The Last Hunter - Collected Edition (96 page)

And Nephilim.

I look to the right, just before the nunatak rises from the jungle and follow the sea of monsters all the way to the horizon. The ground shakes again, drawing my eyes to the left. My heart sinks. Tears well. My throat tightens.

“What do you see?” Mira asks from below.

The beginning
, I think,
of the end.

12

I have to force myself to not count. Not only would it take a while, but the enemy force below stretches so far that their numbers just blur together into a liquid-like smear across the land. The jungle obscures many of them, but I can see enough to know that this army is hundreds of thousands strong. I see hunters toward the front, slipping through the trees like wraiths. Among them are gatherers and thinkers, perhaps for control, perhaps to take part in the fight. Then there are lesser warriors, greater warriors, and high above it all, the winged upper echelon of Nephilim leadership. All this is expected, but there are some elements below that I hadn’t thought possible.

Feeders. A horde of them. The egg shaped monsters with stubby arms and legs, with the teeth of a great white shark, bobble forward, snapping their jaws. Their black, orb eyes seem vacant, but they move with purpose, eager for the fight...or the promised human smorgasbord. I don’t see any breeders, the morbidly obese, bird-like monsters that give birth to feeders, but that’s to be expected. They can’t even walk, let alone fight. That said, given the sheer number of feeders, it’s clear that the breeders have done their part to prepare for the fight.

It’s hard to tell from this distance, but I think there might even be some classes of Nephilim that I’ve never seen before. Some are stout and broad shouldered. Others walk on all fours, like silverback apes. I’ve always understood that there was more to Nephilim society than I sampled in my short time here, but I hadn’t considered the idea of there being more classes of lesser Nephilim. Given all the jobs required of any society, I suppose it makes sense.

But all of this is dwarfed by what follows the main force of the army. Behemoth.

Correction.

Two behemoths.

And they’re even larger than the one I faced. That creature stood one hundred and fifty feet tall, but these must be twice that height. Their black, bulbous eyes are the size of hills, each emerging from the sides of its head. Behemoths are essentially feeders that are allowed to eat and grow exponentially. They don’t die, so their potential for growth is unlimited. Given the size of these two, they might actually be two of the first feeders ever birthed. Their pale gray skin ripples with each step. Their long clumps of red hair reach out, dangling in the air as though held up by strings. Behemoths have feeble arms, much like their smaller feeder counterparts, but the living hair works like tentacles, able to reach out and snag prey. They breathe with mighty gusts—probably where most of the stench is coming from—revealing rows of serrated triangular teeth the size of hang gliders. I have a hard time imagining that these two, who are leaving a flattened forest in their wake, will have any fear of fire. Like their smaller brethren, behemoths can heal, and if these two decided to simply charge the FOB...well, it might be a very short fight.

“What do you see?” Mira repeats a little more fervently.

I turn back to the tunnel. “An army.”

“That’s it?” She sounds annoyed.

“A
big
army,” I say.

She lets out an exasperated huff, and I hear her climbing the tunnel behind me. She squeezes up next to my right side and joins me. “Holy...”

I watch her dark skin turn a few shades lighter before saying, “I know.”

Kainda sidles up on my left. She’s unfazed by the scene. “What were you expecting?”

“I guess I never really had a clear picture of how many Nephilim there are.”

“It’s a large continent,” Kainda says. “And they’ve had a lot of time.”

She’s right about that. In the same few thousand years, the human population has increased by several billions. That there is only a million or so Nephilim actually shows some restraint on their part—that most of them appear to be headed this way, doesn’t. They’re going for the kill, which again, I should have seen coming. That’s what Nephilim do.

“Okay,” Mira says, “We’ve done our recon. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

“Not yet,” Kainda says. She looks like she’s counting.

“Are you counting?” I ask.

“The leadership,” she says. “Each commander is in charge of ten thousand. So if we count the commanders—”

“We can guesstimate their total number,” I say. When Kainda looks confused, I explain without being asked. “It’s a made up word. Guess and estimate. Guesstimate.”

