The Last Hunter - Collected Edition (104 page)

Aimee smiles and shakes her head. “The man you’ve become. Your parents would be proud.”

Would
be proud?
Does that mean...
I push the concern from my mind. Being distracted by the fate of my parents, good or bad, will only distract me from what needs to be done.

Over the next ten minutes, I reunite with Luca and share a little bit about what we experienced while we were away. The Clarks and Luca, and even the general listen to our tale, but when it’s over, everyone is all business.

We retreat to the temple. A tunnel runs through the center of the structure, stopping at a chamber that has been transformed into a command center. There are thick stone walls all around and above. The tunnel is too small for a Nephilim, the structure too sound to easily destroy. Aside from a behemoth attack, the temple is the most secure location in the base. Despite the ancient surroundings, which were likely built by the same pre-flood human civilization that painted the record found in the nunatak, the space is full of modern computers, weapon racks and cables that snake across the floor before disappearing underground.

A dog barks, spinning us around. A large black Newfoundland charges toward Mira. She drops to a knee and greets the now whining dog.

“This must be Vesuvius,” I say, crouching next to the massive canine. He eyes me cautiously, but I hold my hand to his nose and let him get a good sniff. After a moment, he lowers his head and slides it under my hand: permission to pet, granted. I scratch behind his ears with both hands, saying, “You’re a good boy.” This outside world tradition of greeting friendly dogs with expressions of how good they are feels oddly normal. Feels good.

I spot the Jericho shofar atop a desk that is bolted to the stone floor. It’s wedged in a large chunk of foam and covered by a clear case that’s hinged to the back side of the desk and locked on the front, like it’s some kind of museum exhibit, which it might actually be some day.

Merrill notes my attention. “It’s the best we could do to protect it and still have it available.”

I nod. Makes sense. But what I’m confused about is the next table over. I give Vesuvius one last scratch and stand. I move to the table, which is covered in what looks like stereo equipment. Several thick cables run down to the floor and out through the hallways. “What’s this?”

“The ancient Israelites had several horns and had to sound them over several days for the impact to be significant.” Merrill grins. “We have a speaker system pillaged from an aircraft carrier.” He points out a microphone. “This is my station. My contribution to the war effort, if you will. I’ve been practicing with the shofar. It’s not pretty, but the effect should be impressive.”

“Is the effect the same through the speakers?” I ask.

“I, uh, I don’t know,” he says.

“We haven’t found a red head to try it on,” Holloway adds.

“A red head?” I ask.

“It’s what they call the Nephilim and hunters,” Merrill explains.

“Then I guess we’ll find out tomorrow,” I say.

We spend the following three hours beneath the temple, developing contingency plans to any number of unthinkable situations. As each plan is documented, it is given a name, and then transmitted into the minds of every soldier by Luca. If he gives the command for contingency Red Bravo, every man on the ground, pilot in the air and captain at sea will know what to do.

With everyone as prepared as they possibly could be, Holloway orders us all to get some rest. Apparently, he was joking when he said I looked like I’d been on vacation, and a few hours sleep, according to him, would work wonders. When I argue that he should rest too, he points out that he’d be spending the following day shouting orders, not fighting thirty-foot tall monsters. So I give in and I’m directed to my personal quarters, which is a sturdy looking tent covered in gray camouflage.

When I enter, I find Kainda already there, waiting in one of two cots that have been pushed together. There might be other items of interest inside the tent, but I don’t see them. My eyes don’t stray from Kainda.

“I thought outsiders were pre-occupied with comfort,” Kainda says. “These could use a few feeder skins.”

“Huh?” I say, focusing my thoughts for the first time since laying eyes on her. Despite all I’ve been through, all the enemies I’ve faced and horrors I’ve endured, my nerves churn violently through my gut. This is my wedding night, after all. Kainda smiles up at me and erases all my fears. I remove Whipsnap and my ancient looking Batman-like utility belt, laying them next to the bed where they can be quickly recovered. I climb in bed next to Kainda, pull the blanket over me, place my hand on her cheek, and say, “I love you.”

She rubs her hand through my hair—just once—and I’m asleep before she has a chance to reply.

27

“Solomon!” My name, shouted in a way that exudes desperation and encroaching danger, launches me from the cot. Confused by the dull gray space around me, I stumble and trip over Whipsnap, falling to the floor in a heap. As adrenaline fuels the return of my memory, I look up to find the cot empty. Kainda has gone.

Hearing footsteps rapidly approaching, I climb to my feet, pick up my belt and weapon and strap them on just in time to look put together for whoever it is coming to get me.

