The Last Hunter - Lament (Book 4 of the Antarktos Saga) (13 page)

Kainda shakes her head, looking angry and confused.
None of them noticed.

“The eyes,” Kat says. “They had your eyes.”

“That’s all they have,” I say. “I should have killed them before we ran.”

Silence falls over the group as we jog downhill for what feels like several hours, merging with the High River’s vast tunnel, full of stalactites and stalagmites, and continuing down. I can still smell the group following us. When we slow, they slow. They’re keeping what they believe is a safe distance, so they won’t be detected. They’re following our scent trail, left every time we step on the stone floor, determining our distance by the odor’s strength.

Wright jogs up next to me. The glow of his flashlight bounces over the terrain ahead with each step. “So I think I have this time paradox licked.”

It’s the last thing I’m expecting him to say, and I stumble when I glance at him.

He looks at his watch. “We’ve been running for
twelve
hours. I’ve never run for twelve hours straight before, have you?”

“Occasionally,” I say, recalling the times I have fled for my life in the underworld.

“Down here, right?”

I nod. Good point.

“I’m tired, but I’m not about to collapse,” he says. “I should have passed out from exhaustion long before now. And I sure as hell shouldn’t be able to have a conversation right now. So my mind perceives the passage of time the same way it would on the surface, just like my wrist watch. But my body perceives time differently. I feel like I’ve been running for an hour. Not twelve.”

His observations are sound. I’ve experienced these things in the past.

“But, here’s the kicker. Assume we’re the world’s best marathon runner, able to complete a twenty-six mile race in just over two hours. Hell, lets round it to two hours. I’m no good with math.”

I smile and don’t bother telling him that I am, in fact, good with math. I sense he’s getting somewhere and don’t want to ruin his train of thought.

“If a marathon runner could keep up the pace for twelve hours he would travel...”

When his pause lingers, I say, “One hundred fifty-six miles.”

He shakes his head at the absurdity of it all. The idea that we’ve run so far is—I gasp.

Wright smiles. “You’re figuring it out? Using that memory of yours?”

When I run, I subconsciously count my steps. I always have. Since leaving Hades’s chambers, I have taken one million, two hundred twenty six thousand, nine hundred and sixty steps. With an average three-foot stride, that’s three million, six hundred eighty thousand, eight hundred and eighty feet. Divide by five thousand two hundred eighty feet in a mile and you get, “Six hundred ninety-seven miles.”

Wright smiles. “Which is—”

“How far we could travel in two and a half days on the surface if we maintained the pace twenty-fours a day and never took a break.”

“A little more precise than my guess, but yeah. So now we know that two and half surface days have passed in the last twelve hours.”

“But the effect grows more significant the deeper we go.”

“Then it’s been growing more significant this whole time. As long as you keep moving, and counting your steps, we can figure out how much time has passed.”

He’s right. It won’t work if we’re standing still, but we can guesstimate how much surface time has passed based on the number of steps we’ve taken. Our minds and bodies don’t perceive actual time down here, but miles are miles and it takes the same number of steps to cover them.

A distant sound tickles my ears. The rushing water of the High River sounds muffled ahead. Quieted. I pull the air from below toward us and smell it. Water and stone. That’s all there is. There are no hunters cutting off our passage.

I test the air from behind, counting the seconds it takes the hunting party’s scent to reach me. My eyes go wide. “They’re closing in.”

“Are the others near by?” Kainda asks, testing the air. “I smell nothing.”

“No,” I say, “they’re gone.”

“Gone?” Em sounds flabbergasted. It doesn’t make sense to any of us.

Then we reach the strange silence of the river and everything is clear. The downward sloping tunnel ends at a flat pool of water that rises several feet by the minute as the river adds to it.

The New Jericho chamber has fully flooded and the waters are rising up toward the surface. There’s at least a half mile of water between us and the chamber and then several more to cross to the other side.

“This is the trap,” I say.

“What about the—”

I cut off Em’s idea, saying, “The side tunnels leading to New Jericho will be flooded, too. To get to the gates, we need to backtrack—”

The sound of slapping feet on stone rises in the distance.

“—through them.”

Wright and Kat are quick to take up positions behind a pair of boulders, aiming their modern weapons up the tunnel. Wright looks at me. “You don’t kill people, right?”

“I don’t,” I say, though I’m not sure how we will escape this if I don’t. I think he’s about to tell me as much, but then he says, “Then you focus on the two clones and we’ll take care of the hunters. I have no qualms about taking them out.”

“Nor do I,” Kainda says, unclipping her hammer.

Em draws two knives. “Nor I.”

Kat looks down the site of her rifle. “I think you all know where I stand.”

I’m glad for their willingness to take that burden from me, but I would still like not to kill these hunters. They aren’t our enemies. They just haven’t figured that out, yet. But if I hinder the others’ ability to defend themselves, it’s likely that some or all of them will die. The worst part is that we’re in such tight quarters I’m not sure if I can use my powers without also affecting my friends.

