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

When I reach the edge of the jungle ten minutes later, I’m moving slowly, using Whipsnap like a walking stick to keep myself from falling over. But when the trees clear, I find myself distracted from my condition, and from the dinosaurs tracking me down.

A giant stone wall covered with patches of purple moss cuts through the jungle. It’s at least twenty-five feet tall and stretches into the jungle as far as I can see in either direction. It’s clearly ancient, exposed when the ice melted. Its construction is phenomenal. The stones it’s built from are gigantic; each must weigh several tons. But even more impressive is the way they’re all fit perfectly together, as though the pieces were carved by lasers. It’s a work of art, really, beautiful to look at, but also a reminder that Nephilim once roamed the Earth in broad daylight.

As they do once more.

Despite the wall’s presence being an ominous reminder of the size of my enemies, it also presents a possible escape route. The seams are tight, and the purple moss is no doubt slippery, but I’ve scaled worse, and I still have my climbing claws. The only real problem is my faltering health.

Better get started, I think, and wade into the clearing of tall grass that stands between the jungle and the wall. As I leave the jungle canopy, the sun strikes me full on for the first time. I flinch in pain, placing a hand over my eyes to help block out the light. But I don’t give in to the pain. I keep my squinted eyes turned up at the wall, looking for the best place to climb.

That’s when I stub my toe. As I pitch forward, I put my weight on Whipsnap, hoping to keep myself upright. But the flexible staff bends under my weight and I plummet to the ground. I’m expecting a soft thump in the grass, but I strike several hard, knobby surfaces when I hit.

I lie on the hard, unwelcoming ground for a few moments and let my eyes close. Sleep nearly claims me, but a distant cresty cry snaps my eyes back open. I push myself up and a horrible surprise greets me. The fleshless face of a Nephilim stares back at me. Startled, I scramble away from the bones, but I stop once the rest of the grisly scene comes into view.

It’s a Nephilim skeleton, short by warrior standards, but far taller than the tallest human being. But what’s most interesting about the skeleton is that it is entwined with a cresty skeleton. They died here together, locked in battle. The cresty’s jaws are wrapped around the Nephilim’s head, its long canine sticks through a clean hole in the Nephilim’s skull. The weak spot. Whether the long dead dinosaur knew to bite the giant there or just got lucky is impossible to tell. But the effect was clear. The cresty killed this Nephilim, and by the positioning of the giant’s hand, it looks like he managed to strike a killing blow as well, though the weapon, whatever it was, is now missing.

Taken, I realize when I see that the warrior’s hand has been pried open. Someone has been here. Most likely the same someone who set that trap. But who? I look at the excavated bodies again. They’ve been exhumed with care. This is a dig site! Some archeologist has been here. I’m sure of it.

My excitement is short-lived. A loud shifting sound slides out of the jungle. I recognize it immediately. The cresties who hunted in the cavern that I called home for several years used this technique. They would rub their bodies against the subterranean trees, coating them with fresh scent. They would then position themselves so that their prey fled into the trees, and when the prey smelled the fresh scent, they’d panic, stop and be caught from behind. It was a clever tactic, but it didn’t work on hunters. It seems that these cresties, like the turkuins, have yet to figure out that I am a hunter. Which is fine by me. Let them rub up against the trees and set a trap. I’ll be gone by the time they’re done.

I’m about to get out my climbing claws, when I see a snake at my feet and jump back. My heart pounds hard in my chest and chills sweep over my skin. But my fear is misplaced. It’s not a snake at all.

It’s a rope.

I pick up the line and bundle it quickly. It’s about forty feet long and one end is frayed, like it was hacked apart from some missing end. I don’t put in much thought as to why the rope is there, or who left it. I just quickly tie one end off to Whipsnap, and with a heave, throw the weapon up and over the top of the wall. I pull the line down slowly until Whipsnap snags on something.