Matt Archer: Monster Summer (5 page)

Four Months Ago

“Matt! Uncle Mike’s here. Get a
move on!”

Mom was always in a hurry. Her job
as a lawyer kept food on the table, as she liked to remind us. But it also kept
her in motion, saying stuff like “time is money.” My question was, if time was
money, then why weren’t we all rich? Smartass comments like that got me
grounded though, so I kept my mouth shut and ran down the stairs.

After dumping my backpack and
sleeping bag by the front door, I rounded the corner to the living room to
greet Uncle Mike.

He rose from the sofa, towering
over me, and stretched. The muscles on his arms, neck and shoulders flexed like
a pro-wrestler’s. Uncle Mike was a Green Beret, and it showed. “Hey, soldier,
what’s up?”

“Nothing, Major.”

“Like I’ve never heard that one
before,” Mike said when I laughed at my own joke. “Ready to deploy?”

“Yeah. I decided to wear my camo
this time, go in stealth mode.”

Uncle Mike looked down at his own
clothes. He was wearing old jeans, a bright red flannel shirt, and a Colorado
Rockies cap crammed down over his light-brown hair. “Nice idea,” he said, “but
I’m not sure the bears and deer will care much about your camo. Let’s move
out.”

The evening sky was streaked with
gold and pink, but still light enough for us to make it to the campgrounds
before nightfall. One of the advantages of living in Montana—good camping was
only thirty minutes from anywhere. I piled my gear into the back of Mike’s Jeep.
The car smelled awesome: cigars and gasoline. Mom nagged him to quit with the
cigars, but I thought it was cool. Just like Wolverine.

“Hey, can we have the top down?” I
asked.

Mike shrugged. “If you don’t mind
that the wind chill will be forty degrees, doesn’t bother me.”

We pulled the soft cover off the
Jeep and packed it over the camping equipment in the back. The air was scented
with pine; our trees were getting their “fall coats,” as Mom put it, and the
needles smelled like Christmas. This was my favorite time of year, before
winter set in like an unwanted houseguest.

“Hard to believe it’s October.
We’ll have to brace for a big snow soon.” Mike put the Jeep in gear and backed
out. “Means this is the last jaunt of the year, Chief.”

I nodded, hoping the ache I felt
in my chest didn’t show on my face. Camping with Mike was the only special
thing I had that my older sibs didn’t. My sister, Mamie-the-brain, was too much
of a bookworm to go with us and my brother, Brent-the-football-hero, had his
“social engagements.” What it really meant was that I was neither a brainiac,
nor popular enough to have other plans on the weekends, so Mike took me
camping. Honestly, I loved it, even if it branded me a dweeb with no social
life.

Mike glanced at me, a sad smile
pulling at the corners of his mouth. “Heard from your Dad?”

He tried to keep the anger out of
his voice, but I still heard it, like sandpaper rubbing an old scab. “Brent got
a birthday card when he turned seventeen.”

“That was April, man.”

“Yeah, well, that was our summer
greeting, I guess,” I said. “You know what he sent Brent for his birthday? A
Hooters
calendar. Mom had a
total fit.”

Maybe he’d send me one, too. Not
likely I’d get anything though. Since Dad ditched us while Mom was pregnant
with me, I was an afterthought. It seemed like Dad would rather spend what
little time he had to give on my popular-athletic-jerk of a brother. Not that I
was bitter or anything. Well, not
entirely
bitter.

“At least he knows what Brent
likes,” Mike said, a soft thread of laughter floating through his voice.
“Although, I can see how Dan-Dan would be pissed about it.”

“Don’t let Mom hear you calling
her ‘Dan-Dan,’” I said, grinning.

“Not my fault I couldn’t say
Danielle when I was two.”

Mike was the only person who could
get away with calling my mom anything other than Danielle or Counselor Archer.
Mom had a real weak spot for her baby brother—and she still called him that,
even though he was thirty-eight. He’d stepped in for Dad after he switched from
active duty to the reserves. Mike made sure I did Boy Scouts and taught Brent
how to throw and catch a perfect spiral. He had even helped Mamie practice
dancing with a partner for the sophomore homecoming dance, even though she
nearly broke his toes.