The tent flap snaps open. It’s Em, who is one of the few people I wouldn’t mind seeing me sprawled out on the floor. She’s seen me at my worst and never thought less of me. Not that she would have noticed. Her eyes are full of concern.

It’s begun,
I think.

Em confirms it, saying, “They’re here.”

“What time is it?” I wonder aloud.

“The sun is just rising now.”

They made good time.

“Take me to Holloway.”

She nods and leads me out. “He’s at the wall.”

Men and women rush in all directions, hauling weapons and ammo, taking up positions all around the camp, watching the distance and the sky. We work our way through the bustle, past the side of the temple and toward the front of the base. As we approach an ancient staircase carved into a massive stone, I spot Luca by its base.

“What are you doing out here?” Em asks him. “Get back inside!”

“I needed to tell Sol something,” the boy says, looking at me.

I kneel down to him and take his arms. “What is it?”

I’m expecting a “good luck,” or a “goodbye” or even just a hug, but he levels a serious gaze at me and says. “This is how it’s going to work. Think your orders to me, and I’ll send them to everyone else. We’ll try to use the plans as much as possible—” Luca and I share the same perfect memory. We’ll be able to change tactics with a thought. “But there might be some things we haven’t thought of. If something comes up, like if you need everyone to focus on a target, just think it. I’ll be listening.”

Talking to Luca is surreal. He not only looks like me, but he’s smart like I was, and for the first time in my life, I can see why people thought I was strange. He seems far too young to be thinking in such detail or with such clarity. It’s a gift, I suppose, if you’re emotionally tough enough to deal with all that knowledge and the understanding that comes with it. I never was, but Luca seems to be handling his responsibilities just fine.

Then comes the hug and a quick, “goodbye.” I watch him run for the temple for just a moment before heading up the stairs with Em. At the top of the wall, I find Holloway, Kainda, Kat and Mira, who now holds a dangerous looking assault rifle. She’s wearing body armor and a scowl to boot. When she sees me coming, I say, “Nice gun.”

“XM29,” she says. “Wright taught me how to use it and trust me, you don’t want to be on the receiving end of its explosive rounds.”

Holloway turns at the sound of my voice. As I step up between him and Kainda, she takes my hand and gives it a quick squeeze before returning to her vigil. Holloway motions toward the battlefield. “Have a look.”

I turn forward, seeing the lines of tanks, which have expanded overnight, the trenches full of men, now aiming their weapons toward the distant jungle, the rows of razor wire and the mine field beyond. After that, I see trees and a distant gap where the two cliffs almost come together. But I don’t see any Nephilim.

“Base of the trees,” Holloway says.

“Looks like a lot of shadow,” I say.

“They
are
the shadows.” He hands a pair of binoculars to me, but I dig into my pack and take out the spyglass that Ninnis gave to me so long ago. I raise the telescope to my eye and focus on the distant trees. When I see them, I flinch. They’re nearly invisible, covered in mud, but their white eyes almost glow in the morning sun now rising behind us.

“Berserkers,” I whisper.

“Those are the people who are lost, right?” Holloway asks. “Not like the hunters who can be—whatever the word is.”

“Redeemed,” I offer.

“Right,” he says.

“But we can try,” I say. “We have to try.”

“And if it doesn’t work?” he asks. “What then?”

The answer hurts too much to say aloud, so my response is to look down at the line of tanks. I can hear the hum of their engines.

“Right,” Holloway says.

“I don’t see any Nephilim,” I say.

“They’re still an hour out,” he says. “These guys were hard to spot. Didn’t even know they were there until the sun came up.”

“How many of them are there?” I ask.

He shrugs. “No way to know for sure. Several thousand at least, but the canopy blocks our view from above.”

As it blocked my view from the nunatuk. With the number of berserkers unknown, we have to assume the worst. If this is the Nephilim’s opening salvo, then they must believe the berserkers are a real threat, which means there must be a massive number of men waiting in those trees.

Merrill, are you ready?
I think, directing the question to Luca.

Almost,
comes the reply from Merrill. The voice is in my head, and sounds like Luca, but something about it, like a signature, says the thought originated from Merrill.

A hiss of static fills the air, followed by the booming fumbling of a microphone and a whispered, “Sorry. Sorry.” Then, in my head.
Ready.

Stand by,
I think.

“How do you do it, General?” I ask Holloway. “How do you condemn men to death?”

“We’re not condemning them to death, son,” he says. “We’re merely providing the means. They’re doing all the condemning themselves.”

I suppose that makes sense, but it doesn’t make me feel any better. I’m the one giving the order. Still, we’re doing everything we can.

Go ahead, Merrill,
I think.

