

Matt Archer: Monster Hunter

By: Kendra C. Highley

Copyright © 2012 by Kendra C. Highley. All rights reserved.

Second Smashwords Edition: March 2014

Editor: Cassandra Marshall

Cover Design: Streetlight Graphics, <http://www.streetlightgraphics.com/>

LICENSE NOTES

All rights reserved. This eBook is licensed for the personal enjoyment of the original purchaser only. This eBook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you are reading this eBook and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

DISCLAIMER

The characters and events portrayed in this book are a work of fiction or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

_Table of Contents_

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

About the Author

# Dedication

For Ryan

# Chapter One

When I was fourteen years old, I was forced to make my first kill. Now I'm fifteen and I bagged two more just last week.

My name is Matt Archer. And I hunt monsters.

* * *

Four Months Ago

"Matt! Uncle Mike's here. Get a move on!"

Mom was always in a hurry. Her job as a lawyer kept food on the table, as she liked to remind us. But it also kept her in motion, saying stuff like "time is money." My question was, if time was money, then why weren't we all rich? Smartass comments like that got me grounded though, so I kept my mouth shut and ran down the stairs.

After dumping my backpack and sleeping bag by the front door, I rounded the corner to the living room to greet Uncle Mike.

He rose from the sofa, towering over me, and stretched. The muscles on his arms, neck and shoulders flexed like a pro-wrestler's. Uncle Mike was a Green Beret, and it showed. "Hey, soldier, what's up?"

"Nothing, Major."

"Like I've never heard that one before," Mike said when I laughed at my own joke. "Ready to deploy?"

"Yeah. I decided to wear my camo this time, go in stealth mode."

Uncle Mike looked down at his own clothes. He was wearing old jeans, a bright red flannel shirt, and a Colorado Rockies cap crammed down over his light-brown hair. "Nice idea," he said, "but I'm not sure the bears and deer will care much about your camo. Let's move out."

The evening sky was streaked with gold and pink, but still light enough for us to make it to the campgrounds before nightfall. One of the advantages of living in Montana—good camping was only thirty minutes from anywhere. I piled my gear into the back of Mike's Jeep. The car smelled awesome: cigars and gasoline. Mom nagged him to quit with the cigars, but I thought it was cool. Just like Wolverine.

"Hey, can we have the top down?" I asked.

Mike shrugged. "If you don't mind that the wind chill will be forty degrees, doesn't bother me."

We pulled the soft cover off the Jeep and packed it over the camping equipment in the back. The air was scented with pine; our trees were getting their "fall coats," as Mom put it, and the needles smelled like Christmas. This was my favorite time of year, before winter set in like an unwanted houseguest.

"Hard to believe it's October. We'll have to brace for a big snow soon." Mike put the Jeep in gear and backed out. "Means this is the last jaunt of the year, Chief."

I nodded, hoping the ache I felt in my chest didn't show on my face. Camping with Mike was the only special thing I had that my older sibs didn't. My sister, Mamie-the-brain, was too much of a bookworm to go with us and my brother, Brent-the-football-hero, had his "social engagements." What it really meant was that I was neither a brainiac, nor popular enough to have other plans on the weekends, so Mike took me camping. Honestly, I loved it, even if it branded me a dweeb with no social life.

Mike glanced at me, a sad smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. "Heard from your Dad?"

He tried to keep the anger out of his voice, but I still heard it, like sandpaper rubbing an old scab. "Brent got a birthday card when he turned seventeen."

"That was April, man."

"Yeah, well, that was our summer greeting, I guess," I said. "You know what he sent Brent for his birthday? A _Hooters_ calendar. Mom had a total fit."

Maybe he'd send me one, too. Not likely I'd get anything though. Since Dad ditched us while Mom was pregnant with me, I was an afterthought. It seemed like Dad would rather spend what little time he had to give on my popular-athletic-jerk of a brother. Not that I was bitter or anything. Well, not _entirely_ bitter.

