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

Carpe diem, Schwartz, I think. Carpe diem.

I sense a presence behind me, but unlike so many other times in the past, I’m not frightened. I remember the jingling bell I heard. Dr. Clark no doubt rigged my door so the bell would sound when I left the room. Can’t have me walking around in the snow, can we?

I stand there, looking at the stars, waiting for him to give me a coat or tell me to go inside. But he does nothing. Must be looking at the stars, too, I think. This late at night, he must figure that no one will see me.

The tick, tick of the falling snow has picked up. “There’s a storm coming,” I say.

“You have no idea,” replies my visitor, but it’s not Dr. Clark. The voice is higher and wet.

I turn toward the voice, still not fearing it, then quickly realize I should. A flash of something red, hair maybe, and a streak of dirty flesh is all I see before something strikes me in the stomach and sends me sprawling back onto the ice. I climb to my knees, but the air has been knocked from my lungs. I suck in a breath, but all I manage is a wheeze.

The man laughs at me from the darkness. I can see the door ten feet away, but my attacker has disappeared into the night. I spin around, looking for him, knowing he’s going to attack again. But he’s invisible, he’s—behind me!

I duck low to the ground in a crouch, pivot around and lunge. I throw a punch that feels wild, but the solid impact I feel on my hand tells me I found my target. I see a large shape fall to the snow and pounce on it. One hand has a fist full of fabric, pulling the immobile form up. The other is raised high, ready to strike again.

I let out a roar that sounds something like an angry ape. Then I see her face.

Her face.

Aimee’s face.

The hatch opens and Dr. Clark’s silhouette fills the space. “Aimee!” he shouts, jumping to her side. As he lifts her head in his hands, I see her face, swelling and bloody. He turns to me. “What happened?”

But I’m speechless. I can’t fathom how to explain what happened, or why. I stand there, as frozen as the ice beneath my feet and for the first time since setting foot on Antarctica, I feel cold. Not my skin. My heart.

Dr. Clark’s eyes drift from mine to my clenched fist. He squints at it for a moment and then his eyes are wide and full of fear. He scoops Aimee up and carries her inside without saying another word. When he’s gone I look at my fist. It’s covered in blood.

Aimee’s blood.





11



“What happened?”

I’ve been asked that question twenty-two times by five different people in the past ten minutes. I suppose they keep asking because I have yet to give a good answer. I’m in shock, but mostly I’m worried sick. I just cold-clocked the person who welcomed me into this world with a smile.

The first thing I did after coming back inside was wash the blood off my hand. It wasn’t a matter of erasing the evidence. I had no intention of denying the truth...but I didn’t fully know the truth, either. Someone was out there. Someone attacked me. But telling them that—well, it will just make me look crazy.

Crazier.

Aimee is lying on a cot in the living area. Dr. Clark and my mother are tending to her. The rest of the crew stands around waiting like sentinels. Mira kneels by her mother’s side, her eyes wet and closed. Is she praying? I wonder. My father stands behind me, hands on my shoulders, but I’m not sure if he’s comforting me or restraining me.

Aimee moans and blinks for a moment, but doesn’t regain consciousness. Dr. Clark looks back at me, his face a mix of anger, sympathy and fear. As the rest of the eyes turn toward me I know the question is going to come again. “What happened?”

The tone of his voice tells me I better answer this time.

“I’m sorry,” I say.

“Don’t be sorry,” Dr. Clark says. “Be honest.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt her.”

He gives me a long hard stare. “I believe you.”

Some of my tension dissolves with those three words. I’m not sure why I assumed they would all treat me like some kind of untrustworthy criminal. They know me.

I take a deep breath and then spill my emotional guts. “There was someone else out there.”

Dr. Clark looks skeptical and I know why. He saw the blood on my hand and is wondering if I’m trying cast the blame on someone else. “I’m not saying I didn’t do this, I did.”

Collette gasps.

“But I didn’t know it was Aimee.” The next words are hard to say because even I know they sound ridiculous. “I was attacked.”

“In the middle of the Antarctic night?” Collette asks, her voice steeped in a thick tea of doubt. “Were any of you outside tonight?” she asks the crew.

The universal answer to this question is, “no,” of course. Even I know that, and I tell them so. “It wasn’t any of you.”