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

Before I can think of another countermeasure for the gatherers, a battle cry tears my attention forward again.

The hunters are charging.

Merrill, keep it coming!

The horn sounds again. A few hunters stumble, but the effect is negligible. The gatherers are keeping the shofar’s effect at bay.

This is the unthinkable moment I have been dreading.

The lead hunter, who is past the single row of razor wire, charges toward the trenches, sword raised.

My mind, for all its brilliance, can only think of one solution. And with just seconds remaining, I give the order.

Fire.

A barrage of bullets fly from the entrenched soldiers.

Scores of hunters fall, their human blood soaking the soil of Antarctica, but more take their place. So many more. The Nephilim inside the behemoth have reopened the wound, allowing more fighters to emerge. The warriors are screaming in pain, writhing against the sound of the horn, but I suspect that they too, are getting outside support.

A shadow draws my eyes up.

As the helicopters rise toward the top of the cliffs and open fire, lines of gatherers fall before their modern might. But the winged warriors with them quickly take action. Several stand in the way of the streaming bullets, using their bodies to shield their brethren, enjoying the pain and quickly healing from the wounds. Others take to the sky, attacking the choppers.

A scream pulls my attention forward again.

I spot a hunter in the trenches, slashing back and forth with a long sword until he’s shot. But the damage was done. Ten of my men are dead along with him, and more hunters are closing in, charging in columns protected at the front by hunters wielding large shields strong enough to deflect bullets. Seeing that there are just seconds before the trenches are overrun, I use my powers, which I’ve been reserving for the even more difficult battles to come.

A gust of wind slams into the front line of hunters, tossing them into the air like feathers in front of a fan. Even before they land, more take their place. I cut the wind, allowing my men to fire again. And then, when the hunters get too close again, I knock them back. We could sustain this tactic until all the hunters were dead, but danger is coming from all directions.

“Look out!” Holloway shouts. He tackles me from the side, taking us both off the wall. We drop, twenty feet toward the ground, but I manage to arrest our fall before we land hard. Our feet never reach the ground. An explosion rips through the wall, sending us flying. I catch a glimpse of a ruined helicopter as it strikes the wall and explodes. People and shrapnel fly in all directions. The wall crumbles beneath the chopper’s weight. I once again manage to catch us with a gust of wind, but the sound and the force of the nearby explosion has sent my head spinning.

Back on my feet, I stagger and release Holloway from my arms. But while I’m unsteady on my feet, Holloway is limp. He falls to the side, landing hard. I dive to his side, putting my hand on his back to steady him. But my hand doesn’t reach his back. A large chunk of metal shrapnel is in the way. I look at the wound. Some random chunk of helicopter protrudes from his back. It’s large and embedded deep, next to his spine.

Holloway grips my arm. That he’s still alive is a miracle. I turn him slightly and look into his eyes. “Fight,” he says, and blood drips from his lips. “You fight.” His voice is filled with fury. “To the last man. To the last woman. With everything you have. Fight!”

Holloway goes slack in my arms. The general is dead. But his words still ring in my ears.

Fight!

I place the general down, pull Whipsnap from my belt and scream, with my mouth and my mind, “Hunters! Attack!”





32



I run toward the front wall, driven by anger over the death of Holloway. I didn’t know him well, but he always struck me as a good man. And the world needs good men, now more than ever. Reaching the wall, I leap into the air, lifting off the ground like one of the helicopters.

As I soar up and over the wall, I remember that we have planned for this moment and mentally issue the order: Duck and Cover.

The battlefield comes into view beneath me. In the time I spent laying Holloway down, the battle has shifted. Hunters are pouring into the trenches. Many fall to gunfire, but others are cutting through my men. Not for long, though.