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

It’s a map, or at least I think it is. It’s hard to tell, and there’s a blinking green dot at the center. “What is this?” I say to Zhou’s still, bent form.

Touching the screen, I’m able to slide the map back and forth, and up and down, but the green dot stays rooted in place. As I’m trying to figure out exactly what this is a map of, my thumb taps the screen. In the moment that both fingers touch the screen, the map image shrinks, revealing more terrain.

“Whoa!” I smile, glance up at Zhou and stop. It doesn’t feel right to smile next to the dead man’s body. So I collect the case and the food, and head back toward the wall, fiddling with the device as I walk. Repeating the motion with my thumb and index finger, I shrink the map repeatedly until I recognize it for what it is—Antarctica. And just like the Arab’s paper map, this one has a red dot blinking right at the South Pole.

Why is everyone trying to get to the South Pole? It’s not even the South Pole anymore.

If the red dot signifies the goal, what is the green dot? I wonder. By pinching my fingers together, I’m able to zoom back in on the green dot. As I’m walking and wondering, something happens. The green dot bounces ahead.

Why is the green dot moving?

My smile returns as I realize what it is and say, “No…” in disbelief.

I walk forward. Nothing happens.

So I run.

Fifty feet into my run, the green dot shifts again.

The green dot is me! Or, at least, this device. Not only is this a map, but it’s some kind of tracking device so you can see where you are and where you need to go. Ingenious! I continue forward, watching the green dot shift with me. I slow as inspiration strikes. I zoom out again, and shift the map to the left, and then to the right. And I see what I’m looking for.

A winding river that leads to a lake.

Like the one from my dream.

“I’m here,” the person said. “I’m right here.”

I begin my sprint anew, now knowing that it will eventually lead me to a river, and then the lake. “I’m coming,” I say.





21



The smell of blood hits me so strongly that I realize I’ve been so enraptured with watching my progress on the map that I missed the first hints of it on the breeze. Or perhaps I was just upwind of it? Doesn’t matter. Because I’m surrounded by the stench now.

I stop in my tracks and slowly pocket the maptrack—that’s what I’ve decided to call it. Not exactly creative, but it has a ring. With the device put away, I focus on my surroundings. The scent of blood is everywhere, which is probably because there are bodies everywhere. Hundreds of men lay scattered over the jungle floor, some crushed, some skewered on tree limbs and some in pieces. The savagery of the attacks reveals the enemy they faced to be Nephilim. The number of weapons I see laying about, along with thousands of scattered shell casings, means that these men were the source of what I mistook for fireworks. The amount of bullets zinging through the air must have been copious. Not even the cresties could stand against such power. But the Nephilim…they wouldn’t have any trouble. In fact, they would likely take pleasure in the pain.

The uniforms on the dead men match Zhou’s, so I know they’re Chinese. This must be where he was thrown from. I stand in silence for several minutes, just listening. I don’t hear anything except a faint rustling in the leaves. The Nephilim that did this have left. And every other living thing in the jungle is avoiding the area. Normally, the smell of death would attract scavengers like turkuins, but there’s another scent in the air keeping them at bay.

Nephilim blood.

A lot of it.

With Whipsnap in my hand, I walk into the field of dead. I try to keep my eyes off the slain men. Most of them are young, not much older than me. And their deaths were gruesome, to say the least. Dark spots of earth, damp with blood, act as a maze. I wind my way through the field of dead until I see it.

A Nephilim body.

I work my way toward the body and discover a purple pool of blood where the thing’s head should be. I search the area and find bits of Nephilim flesh clinging to tree trunks. My eyes widen with the realization that some kind of explosive took the monster’s head clean off. Yet another way to kill them: if you can’t reach the weak spot or drown them, blow their head to bits, weak spot and all.

That it took nearly two hundred men to kill one Nephilim isn’t very encouraging, though. And it was probably a lucky shot. But maybe, if men can be taught how to kill the Nephilim, they—we—might have a chance. Now if only I can find someone that isn’t dead or trying to kill me. That would be a good start.