I remove Whipsnap from my belt and prepare to fight the first real battle of the war for Antarktos.

And the world.

14

They charge as a mob, each hunter vying for the front spot and the first shot at glory. They might be cooperating in a general sense—to herd and trap us—but when it comes down to the fight, these hunters are battling as individuals, not a team.

I shout at the oncoming horde, “Stop!” But the big half-me, half-warrior gives a battle cry that drowns out my voice. Does he think I could talk these hunters out of the fight? Is their loyalty in question?

When Wright says, “Steady,” to Kat, I know I’ll never get a chance.

The hunters aren’t thinking. They rush through the bottleneck, open targets for Em’s throwing knives and our special ops friends’ rifles. When they close to within a hundred feet, Wright says, “Fire.”

I hear a series of coughing sounds. Three hunters at the front of the group drop clumsily. One of them face plants into a stalagmite rising from the chamber floor and I hear a crunch as his neck, or something in his face, cracks.

I glance at Kat and watch her calmly pick a target and pull the trigger. She repeats the action again and again, firing off a shot about once a second. And the hunters fall just as fast, each one dead. I can tell, by the way they don’t reach out when they fall. They’re like toys that have been switched off. In contrast, Wright fires bursts of gunfire. It’s not exactly wild, but he lacks Kat’s perfect aim. His targets fall wildly, reaching out, spinning and stumbling. They’re not all dying, but they’re stumbling up the hunters behind them.

Em crouches next to Kat and I hear her say, “See if you can get the big one.” She taps her forehead.

Kat nods, adjusts her aim and pulls the trigger. The giant’s head twitches, but he keeps on coming. She fires four more rounds, but the effect is negligible and the reason is obvious. The warrior-me can heal like a Nephilim, but lacks the weak spot on his forehead.

As nearly half the hunters drop under the skillful barrages, the big warrior howls. The undisciplined charge morphs into something else entirely. The smaller clone falls in line behind the warrior and all of the hunters follow suit. They close the distance like a snake, winding their way through the stalagmites and river water in two lines, each protected by the regenerative girth of the big clone.

Wright opens up on the warrior, unleashing a full clip. Purple spots of blood appear on the giant’s body, but they disappear just as quickly. A grin appears on the monster’s face. Like our former masters, this creature enjoys the pain.

“It’s no good,” Wright says, falling back toward the water. Kat ceases fire and pulls back. They are clearly a formidable pair with modern projectile weapons, but all they’ve got for hand-to-hand combat is a pair of knives. The incoming force is armed with an array of weapons that can out-power and outreach the knives.

Em, Kainda and I step forward. It’s our turn.

Kainda turns to me. “Can you slow them? Stumble them? Something to give us the advantage?”

“To affect all of them, I would have to hit us as well,” I say.

“But we’ll be ready for it,” Em says.

Kainda nods. “Do it!”

I turn back to Wright and Kat, who are crouched and aiming, waiting for targets to appear. “Get down!”

I drop to my stomach and assume that my team has done likewise. Then I focus on the air. The breeze is rolling down from above, pulled by gravity. I could send a blast of air up at the group, but that would require a more concerted effort, and I want to be at full energy when they arrive. So I pull the air down, forcing it faster. The howl of the approaching pressure wave fills the cavern.

Wind whips my hair.

And then it hits.

My ears pop and grit scours my exposed skin. The pulse of air is gone as quick as it came. Hunters shout in surprise and anger.
It worked
, I think, looking up. Hunters are scattered, just twenty feet away, but they’re already picking themselves up. I catch a glimpse of the wiry me with the tufts of red hair. He’s already back on his feet and staring at me, a sick smile on his face like he knows something I don’t.

“Solomon!” Wright shouts. “Above you!”

I look up in time to see the head of an ax descending toward my skull. Without thought, I roll to the side. Sparks fly as the giant metal blade strikes the stone floor where my head had been. The ground beneath me vibrates as the giant lands.
He used the wind
, I realize,
to cover the distance with a jump
. He swings again, sweeping the blade horizontally. I push off the ground, and I’m carried up by a gust of wind. The ax passes by beneath my face, severing a shock of my blond hair.

Before the last strike is complete, he swings with the second ax, bringing it down with the strength to cleave my body in two. I leap back, out of the way.
Is he really trying to kill me
? I wonder. I thought Nephil would want me alive. Then I remember his blood. In theory, he could kill me and bring me back with his blood if he was fast enough, a fact that does little to comfort me. Better to be dead than a vessel for Nephil.

The attack persists without pause, and I know this giant won’t grow tired. I’m forced back as blow after blow narrowly misses me. When my foot strikes water, I know I’ve run out of room. Something has to change, I think, no matter the cost.

I focus. Hard. The giant’s progress is arrested. A manacle of stone rising from the floor binds one of his legs in place. It’s the same technique I used to trap Pan, but only one leg to conserve energy and time.