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

“Em, he’s a friend.”


She looks at me, then to Grumpy, then back to me. Finally, she sheaths the knives.

“Come here,” I say.

Her hands stay near the knives, but she comes forward slowly. “He’s not alone,” she whispers, watching the tunnel around us.

“I know,” I reply. “There are eleven others.”

“You can smell each one?”

“No,” I say with a grin. “We’re old friends.”

She stops a few feet away.

I stand aside. “Em this is Grumpy. Grumpy, Em.”

The two size each other up. When Grumpy takes a step forward, Em flinches and reaches for a knife. I stop her with a stern, “Em.”

She holds her ground, but can’t erase the fear from her face. If Grumpy sneezes she’s liable to slit his throat.

“Hold out your hand,” I say.

She does, and Grumpy sniffs her hand. When her hand comes in contact with the cresty’s snout, Em smiles. “I’ve never touched a live one before.” Grumpy slides his head beneath her hand and she rubs him. The big dinosaur lets out a deep rumble, like a giant cat purring. “How is this possible?” Em asks.

“I set them free,” I say. “When I saved Kainda from Alice. She dominated the pack at the time.” I rub Grumpy’s neck. “How did you get free? Was there an exit I didn’t find?” I ask, but the dinosaur can’t speak. “And why are you here?”

When Grumpy turns toward me, I get a sense of why he’s here. To repay the favor. To help me fight. To be my army. How that’s possible, I have no idea. But I think that’s what’s going on.

“Do you have anything of Luca’s?” I ask Em.

She nods and digs into one of her pouches. She takes out a crayon and small wad of folded pages. “I thought they would help him feel safe.”

I take the crayon and paper and hold them out to Grumpy’s nose. He smells them. “Leave him unharmed,” I say, and then hand the drawing supplies back to Em. “He knows our scents now. Hopefully he understands.”

“Hopefully?”

“I think he does.”

Grumpy lifts his head and lets out a high pitched bark. Eleven more cresties, ranging in size from ten to eighteen feet, step out from the shadows. The whole deadly gang is here. Grumpy turns to face me again. I give his nose a pat. And then the lot of them is off and running, disappearing into the darkness. I wish there were a way to communicate with the beasts, to forge some kind of official plan, but I get the sense that Grumpy understands their role in the events to come.

At least, I think he does.





31



As we approach the end of our journey, we stop to share a last meal. We sit by the river, lit by a large number of glowing crystals embedded in the wall, and eat the fruits of our recent hunt. The centipede is hardly appetizing, but its cheesy flesh is high in protein and will help combat fatigue from our journey. I’m going to need all the strength I can muster soon enough. We scoop the uncooked flesh out with our hands and scrape it onto our lower teeth before swallowing. I notice Emilie having a hard time swallowing.

She sees me watching and says, “It’s been a long time since I ate centipede.”

I take a big bite and force myself to casually swallow without showing the disgust I feel. “It’s an acquired taste.”

We both laugh through mouthfuls of centipaste.

“What’s it like?” Em asks me. “The outside world? Do things taste better there?”

My mind flashes through a thousand different flavors. Chocolate ice cream. Maria’s Pizza. Roast beef. Devil Dogs. Corn on the cob. Despite the disgusting flavor in my mouth, and worse smell in the air, my mouth starts to water. “Like you wouldn’t believe.”

“Do you think…”

“I don’t know,” I say, anticipating her question. I want to tell her she can trust me to succeed. That I can face the devil, return and take her to the outside world, live with my parents and eat candy until we puke. But I’m not even sure I believe that’s possible.

“What about everything else? Is it…safe?”

“Most of the time,” I say, but then remember scores of news reports about wars and famines. “Where I’m from. But not everywhere. Some places aren’t much different than here. And there have been wars—” I shake my head. The images of war retained in my head aren’t doing my nerves any good.