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

The first thing I need to do is get out of the line of fire. Although a part of me wants to lead the charge, that’s not the strategy we’re playing. This is, in effect, a tower defense. We’re going to sit tight, hammer them with everything we’ve got until we run out and if that’s not enough, then we’ll charge. If I were to storm the enemy, shaking my weapon boldly, it might be inspiring—until I took a tank round in the back.

With a leap, I cover the distance between the trenches and the wall, guiding and slowing my descent with the wind so that I land back in my spot next to Holloway. The general gives me a nod, which I think is about as much of a compliment as I’m going to get at the moment.

The air behind the base fills with the reverberating thunder of rising helicopters, their rotors chopping the air. They lift from the ground and take up hovering formations three hundred feet above and behind the line of artillery. They’re armed with an array of small missiles and chain guns that shoot bullets so fast they’re kind of like laser beams.

Even louder than the choppers is the roar of jets lifting off from several aircraft carriers. Each jet will fly in a holding pattern until they’re called on. They pack a serious punch and can outrun any flying Nephilim, but our real firepower comes from the Navy Destroyers. Not only do they have some really big guns, they can launch missiles designed to flatten buildings. There are also several submarines lurking in the depths. Nuclear submarines. While they won’t play a role in the coming battle, they’re our contingency plan: Cleansing Fire. If we lose the fight, and the fate of the human race is at stake, they will launch their nuclear payloads, essentially erasing the battlefield along with everything in and around it. The plan belongs to Holloway, and while the idea of it makes me cringe—I read the books and saw the pictures of Hiroshima when I was a kid—I couldn’t argue with the logic.

But it’s not going to get to that point, I tell myself. I won’t let it.

A rumble beneath my feet pulls my attention forward. Despite the din of modern war machines, a kind of peace settles over the troops as we wait for our enemy.

Rumble.

C’mon, I think, where are you?

And then, it’s impossible to miss. A behemoth steps into the gap, nearly filling it. Its massive white body gleams in the rising sun. Its long tentacles of red hair writhe around its body. Its solid black, bulging eyes, are blank like a shark’s so that you never really know if it’s looking at you while at the same time, you have no doubt that it’s looking at you. The top of its head tilts back, the mouth opening wide to reveal teeth the size of sailboat sails. Ropes of drool ooze down from the top like waterfalls. And then it lets out a bellow that’s high pitched and a deep rattle all in one.

Yeah, I think, Nephil is angry. But he’s got a decent strategy, too. I have no doubt that this behemoth will be followed by a mad rush of Nephilim. But this is also our chance to slow them down and kill their momentum.

Behemoth-Alpha, I think. Go.

As though in response to my mental command, the behemoth takes a giant step forward. And then another. A third brings it just inside the bottleneck and a fourth, all the way through.

But then, six fighter jets whose make and models are unknown to me, but which look really sleek, streak past overhead.

The behemoth takes a fifth step and I realize that just fifteen more will bring it to our doorstep.

The six jets unload with everything they have, launching missiles and peeling up and away. The missiles twist and swirl through the air, leaving white contrails in their wake, like long tails. And then, one by one, they find their target in the midsection of the giant beast. A ball of fire and billowing black smoke obscures the giant, but its wail reveals the strike caused it pain.

I watch in silence, waiting for some sign of success. I don’t wait long, but what I see is not success. The behemoth takes another step. It slides out of the black curtain of smoke revealing its prodigious belly. If the missiles caused it any harm at all, there’s no evidence of it. The monster has completely healed.

“How the hell are we supposed to take off that thing’s head,” Holloway mutters.

“We might not have to,” I tell him. To my knowledge, only warriors need to be decapitated, or have their weak spots pierced. Other variations of Nephilim can heal, but not as quickly, or as completely.

“How do you mean?” Holloway asks.

“We don’t give it time to heal,” I tell him, and then I send an order to the tank gunners, helicopter crews, artillery crews and fighter jet pilots. Fire!

This time, I have to put my hands to my ears. The volume of this many tank cannons, artillery shells, missiles, jets and helicopters is more than my ears can bear. Unless... Yes, I think I can— Whump!