"At least he knows what Brent likes," Mike said, a soft thread of laughter floating through his voice. "Although, I can see how Dan-Dan would be pissed about it."

"Don't let Mom hear you calling her 'Dan-Dan,'" I said, grinning.

"Not my fault I couldn't say Danielle when I was two."

Mike was the only person who could get away with calling my mom anything other than Danielle or Counselor Archer. Mom had a real weak spot for her baby brother—and she still called him that, even though he was thirty-eight. He'd stepped in for Dad after he switched from active duty to the reserves. Mike made sure I did Boy Scouts and taught Brent how to throw and catch a perfect spiral. He had even helped Mamie practice dancing with a partner for the sophomore homecoming dance, even though she nearly broke his toes.

He was more family to us than Dad would ever be.

Not that I was bitter or anything.

"So, Uncle Mike, any girlfriends we need to know about?" I asked. "That last one was, um, interesting."

"Candy was a trip, wasn't she? Looked great in a bikini, but she was so _boring_. I should've known not to hook up with a woman whose idea of fun is museum hopping," he said. "Nope, I'm single again, Chief. Good thing."

Mike paused and shifted in his seat. He had some bad news—I could tell. A hard rock of fear lodged itself in my stomach. I tried to swallow, but the rock in my gut kept the spit in my mouth. Because I knew what was coming. This wouldn't be the first time we'd had this sucky conversation, and I was really tired of it.

"I've been called up."

I hated it when I was right. "Where? When?"

"Going to Afghanistan for a year. I leave for training in six weeks and deploy in January." Mike managed another small smile. "So much for 'reservist' status, huh?"

I took a shaky breath. No Uncle Mike for a year? "You've been on three assignments in the last three years. You should be done by now. Can't you tell them no or something?"

Mike glanced at me, looking serious. "The military isn't a 'pick and choose' kind of operation. Orders are, well, orders. I have to go, Matt. I'm sorry."

I stared out my window, trying not to cry like a little kid, but my chin was already shaking. That pissed me off; I was too old to have a little-girl-hissy-fit. "What'll we do without you here?" I turned back to glare at him, wondering why I was angry with Mike rather than the Army. "We need you more than they do."

Mike sighed. "We'll be fine, okay? I'll be able to email you and call sometimes, and we can even do video conferences. It's not like we'll be out of touch for a whole year." He squeezed my shoulder. "You'll see. It'll be fine."

His voice trailed off at the end. Neither of us said what we were thinking—that maybe it wouldn't.

We got to the campgrounds at six and Mike put me to work unloading the Jeep before my feet hit the dirt. We only had thirty minutes to set up the tent and start a fire before the sun set, so he was in a rush, ordering me around like we were deploying a military installation. I worked fast, but Mike's news pressed down on my chest worse than when Brent sat on me.

The wind whispered through the pines and aspen trees lining the back of our campsite. The leaves kept saying, "shush, shush, shush," like they knew how messed up I felt. It didn't make me hurt any less, but I did feel calmer about things. Maybe I could get through the weekend without a meltdown.

After the fire was blazing, Uncle Mike tried to pretend nothing had changed in the last hour. "All right! Hot dogs...whoever can catch his on fire first wins!"

I played along and got flameage faster than he did; I was good at burning hot dogs. It tasted like crap that way, though. When I chucked the half-eaten frank into the bushes, Mike's sly smile told me I'd been punked. Yet again. "You just like to see me try to eat ashes, is that it?"

He raised his eyebrows before going back to his perfectly roasted dinner. Just to spite him, I made two more hotdogs and scarfed down all the chips, too.

Before I had a chance to dig out some marshmallows for s'mores, the air turned sharp and the wind gusted cold into the campfire, sending up sparks. Uncle Mike rose to his feet, with an intense, alert expression I'd never seen before—like he could eat a brick and enjoy the crunch.

Without looking at me, he said, "Weather's changing; best to get inside the tent, where it's warmer."

