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

The shuffling sound gets louder. The cresties are closing in. With no time to test my weight on the line, I grab hold and start pulling myself up. I’ve only gone five feet when my arms start shaking. After another five feet, I’m sure I’m going to fall. I loop the rope around my foot and let it take my weight. I catch my breath for a moment, but then my time runs out.

With a shriek, the first of the cresties catches sight of me, and charges. The dinosaur is like a cross between a raptor and a T-rex. They’ve got large, sharp talons and powerful jaws, and a distinctive crest over their heads—hence the cresty name. The thing is a blur of green and red as it charges toward the wall. It’s not a large specimen, just twelve feet from snout to tail. But it’s big enough, and strong enough, to leap up and yank me down. As the beast prepares to do just that, I reach up with my hands, grab tight and yank myself up. I move fast and manage to pull my feet up, too.

The cresty jumps and misses my toes by inches. Fueled by a surge of adrenaline, I complete my climb in seconds. The cresty roars in frustration. I quickly pull the rope up, and then retrieve Whipsnap from the other side of the wall where it caught on a nearby tree branch. More cresties arrive, screeching up at me. I lean over the side to look at them and I’m overcome with nausea. I nearly fall into their waiting jaws, but I collapse on top of the wall instead.

I breathe hard, pulling air in through my nose. Several new scents strike me at once. The pungent smell of the dinosaurs comes first, but there’s something else. Something familiar. Metallic. Gun powder? I’m not sure if that’s the actual scent, but I smelled the same thing when the Arab man fired his gun. Whoever was here fired a weapon.

From the top of the wall.

I look at the rope piled next to me and find two frayed ends instead of just the one. I take hold of one end and pull it free. It’s the same rope, but only ten feet long. I have just used the same escape route of the person who was here before. Except that they shot the rope to sever it. Had the cresties tried to climb the rope? It doesn’t seem possible, but they are fairly smart. If I hadn’t pulled the rope up so quickly, they might have tried the same with me.

As the adrenaline wears off, exhaustion returns in spades. I can feel myself crashing. I’m safe from the cresties up here, but I’m fully exposed to the sun. My fair complexion earned me a couple of nasty sunburns as a child, but I’ve been underground so long that I think things will be far worse now. My skin is pasty-white and might burn to a crisp inside of a half hour.

At least the sun doesn’t feel warm. The storm must have brought in cool air, because unlike before, the air is now a nice seventy-something degrees. Of course, that doesn’t affect how quickly your skin reacts to the ultraviolet wavelength. It could be freezing out and I’d still burn.

Sunburn or not, I’m done. As I slide down and lay on my stomach, I turn my head to the side. There, on the wall next to me, is something strange. It’s blue. And square. I reach out for it and feel soft fabric. Manmade fabric of the 100% cotton variety. I grasp the cloth and pull it to my face. Up close, I can see it’s a bandana.

My hand trembles as I place the fabric against my nose and take a deep breath. A mix of scents triggers memories.

The strongest scent is a dog. Not any dog I know, but canines have a distinct odor. Whoever this bandana belongs to is a dog owner.

I smell dirt, sweat and an amalgam of other odors, but only one more jumps out at me. When I separate the smell from the rest, I’m overcome with something close to desperation mixed with elation. If I weren’t just moments from delirium I would shout out, hoping the owner of this bandana was still nearby.

I know who owns this bandana.

The dig site, its location on the continent and the scent of Old Spice permanently bonded to the fabric leaves no doubt in my mind.

Dr. Clark has been here.

Merrill.

My friend, Aimee’s husband, Mira’s father, has returned to Antarktos.

I try to push myself up. Look for other clues. But the world is spinning now. The fever has returned in force.

“Merrill,” I mumble.

The words of my dream return to me. “I’m here,” I say. “I’m right here.”





20



Memories mix with dreams. I vaguely remember standing up on the wall. The ocean lay in one direction and the endless stretch of gray wall, about eight feet across, led inland—the direction I picked. I stumbled along the top of the wall, nearly falling over the edge on more than one occasion. I kept my gaze turned down from the sun, but even with the sunglasses on, the reflected light on the stones stung my eyes.