The Last Hunter: Collected Edition (Antarktos Saga #1-5)

“Solomon,” he says, a little bit of sadness creeping into his voice. “Had I found you first, you would have been spared the breaking. The three tests. I could have trained you myself. The corruption would have never turned your hair red.”


“But why take me at all?” I ask. “Why not protect me. Send me home? Warn the others?”

“Because,” Em says. “We need you here. It is a fate that could not be avoided.”

“I’ve known that since the day of your birth,” Tobias says.

“How?” I ask.

Tobias pulls his mask down so I can see his face. “Because I witnessed it. I saw the light. The power of your birth shattered the ice and buried this place beneath thirty feet of snow.” He steps closer. “Solomon, please trust that we mean you no harm. You are here now, and that is what is important.”

While I do not like the fact that this man would have kidnapped me if given the chance, I do believe his motivation isn’t necessarily evil. And life with Tobias would have been better than my life underground, with Ninnis. I would still retain my innocence. Nephil would not reside within me. And Aimee would not have been taken captive.

Tobias reaches out a welcoming hand toward me. “Come. See your home again. There is someone who would very much like to meet you.”

“Who?” I ask.

“Luca. My son.” He flashes a grin. “You two have a lot in common. Come, follow me.”

He leads me to the entrance to Clark Station One, a tunnel some two hundred feet away from the building. The entrance is cleverly disguised by a snow covered hatch. The first fifty feet of the downward sloping tunnel is so small that we have to slide down on our bellies. After that, it levels out and is tall enough to stand in.

“A defensive bottleneck?” I ask. Any enemy foolish enough to enter the tunnel could be easily dispatched before their whole body exited the small hole.

“Yes, yes,” Tobias says with a dismissive wave of his hand. Then he’s walking quickly toward the gray outer door of Clark Station One, which I can see ahead.

“I can’t believe we didn’t recognize you right away,” Em says.

“From the baby photo?” I ask. “I’ve changed a lot since then.”

“Mm,” she says.

I absolutely hate it when someone rubs in the fact that they know something I don’t, especially when it relates to me. Always have. It makes me feel stupid. And angry. So I change the subject. “Is Em short for something?”

“Emilie,” she says. “With an I and an E at the end. Not a Y.”

“The German spelling,” I say.

She nods, and doesn’t seem all that interested in my questions. Her eyes, like her father’s, are glued to the door ahead of us.

“You don’t have his accent,” I say.

“An American teacher taught me how to speak English. I didn’t see my father much when I was young. I didn’t see him much at all, actually. Not until we escaped.”

“How did you escape?” I ask.

“Not now,” she says. “We’re here.”

We stop in front of the door. Tobias knocks two times, pauses and then knocks three times. The door opens from the inside and Tobias rushes inside. He bends over and scoops up a small body. “Solomon,” he says, turning toward me. “I’d like you to meet my son, Luca.”

I see the boy’s eyes and my heart skips a beat. They look so familiar. When I look at the rest of his face, I immediately know why I know his eyes.

It’s because they’re mine.

Luca is me.

As a child.

“Luca,” Tobias says. “This is Solomon—”

“—your brother.”





20



The next hour is surreal as I give myself a tour of the place where I was born. But he’s not me. Not really. Even though he is identical to me at six years old.

Identical.

Even his pure blond, unbroken hair. But he does not share my memories, and only some of my personality. I bring none of this up, because he is beyond excited to meet me and is leading me around by the hand, pointing out Tobias’s room (my parents’ room), Em’s room (the Clarks’ room) and his bedroom (my bedroom). He even sleeps in the makeshift crib—a cot with slabs of wood nailed around the sides to keep me from rolling out—that my father and Dr. Clark made for me. I look at its metal and wooden frame, now sporting a mattress of feeder skins, and look up. There is more rust on the ceiling than I remember, but it is still the same place.

I feel instantly at home and the smile on my face is genuine.

But I cannot stop thinking about the little me holding my hand. How is he possible? Why is he here? Is he really my brother?

I feel sick to my stomach with the thought. I had a twin who was taken at birth and maybe he’s only six because he lived underground all this time?

The questions don’t stop coming, so when the tour finishes in the living room I think I might get a chance to speak to Tobias in private. But Luca has other plans. He props himself up on my—his—bed. His little legs dangle over the side.