The speakers are so loud and the microphone so sensitive, that we can hear Merrill take a breath. And then, he blows. The shofar isn’t exactly a pleasant instrument to listen to, but Merrill manages to get a robust sound out of the thing. It’s so loud that I can feel my insides shaking. Several of the men below, put their hands to their ears. And then the effect kicks in. No one here is directly under Nephilim corruption, but neither is anyone here completely pure. The sound moves through me. Its effect feels something like Christmas morning as a child—magical and peaceful.

The horn sounds for a full thirty seconds before Merrill lets up.

Then we wait.

If the horn has had any effect on the berserkers, we should see them acting strangely. Confused. Perhaps remembering their old selves. Wandering about. But as I watch through my telescope, I see none of these things, just agitation. Then one of the berserkers dashes forward and stops in the sunlight. He’s a hairy man, covered in mud from head to toe, so much so that his blood-red hair is hard to see, but its there, corrupt as ever. The berserkers truly are lost.

The man pumps his fists in the air and screams wildly. When he’s done, a chorus of voices join in, sending a sound wave of hate and madness over the base that quickly erases the lingering effects of the shofar.

And then, they charge.

The man in front makes it just twenty feet before stepping on a land mine. Then, he’s just gone, a mist of a person that the next berserker runs through without pausing, before joining the first in a similar fate.

The flow of berserkers looks like a living black river of mud, flowing from the jungle. They scream in rage, blind to danger, oblivious to anything but a lust for carnage.

But then, among the black horde are specks of white, shorter, wider and bobbing back and forth as they run. I scan the now salt and pepper colored force and focus on one of the white bodies. It’s a feeder. Its large black eyes are emotionless, but its massive, shark-like jaws snap open and closed, like it’s excited or ravenously hungry. Both are probably true. In some ways, feeders are comical in appearance, but I know from experience that they are savage and deadly, and from the looks of it, there are just as many of them as there are berserkers. Together, they’re a dangerous mix.

But we’re prepared for this.

Hold your fire.
The order goes from Holloway to Luca and then to our multi-lingual army. For a moment, I wonder if I should have given the order, but then realize I already did, to Holloway himself. He’s just carrying it out.

The half-mile long mine field does its dirty work. Thousands of berserkers and feeders meet with abrupt and explosive ends. The shock wave from each explosion tears through me, cutting deeply as another human being meets his end. Sure, many are feeders, whose deaths I will never mourn, but too many are people, who are only here because they were kidnapped and broken beyond repair. I have to force myself to remain stoic. Kat notices my stiff upper lip and gives me a nod. This is what the men need to see. But is this bravery? Is this confidence?

War is a stranger to me.

Despite the field of carnage and the overwhelming death toll, the berserkers and feeders keep coming.

“How many are there?” I hear someone ask. I don’t know who it was, but I hear anguish in the question. No one here wants to kill people. But then it gets worse. The last of the mines detonates and the field is clear all the way to the razor wire.

Pick your targets,
Holloway orders.
Blue Alpha.

Blue Alpha is one of the most basic plans. Infantry takes the near ground. Snipers take the middle ground. Artillery and tanks level the jungle.

The tank cannons whir, rising up to fire a ranged attack.

This is it,
I think with a sour stomach.

Holloway’s next thought comes through loud and clear.
Fire!

The small-arms fire comes first, popping steadily, but then frantically. Men in the trenches fire first, then more from the walls on either side of me. The staccato pop of automatic gunfire is then accentuated with a less rapid, but far louder crack of sniper rifles. Each shot makes me jump, in part because of the volume, but also because half of the sharp retorts result in the killing of another human being.

But all of the gunfire is suddenly drowned out by a wave of thunder that shakes the ancient walls so hard I fear they might collapse. More than a hundred tanks open fire, leveling the distant jungle along with the men and monsters still pouring out from between the trees. The artillery behind the base fires next, further decimating the enemy ranks.

The enemy numbers are so high that despite all of this power and technology, a few of the berserkers and feeders make it as far as the razor wire. But they make it no further as they become hopelessly tangled, like flies in a spider’s web.

The next fifteen minutes is a nauseating blur of uproarious violence that shakes the ground, and my core. And then, the flow of berserkers finally slows. The feeders taper off too, leaving just a few random individuals bumbling clumsily over the dead. The tanks hold their fire. The artillery ceases, too. And then, as there are no enemies within range, those with assault rifles pause to reload and catch their breath. Only the snipers are still firing. But even they soon slow until there is a single sniper tracking the motion of a single berserker. He’s screaming, gnashing his teeth, and charging as though his army still existed and victory was assured.