She closes her eyes and sighs a deep breath. “We face near certain annihilation and you are making up words.”

“I didn’t make it up, it’s...just...forget it.” I turn my attention back to the army. A strong breeze carries a scent similar to dead fish rotting in the sun and I stifle a gag. My stomach sours further when I notice the organized march of the Nephilim warriors. I’m not sure why, but militaries always seem more frightening when they’re coordinated. “How can we tell the commanders apart from the others.”

“Red leathers,” she says.

I scan the sky above and the land below. When I’ve got the number, I swallow and it feels like I’ve got a stone in my throat. “Done.” The word comes out as a whisper. I can’t manage much more than that.

“How many?” Mira asks. She sounds afraid to hear the answer, as well she should be.

“There might be a few more that I can’t see,” I say, which is true, but saying this is more a delaying tactic than anything else, and Kainda will have none of that.

She elbows me in the rib. “
How many?
”

“Eighty-six,” I say.

“Eighty six?” Mira says. “There are eight hundred and sixty thousand of those things out there?”

“Probably more,” I say. “We can call it an even million and probably be safe.”

“Including the two Stay Pufts over there?” She motions to the behemoths.

“If you count them as one each,” I say.

“And should I ask how many we have at the FOB?” Mira asks.

“You shouldn’t,” I say.

“I kind of just did,” she says.

“It’s been a few days since we were there,” I say.

“Solomon,” she says, waiting for me to look her in the eyes. “Tell me.”

There’s no way to avoid telling her the truth, as much as I’d like to. Besides, she’s Hope. If anyone can spin the news into something positive, it should be her.

Still, I can’t help but try to avoid it one more time. “I didn’t exactly count.”

“I know the way your brain works,” she counters. “You counted whether you tried to or not. So guesstimate.”

“Fifteen hundred,” I say. My voice is so flat and emotionless I sound like that teacher from
Ferris Bueller’s Day Off
. “Maybe two thousand.”

She looks ready to pass out. The news is clearly worse than she’s expecting. And for a moment, I see hope leave her eyes. This is something I can’t stand for.

“But,” I say. “We have the Jericho shofar, which reduces Nephilim to quivering lumps. We have modern weapons and heavy artillery. There are Navy ships off the coast. And jets. I’m sure more have arrived since we left to find you, probably from every nation within range.”

“There are a
million
of them,” she says. “Sure, some of them are human, and some of them are just a little bigger than humans, but they can control people’s minds, change shapes, fly and a good number of them are thirty feet tall, again, not counting those two!” She thrusts a finger toward the two approaching behemoths. They’re perhaps two miles off to the left, but they’re immense, filling up most of the western view. The hunters at the front of the army have entered the jungle where the nunatak begins. It won’t be long before they’re below us. If we end up behind this army, it could be a problem. We need to leave.

I’m about to say so when Kainda reaches past my face and flicks Mira in the side of the head.

“Oww!” she says. “What was th—”

“They don’t have him,” Kainda says, nodding to me.

“What?”

“The Nephilim don’t have him,” Kainda repeats, emphasizing each word. “Which means the very land itself is against them.”

I start to smile, but a sudden, jarring impact wipes the smile from my face and sets my head spinning. It comes again, before I can think, striking my forehead. As consciousness fades, my mind registers three things. A hand, dark and caked with mud, my blond hair locked in its grasp, and then a feeling of weightlessness, and wind...everywhere...whipping past my body—

—as I fall.

13

I come to just a second or two later, just in time to see Kainda shove Mira out of the window. As Mira screams, I’m mortified that it was Kainda who knocked me out and threw me, but then she leaps out behind Mira. It’s then that I see my attacker as he throws himself from the cliff’s edge and plummets down behind Kainda.

