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

I swing myself up onto a branch and wrap my arms and legs around it like I’m a sloth. The water approaches as though in slow motion. I can’t take my eyes off it. It’s A force of nature. Seeing the water reminds me of the flooded underworld. Had the rushing waters looked like this? I decide against it. With so many underworld species now flourishing on the surface, they had time to get out. But Behemoth, trapped underground, found its chamber slowly flooded and eventually drowned.

A speck on the crest of the approaching wave catches my attention. There are trees and other debris pushed by the raging waters, but this object has the distinctive shape of a boat. A wooden boat. And it rides the wave like a surfer. How is it not being smashed into the jungle, I wonder, and then I see a man—a human—at the back, guiding the thing with a large rudder. The craft looks like an unfinished yacht without a mast. It stretches at least twenty-five feet. But it’s also clearly not designed for people. Instead, I suspect it’s something closer to a Nephilim rowboat, designed to carry just two of the giants. But to what?

My question fades as I look at the other passengers. There is a thin man with tan skin whose uniform I recognize as Chinese. A survivor of the Nephilim attack? Another looks to be Arab, but I’m not sure and then there is a black woman. But she’s not dressed in military clothing like the rest, she’s—Aimee!

The boat is swept beneath me and I see her face. And next to her—Merrill! A blond mop of hair whips my head toward the center of the boat so fast that I nearly fall out of the tree.

Mira.

Seeing her face brings tears to my eyes. My old friend… I thought I’d never see her again. Or Merrill. And yet, they’re all here and reunited. How they managed to find each other and escape Olympus is beyond me. But they did it.

I hear voices rise up from below.

“Whitney!” It’s the man at the rudder. His face looks Hispanic. His clothing is black. Military. U.S. I’d guess. “How are we doing, chica?”

I’m surprised when it’s Mira who replies. “Keep to the left, Cruz.”

Their voices fade as the craft moves past.

I shout to them, desperate. “Mira! Merrill! Aimee! Up here!”

My voice is lost in the roar of the river.

For a moment, I think they’re looking at me, but they’re not. They’re looking beyond me. At the sky.

What are they watching for?

The boat is carried quickly away, and if the man, Cruz, can keep them in the middle of the river, they won’t slow until reaching the lake.

With my friends out of reach, my thoughts return to the question of why Mira responded to the name, Whitney. Did she change her name? Was it some kind of military code name? Her middle name? None of these possibilities rings true. Then what?

She called the man Cruz, which is a common Hispanic last name. So he was probably using her last name, too. Whitney. Mirabelle Whitney, not Mirabelle Clark. She’s married. The answer fills me with jealously and anger.

Granted, I knew she would be older than me, and that there was a possibility of her being married, or even being a mother. But the reality of it hurts. It’s not like she was ever my girlfriend. I didn’t even know her that long. But her photo carried me for so long that I guess I became attached. And her being married, for some strange psychological reason, feels like a betrayal. She lived her life without me.

And that means everyone else did, too.

Merrill.

Justin.

My parents.

They all lived on without me. They all went to parties. Saw movies. Vacationed. Laughed. Loved.

Without me.

The realization stings.

I know it’s selfish, but I can’t stop it.

I can’t, but something else can. A shadow. It moves across the river so quickly that I’m not sure I actually saw something. How could a shadow fall on the river, anyway?

If it were flying, I realize, turning my head up.

It’s just a speck when I see it, circling like some kind of predatory bird. But it looks far too high, which means it’s also quite large. Hanging onto my perch with one hand, I take out my telescope and extend it using my teeth. With the spectacle to my eye, I try to find the airborne figure. It takes some time to zero in on the moving target, but when I do, I gasp.

Enki.

With the wings of a Gigantes.

And the tail of Cronus the Titan.

The thinkers somehow managed to imbue the Nephilim warriors with attributes previously held only by the eldest of their kind. That’s how they’re going to reach the world, I realize. Antarctica might now reside at the equator, but an ocean still separates the continent from the rest of the world.

They’re going to fly to the mainland. I remember the small boat. The river is now deep enough to carry much larger vessels. Maybe they’ll even sail to the mainland?

Enki is brother to Enlil. Together, they are the sons of Nephil and kings of the Sumerian Nephilim, the most ancient and powerful warrior clan. Next to Nephil, who now resides in Ninnis’s body, they are the rulers of the underworld, commanders of a supernatural force beyond the comprehension of mankind.

So the question is, why is Enki here?