”

“I guess.” I paused for a minute, curious about something.
“Did you ever fight any of the monsters, sir?”

Johnson cocked his head. The overhead lights gleamed against
his bald scalp. “I was down in Peru with Major Tannen.”

“What was it like? My fight happened so fast, it’s like it
wasn’t real.”

“Combat’s like that.”

When he didn’t add anything, I asked, “Well, were you
scared? Of the Gators?”

“Those things are freaks of nature. They’d scare anyone. But
I couldn’t just sit there and watch them kill people.” Johnson’s voice trailed
off at the end. He shook himself. “Getting those knives was a godsend. Nothing
else slowed those Gators down.”

“So what did the rest of you guys do while the
knife-wielders hunted?” Parker and Ramirez had teams with them, but what good
did extra men do if the knife was the only weapon that worked?

Johnson laughed. “Archer, who do you think you’re talking
to? Think we sat around all day, knitting socks? The teams have all kinds of
jobs—setting traps, tracking the monsters, evacuating civilians, intel, flushing
the beasts out with ordnance. Just because I didn’t have a knife in my hand
didn’t mean I wasn’t fighting, too.”

“Sorry. It’s just…well, I’m gonna be out there alone, since
Uncle Mike’s leaving.”

My stomach flipped a little at the thought of being on my
own. If I didn’t ace this training, what was I going to do? I couldn’t let
Montana, or my uncle, down.

“The major won’t let that happen. You’ll have some help. Not
sure who though…wish it could be me, but I’m being deployed. Almost everybody
is.” He stood. “Okay, let’s practice avoiding an attacker.” The lieutenant
pulled me up. “You know the drill…”

Johnson put me through my paces and I spent the evening in
bed, nursing a whole lot of bruises. But it was so worth it; I had a feeling
school hallways weren’t going to be a problem ever again.

* * *

On Wednesday, I jogged to the woods and the now familiar
“Cougar” trail. I dodged Humvees and marching soldiers, enjoying the sounds of
the busy base. Uncle Mike had concocted some story about me visiting Fort
Carson for a school report, so no one batted an eye as I ran past the barracks
and administrative buildings until I reached the cutoff to turn into the
forest. Schmitz was already waiting for me, but that was evidenced only by the
stopwatch and hat lying on the ground by a tree.

I sighed. “It’s
my
turn to hide, Master Sergeant.”

A pair of hands grabbed my arms and I jumped sky high. I
turned to glare at Schmitz. “You
have
to stop doing that! It takes ten minutes to get my
heart rate down.”

“I’m not stopping until you beat me,” he said. “Until then,
I plan to scare the crap out of you each and every time you show up, Mr.
Archer.” Smirking, Schmitz picked up his stopwatch and jammed his camo hat on
his close-shaved head. “You’ve got five minutes. Go!”

I took off, muttering, “Today’s the day, dude.”

There wasn’t any wind, all the trees were still, so being
stealthy was tougher than usual. Deciding to risk a fake-out, I made two false
trails, first by leaving footprints in the dirt near a small gully filled with
pine needles and leaves. Then I bent some grass and broke a few twigs near a
huge aspen tree, hoping Schmitz would think I’d climbed up. Finally, I crept to
my resting spot, walking in a random path over pine needles to hide my footprints.
Crawling underneath a thick patch of brush, I hugged the earth, pressing down
tight to the ground so I wouldn’t jiggle the scrubby bushes keeping me out of
sight. All I could see or smell was moss, soil, and branches. My mind quieted,
and I concentrated on the dirt under my body, pretending to be the forest
floor.

“Time’s up!” Schmitz called. “My turn. Stop where you are.”

His feet crunched by once or twice, and he thrashed through
the trees nearby, but he never found me. When Schmitz’s stopwatch beeped again,
he shouted, “Time’s up.” He sounded excited. “You finally did it! Where the
heck are you?”

I popped up six feet in front of him. “I hid close; thought
you’d look further out. Guess I was right.”

“No kidding. Right under my nose the whole time.” Schmitz
laughed. “I owe you twenty.”

That was the deal—whoever lost had to do twenty pushups. I’d
done so many for my instructors that my shoulder muscles had knots in them.
When Schmitz dropped and did his, I grinned the entire time. It was nice to see
an adult pushing the ground for once.