Kainda leaped, knowing I could keep us from pancaking on the forest floor below, but this...man—I think he is a man—jumped after Kainda without that knowledge. I quickly decide the man is insane, a theory that is supported by the white froth around his mouth, the wild look in his eyes, and the fact that his mud-coated body is clothed by the smallest of leathers. His hair hangs in long, clumpy tendrils and is coated in mud, but I can see the blood-red sign of his Nephilim corruption here and there.

A gust of wind buffers me and slows my fall, allowing Kainda and Mira to catch up. Mira doesn’t stop screaming until I catch her in my arms and say, “You’re okay!”

“She threw me!” Mira shouts.

Kainda reaches us, clasping arms with me. “Almost there!” she shouts, warning me of the impending impact with the ground. I’m facing up and can’t see the ground, but I can see the man above us, dropping like a bomb. His arms are stretched out toward Mira’s back, fingers hooked and tipped with thick yellow nails. His jaws are open wide, revealing teeth filed to sharp points. He’s more monster than human.

Kainda looks back over her shoulder and sees the man falling with us. “Let him fall!”

I can’t
. It’s a thought, but Kainda knows I’m thinking it.

“This is war, Solomon!” she shouts.

I...can’t!

Whoosh!
A strong gust of wind slows our descent and turns us upright. I still haven’t looked at the ground, but I feel the tickle of vegetation on the soles of my feet. I lower us down and deposit the now bewildered man ten feet away. We’re in a clearing between the jungle and the nunatak’s harsh cliff face.

“Weak fool!” Kainda shouts, and her anger catches me off guard. She shoves past me, unclipping her hammer.

“I don’t kill humans,” I argue, but my voice sounds feeble in comparison, like some part of me knows this is a losing argument. But I don’t kill people. That’s been my one golden rule. It’s why Kainda is still alive, and why her father, Ninnis, who has wronged me in so many ways was able to return fully to himself before Nephil claimed his body. But something about this feels different.

“He is plagued,” Kainda says. She takes up a defensive position between the man, who is looking up at the cliff we just fell from, and me. “Check your forehead. Are you bleeding?”

I pat my hand against the skin of my head where the man punched me. No blood. “Nothing.”

The man suddenly goes rigid, like his confusion has just worn off. His head cranes toward us with a kind of stutter, like there are gears in his neck. His eyes widen. His mouth opens. He charges, reaching out his hands and loosing a shrill cry. There is no skill in his attack. Only ferocity. This man is not, nor likely has ever been, a hunter.

As Kainda moves to intercept the man, I manage to say, “Don’t—” but then it’s too late. She sidesteps the man’s attack. He turns his head toward her and stumbles as he passes. He looks angry more than confused, or frightened. I look for some sign of humanity in his eyes. I find nothing. And then, Kainda’s hammer connects with the back of the man’s skull and a loud crack punctuates the end of his life. As he falls to the ground, I note that his eyes don’t change. When people die, or even when animals die, you can see the life fade from their bodies, as though the soul seeps out from the eyes themselves. But not with this man. His soul was already missing. Still, I am not in the business of killing men.

I turn to Kainda, anger filling my voice, “Hey!”

“We are at war, Solomon,” she says before I can express my distaste. “People on both sides are going to die. I might die.” She points to Mira. “She might die. Billions already have.”

“Not when I can save them,” I say.

“He was infected. He has no mind of his own. Only madness.” Kainda wipes the small amount of blood on the head of her hammer off on the grassy ground. “One bite or scratch from him, and you would be no different. A war ended from a scratch. Is that what you want?”

“I—no...” I’m not sure what to say. Was this man really past saving? Is he really that dangerous? “Who was he?”

“A weapon,” Kainda says. “Nothing more. Human once, but no longer.”

“How?” I ask.

Kainda is scanning the jungle nervously, wary for danger, which she should be, considering we are now in the path of an approaching army. “They are what a man becomes when he is too weak to become a hunter. They are broken...and stay that way. They are kept in the depths and fed filth and refuse. Their madness becomes contagious.”

Before I can ask how she knows all this, she adds, “They are a Norse weapon.”

Then it all clicks. The Norse history. The madness. “They’re berserkers.”