He was more family to us than Dad
would ever be.

Not that I was bitter or anything.

“So, Uncle Mike, any girlfriends
we need to know about?” I asked. “That last one was, um, interesting.”

“Candy was a trip, wasn’t she?
Looked great in a bikini, but she was so
boring
. I should’ve known not to hook up with a woman whose idea
of fun is museum hopping,” he said. “Nope, I’m single again, Chief. Good
thing.”

Mike paused and shifted in his
seat. He had some bad news—I could tell. A hard rock of fear lodged itself in my
stomach. I tried to swallow, but the rock in my gut kept the spit in my mouth.
Because I knew what was coming. This wouldn’t be the first time we’d had this
sucky conversation, and I was really tired of it.

“I’ve been called up.”

I hated it when I was right.
“Where? When?”

“Going to Afghanistan for a year.
I leave for training in six weeks and deploy in January.” Mike managed another
small smile. “So much for ‘reservist’ status, huh?”

I took a shaky breath. No Uncle
Mike for a year? “You’ve been on three assignments in the last three years. You
should be done by now. Can’t you tell them no or something?”

Mike glanced at me, looking
serious. “The military isn’t a ‘pick and choose’ kind of operation. Orders are,
well, orders. I have to go, Matt. I’m sorry.”

I stared out my window, trying not
to cry like a little kid, but my chin was already shaking. That pissed me off;
I was too old to have a little-girl-hissy-fit. “What’ll we do without you
here?” I turned back to glare at him, wondering why I was angry with Mike
rather than the Army. “We need you more than they do.”

Mike sighed. “We’ll be fine, okay?
I’ll be able to email you and call sometimes, and we can even do video
conferences. It’s not like we’ll be out of touch for a whole year.” He squeezed
my shoulder. “You’ll see. It’ll be fine.”

His voice trailed off at the end.
Neither of us said what we were thinking—that maybe it wouldn’t.

We got to the campgrounds at six
and Mike put me to work unloading the Jeep before my feet hit the dirt. We only
had thirty minutes to set up the tent and start a fire before the sun set, so
he was in a rush, ordering me around like we were deploying a military
installation. I worked fast, but Mike’s news pressed down on my chest worse
than when Brent sat on me.

The wind whispered through the
pines and aspen trees lining the back of our campsite. The leaves kept saying,
“shush, shush, shush,” like they knew how messed up I felt. It didn’t make me
hurt any less, but I did feel calmer about things. Maybe I could get through
the weekend without a meltdown.

After the fire was blazing, Uncle
Mike tried to pretend nothing had changed in the last hour. “All right! Hot
dogs…whoever can catch his on fire first wins!”

I played along and got flameage
faster than he did; I was good at burning hot dogs. It tasted like crap that
way, though. When I chucked the half-eaten frank into the bushes, Mike’s sly
smile told me I’d been punked. Yet again. “You just like to see me try to eat
ashes, is that it?”

He raised his eyebrows before
going back to his perfectly roasted dinner. Just to spite him, I made two more
hotdogs and scarfed down all the chips, too.

Before I had a chance to dig out
some marshmallows for s’mores, the air turned sharp and the wind gusted cold
into the campfire, sending up sparks. Uncle Mike rose to his feet, with an
intense, alert expression I’d never seen before—like he could eat a brick and
enjoy the crunch.

Without looking at me, he said,
“Weather’s changing; best to get inside the tent, where it’s warmer.”

With nothing else to do, we packed
it in for the night. Mike didn’t allow me to bring a cell phone or anything
else electronic on our trips. I could’ve played cards or something, but being
outside always made me tired and I went to sleep early because, yes, I’m just
that exciting. On the plus side, I had the craziest dream: Ella Mitchell
ditched her boyfriend for me. That’s not weird—that’s plain, old wishful
thinking. The weird part was that she hopped up on stage during assembly and
stole the microphone from Principal Stevens to do it. Then I ran down the aisle
to thunderous applause, swept her in my arms and….

“Get back!” Mike yelled.