After I finished playing hide and seek in the woods, I went
to Colonel Black’s office for equipment training. He wasn’t there, but Kingston
let me in. The little table where we’d had breakfast the first day was covered with
cool, slick-looking gadgets.

“What’s all this?” I reached for a black rectangle that
looked like an oversized iPhone.

“Stop.” A soldier stood in the doorway behind me. “Look with
your eyes, not with your hands, Mr. Archer. Without proper instruction, you
could break something. The equipment on that table is worth more than a hundred
video game systems.”

“Really?” I rubbed my hands together. “Awesome.”

“No, not awesome. These are tools, not toys, Mr. Archer.
Understand?” The man walked around and stood between me and the table. He was
tall, pale, with perfectly buzzed hair. I could see my face reflected in the
shine on his boots and his BDUs had creases ironed into them.

This guy would be a barrel of fun, no doubt. I wanted to
play with the gadgets, though, so I decided to suck up. “Absolutely. I promise
to treat everything here with respect.” After a glance at his rank and name
patches, I added, “Specialist Davis, sir.”

“I’m not an officer—I work for a living. Just Davis or
Specialist will suffice.” He pulled out a chair and pointed at it. “Have a
seat; it’s quiz time. What’s the most important piece of equipment you’ll need
on a hunt?”

I checked out the gadgets. “The GPS? That’s what the
iPhone-looking thing is, right? That way I won’t get lost.”

Davis stared me down until I squirmed. “What about the
knife, Mr. Archer?”

“Um, yeah,” I muttered, feeling my face get hot. “I thought
you meant—”

“Put it on the table, with the rest of your gear,” Davis cut
in, eyes piercing mine. When I laid the sheathed knife on the table, he asked,
“What do you know about that blade?”

“It kills monsters.” I crossed my arms and glared. If he
could be a butthead, so could I.

“It’s a supernatural blade, created by a medicine-man in
Peru. It’s made of a metal alloy, including copper and gold, and infused with
chemical compounds made from plant materials native to the Amazonian
rainforest.” He rattled off the details like he was on
Jeopardy
or something.

Not to be outdone, I added, “And it picks its master.”

Davis nodded. “It does. Still seems fantastic if you ask me.
Either way, there’s more to those knives than we understand.”

That got my attention. “Like what?”

“The medicine man told us about a war—”

“With evil spirits—I already heard all that.” I drummed my
fingers on the table, wishing he would hurry up so I could get my hands on the
night-vision goggles.

Davis scowled. “Don’t interrupt me.”

When I sighed and gave him a “please, go-on” look, he stood
and paced, lecturing down his nose like my least favorite teacher. “He told us
about a war against the forces of darkness, which had been foretold by a
pre-Incan holy man. They believed a team of hunters, warriors marked by blood,
would lead the battle to save humankind. The warriors would fight, even in the
face of death, assisted by special knives.” He pointed at my knife. “The knives
have some really interesting lore: ‘born of the ground, tied to the heavens,
the blades of redemption will meet their brothers in unearthly combat to fight
for men’s souls.’”

Goosebumps covered my arms. “Any idea what it means?”

“Well, everyone has a theory,” he said. “Personally, I think
the blades are more powerful than we understand. So be careful with yours.”

“But, what—”

He cut my question off. “That’s all we know. Everything else
is just speculation, and I like facts. Now, let’s talk about your night-vision
goggles.” His expression clearly said “conversation over,” so I turned my
attention to the toys.

Two hours of instruction later, he finally let me touch the
GPS system, the satellite phone, and the night-vision goggles. To my
disappointment, he didn’t let me take anything with me when we were done.

“Next time, I’ll teach you maintenance and how to pack each
item for travel,” he said.

“You’re gonna teach me to pack?” I stared at him in
disbelief. “Um, how hard can that be?”

“If you don’t want to break everything while crawling
through the forest? Somewhat complicated. Oh-nine-hundred tomorrow. Don’t be
late.” With that, the specialist picked up my electronics and left.

“That man needs a hobby,” I muttered, pushing my aching body
out of the folding chair. “Or a girlfriend.”

I went back to quarters for a shower, a new pair of sweats
and an afternoon nap so I’d be rested for night maneuvers. Searching for tracks
in the dark took some doing; I needed to be sharp. Especially since Mike had
developed a habit of jumping out from behind trees to startle me. Between him
and Schmitz, I had no idea why I hadn’t died of a heart attack yet.