Kainda’s forehead crinkles as she turns to me. “You know of them?”

“From human history,” I say. Berserkers were Viking warriors that some believe took a drug that put them in a fury, and reduced or removed their sensitivity to pain. They’d keep fighting even while they bled out. This man certainly fit the description, but I have no recollection of the madness being transmittable. That increases the threat exponentially...especially if you’re trying to
not
kill them.

“Then you know they are to be feared,” Kainda says.

I say nothing. I can’t condone killing people. Mind or no mind.

“Solomon,” Mira says. She looks a little wind-whipped and startled, but her eyes are serious. “You remember how my husband died?”

“Of course,” I say.

“If you were there. If you had the chance to kill the man who shot Sam, and spare me that pain, would you have?”

I stumble back, unprepared for the question. How can I say no to that? Mira’s husband. To allow his death, if I had the chance to stop it, even if it meant killing a man...could I do that?

Before I can answer, she takes the question further. She points to the dead berserker. “If that man was about to kill me, would you have taken his life? What about Kainda? Could you let him kill—”

A high-pitched wail rings out, drawing my attention up. A man, as wild and feral as the dead berserker, leaps from a nearby tree branch. He’s a second away from careening into Mira. His fingers are flexed. His mouth stands agape. Mira would survive the attack, but not without wounds...which means...

Whipsnap comes free of my belt and I twist the nearest end up, shoving it at the man’s chest...impaling him with the Nephilim-forged blade. It sinks past his sternum, slips through his heart and catches on his spine. The man’s momentum helps me carry him clear of Mira before I fling him down to the grass, dead, beside his kin.

Question answered.

I look at the man’s dead body, motionless, devoid of life. I did that. I killed a man.

Whipsnap falls from my hands, landing in the grass. I follow it, dropping to my knees, which divot the earth along with the tears already dripping from my eyes. I feel two sets of hands on my back, both women offering comfort for what I’ve done. But I can’t accept it. What I did was wrong. It was evil. Corrupt.

My eyes snap open and I see the blurred ground a foot below my bowed head. There is a litmus test for corruption, I realize. At least, there is for hunters here on Antarktos. Through spit and sobs, I make my request.

“What?” Mira asks.

I spit and clear my throat, struggling to control my emotions. “My...hair. My hair! What color is it?”

There’s a pause as both women lean back from me.

“It’s blond,” Mira says. “What other color would it be?”

“Check it all!” I shout.

Hands dig through my hair, searching. As they search, Kainda explains my fear. She no doubt understands it. “Red hair is an outward sign of a hunter’s corruption, but if Solomon were paying attention, he would have noticed that my hair is also without blemish.” She gives my head a shove. “You’re fine.”

When I stand up and wipe my eyes, I’m a little too embarrassed to look at Kainda. What guy wants to cry in front of his girlfriend? And I was full on sobbing. Probably not the first time, of course. Despite my breaking, and hardening over the years, I’m still kind of a leaky faucet.

Kainda takes my chin in her hand and turns it toward her. “You’re heart is still pure, and I would never ask you to risk darkening it again. We are at war, Solomon. Men will die. On both sides. Some by your hands. It cannot be avoided. And if you run from this responsibility, you will put us all in danger.”

Her point finally starts to sink in and I dip my head to nod my agreement. But this revelation is interrupted by a sharp scream. I turn to the sound, and I find another berserker standing at the edge of the forest.

The man repeats the cry.

“What’s he doing?” I ask, snatching Whipsnap up off the ground.

When a second voice shouts a reply deeper in the forest, and another more distant scream follows, I understand and answer my own question. “He’s calling for help.”

The sound of running legs, ragged breathing and frenzied excitement fills the jungle to the west. The berserkers are leading the way for the Nephilim army, clearing the path of anything living that might stand in their way, and making so much noise doing it that they won’t go unnoticed for long, especially if there are hunters not far behind them.

We can’t fight this.

“Run!” I shout. We break for the jungle, heading east, moving as fast as we can with an army at our heels.