With nothing else to do, we packed it in for the night. Mike didn't allow me to bring a cell phone or anything else electronic on our trips. I could've played cards or something, but being outside always made me tired and I went to sleep early because, yes, I'm just that exciting. On the plus side, I had the craziest dream: Ella Mitchell ditched her boyfriend for me. That wasn't weird—that was plain, old wishful thinking. The weird part was that she hopped up on stage during assembly and stole the microphone from Principal Stevens to do it. Then I ran down the aisle to thunderous applause, swept her in my arms and....

"Get back!" Mike yelled.

I sat up in surprise to see shadows moving across the tent's walls. One shadow was Mike's, distorted in the bright moonlight. The other...heck if I knew _what_ it was. Bulky, taller than Mike by a long shot, it grunted and snorted like an angry pig. Was it a bear? I rubbed my eyes and squinted. No, definitely not a bear. The thing was much too big and shuffled along on two legs.

When it roared, it didn't sound like any animal I'd ever heard, but more like a bulldozer's engine. Every hair on my scalp stood up. Whatever this thing was, it wasn't natural.

The two shadows circled one another, then the beast swiped at Mike's head and he went down hard. The creature dropped on all fours, snuffling at my uncle. Even in shadowed outline, I could see claws to rival a velociraptor's as it raised a paw over Mike's chest.

I clambered to my knees, yanking open the zipper to my sleeping bag. "No!"

It paused and lowered its paw, turning its body toward the tent. Oh crap—now it knew I was here.

I watched the creature's shadow get bigger and bigger as it headed my way. It didn't creep. It didn't barrel toward me. It strolled, like it wasn't the least bit worried about what it would find inside the tent. Terrified or not, something about its arrogance filled me with cold fury. My muscles burned and my heart beat double-time; I probably didn't have a prayer, but I wasn't going down without a fight. I sure as hell wasn't going to sit by and let this thing kill my uncle.

Uncle Mike usually brought a rifle with him, just in case we met a bear, and he'd made sure I could use it. I dug around in our bags, throwing clothes everywhere, but the rifle wasn't in the tent. The only thing I came up with was a wicked-looking knife with a smooth bone handle. I pulled it out of the leather sheath, shocked by its weight. It was much heavier than it looked and my fingers buzzed, like the knife was vibrating in my hand. I must've been shaking really hard.

I gripped the handle of the knife, hoping I didn't end up stabbing myself by accident. The blade was longer than most hunting-knives I'd ever used—maybe eight or nine inches—and honed to a sharp edge. I had no idea where Mike would buy something like this, but one thing was for sure: no one would want to be on the receiving end of this weapon. It looked like it could gut a buffalo.

The creature walked the perimeter of the tent, brushing up against the nylon, and a rancid scent wafted through the walls. I gagged and threw up a little in my mouth. The stench reminded me of how the vent in my room smelled after my guinea pig got loose and bought the farm in the air duct. Seriously freaked out, I held still, clutching the knife so hard my knuckles ached. I was planning to let the beast stalk around outside as long as it wanted. One thing Mike taught me during paintball was to make your target do the work. If you could be patient, you'd get the better strike, and I'd only have one shot.

The beast paused and I took a gulp of cold air, knowing I wouldn't have to wait much longer. With a blur of claws, dark fur and sharp teeth, the thing crashed into the tent, ripping the nylon with one slash. I didn't have time to think or even get a good look at it. When it pounced on top of me, I thrust the blade into its stomach and twisted. The handle burned in my hand, glowing a faint green.

The beast howled and struggled against me, until I thought I'd drown in the reek of its fur. Somehow, I squirmed out from underneath it just before it collapsed on the floor of the tent. Once it was down, I stabbed it in the back, over and over, swearing at the top of my lungs. Some kind of red-rage took control, and I didn't stop until the thing shuddered and was still.

In the quiet, I fell to my knees, shaking all over.