I sat up in surprise to see
shadows moving across the tent’s walls. One shadow was Mike’s, distorted in the
bright moonlight. The other…heck if I knew
what
it was. Bulky, taller than Mike by a long shot, it grunted
and snorted like an angry pig. Was it a bear? I rubbed my eyes and squinted.
No, definitely not a bear. The thing was much too big and shuffled along on two
legs.

When it roared, it didn’t sound
like any animal I’d ever heard, but more like a bulldozer’s engine. Every hair
on my scalp stood up. Whatever this thing was, it wasn’t natural.

The two shadows circled one
another, then the beast swiped at Mike’s head and he went down hard. The
creature dropped on all fours, snuffling at my uncle. Even in shadowed outline,
I could see claws to rival a velociraptor’s as it raised a paw over Mike’s
chest.

I clambered to my knees, yanking
open the zipper to my sleeping bag. “No!”

It paused and lowered its paw,
turning its body toward the tent. Oh crap—now it knew I was here.

I watched the creature’s shadow
get bigger and bigger as it headed my way. It didn’t creep. It didn’t barrel
toward me. It strolled, like it wasn’t the least bit worried about what it
would find inside the tent. Terrified or not, something about its arrogance
filled me with cold fury. My muscles burned and my heart beat double-time; I
probably didn’t have a prayer, but I wasn’t going down without a fight. I sure
as hell wasn’t going to sit by and let this thing kill my uncle.

Uncle Mike usually brought a rifle
with him, just in case we met a bear, and he’d made sure I could use it. I dug
around in our bags, throwing clothes everywhere, but the rifle wasn’t in the
tent. The only thing I came up with was a wicked-looking knife with a smooth
bone handle. I pulled it out of the leather sheath, shocked by its weight. It
was much heavier than it looked and my fingers buzzed, like the knife was
vibrating in my hand. I must’ve been shaking really hard.

I gripped the handle of the knife,
hoping I didn’t end up stabbing myself by accident. The blade was longer than
most hunting-knives I’d ever used—maybe eight or nine inches—and honed to a
sharp edge. I had no idea where Mike would buy something like this, but one
thing was for sure: no one would want to be on the receiving end of this
weapon. It looked like it could gut a buffalo.

The creature walked the perimeter
of the tent, brushing up against the nylon, and a rancid scent wafted through
the walls. I gagged and threw up a little in my mouth. The stench reminded me
of how the vent in my room smelled after my guinea pig got loose and bought the
farm in the air duct. Seriously freaked out, I held still, clutching the knife
so hard my knuckles ached. I was planning to let the beast stalk around outside
as long as it wanted. One thing Mike taught me during paintball was to make
your target do the work. If you could be patient, you’d get the better strike,
and I’d only have one shot.

The beast paused and I took a gulp
of cold air, knowing I wouldn’t have to wait much longer. With a blur of claws,
dark fur and sharp teeth, the thing crashed into the tent, ripping the nylon
with one slash. I didn’t have time to think or even get a good look at it. When
it pounced on top of me, I thrust the blade into its stomach and twisted. The
handle burned in my hand, glowing a faint green.

The beast howled and struggled
against me, until I thought I’d drown in the reek of its fur. Somehow, I squirmed
out from underneath it just before it collapsed on the floor of the tent. Once
it was down, I stabbed it in the back, over and over, swearing at the top of my
lungs. Some kind of red-rage took control, and I didn’t stop until the thing
shuddered and was still.

In the quiet, I fell to my knees,
shaking all over.

When I could finally breathe
without wheezing, I gathered up the last shreds of my courage and found our
lantern in the wreckage. Scared pissless or not, I wanted to see what attacked
me. Squaring my shoulders, I turned on the light.

Then bit my own tongue trying to
hold back a scream.

The creature was misshapen, with a
huge head, pointy ears and narrow snout, and it had to be at least eight feet
tall. Teeth like tusks protruded from its lower jaw. It had brown fur like a
grizzly’s and its paws looked like a bear’s too, except bigger, with those
brutal, velociraptor claws. If that wasn’t weird enough, the thing’s arms and
legs were long, like a man’s. It was like some mad scientist threw a bunch of
DNA into a blender and
this
is what came out.