When I could finally breathe without wheezing, I gathered up the last shreds of my courage and found our lantern in the wreckage. Scared pissless or not, I wanted to see what attacked me. Squaring my shoulders, I turned on the light.

Then bit my own tongue trying to hold back a scream.

The creature was misshapen, with a huge head, pointy ears and narrow snout, and it had to be at least eight feet tall. Teeth like tusks protruded from its lower jaw. It had brown fur like a grizzly's and its paws looked like a bear's too, except bigger, with those brutal, velociraptor claws. If that wasn't weird enough, the thing's arms and legs were long, like a man's. It was like some mad scientist threw a bunch of DNA into a blender and _this_ is what came out.

What the heck could it be? Was it some kind of alien? A scientific experiment gone horribly wrong? Did we have a Dr. Frankenstein living in Billings? Seriously, the creature looked like a resurrected Wookiee made from spare parts.

Utterly creeped out, I pulled the knife out of the beast's back and dropped it on the ground. My hands had blood on them, dark stains glistening in the moonlight, and now that I wasn't fighting for my life, I shivered, half-freezing and clueless about what to do next.

Someone groaned outside.

I scrambled out of the tent, fighting my way free of the shredded nylon to find Mike. He lay crumpled in a heap just past the fire ring. Shallow claw marks had ripped through his flannel shirt, but not his undershirt or skin, and his forehead had only a small gash at the hairline. We'd been lucky.

"Uncle Mike, wake up!" I shook him. Fear thudded in my chest at a random thought. What if there were more creatures out here? "Come on, wake up!"

Mike groaned again and rolled onto his side. "I'll take a quad Venti Latte."

I shook him again, hoping his brains hadn't been scrambled by that punch to the head. He blinked, looked around, then sat up and grabbed my arm in a vice grip. "Where is it, Matt? Did it hurt you? How'd you get away?"

"It's dead, in what's left of the tent." I swallowed hard, realizing what I'd just said. "I killed it."

Mike didn't freak out; he didn't even act surprised. "How?"

"I found a knife in your bag," I said. "I-I stabbed it."

And with that, I jumped up and ran to the bushes to throw up. Oh, my God...I killed something. I'd never killed anything, except flies, and those don't count. Holy crap, what was happening out here? What were those things? I heaved again, unable to stop my mind from replaying the scene over and over and over.

When I was done puking, Mike put his hands on my shoulders and steered me toward the Jeep. "Get in; we're leaving. Be right back."

I climbed into my seat, staring straight ahead, seeing nothing but the underside of the beast and my hand thrusting the knife into its gut. Flashes of light danced in front of my eyes and I broke out in a cold sweat. Having never fainted, I wasn't sure if I was about to or not. Either way, better safe than sorry, so I put my head between my knees. I caught a whiff of the creature—its smell was all over my clothes—and I had to pop the door and barf again.

Mike ran to the Jeep and got in. All he had was our backpacks, his GPS and the white-handled knife.

"What about the tent and our gear?" I croaked while wiping puke off my chin with a trembling hand.

"We don't need anything else, and we've got to get out of here. I rolled the carcass down a ravine and threw some dead brush on top of it." He slammed the Jeep in reverse and laid tread, peeling out from the parking slot. "Hopefully no one will find it before..."

"Before what?" I asked.

Mike shook his head. He drove a few miles, not saying anything, then pulled over at a rest stop. By then, black spots were dancing in front of my eyes again and my skull felt too heavy for my neck. When he parked, Mike reached over and slapped me pretty hard. My head hit the headrest and I brought my hand up to my cheek in a daze.

"Matt! Stay with me. We've got a lot to cover and I need you to focus," he said. He blew out a harsh breath. "I can't believe the knife let you wield it."

I blinked fast to clear my vision, not understanding a word he said. "What?"

"You remember when I went on that short mission last year?"

Mike's voice had a steeliness to it. Freaked out or not, I was pretty sure I wouldn't like where this was headed. I gulped and cleared my throat; my mouth tasted all skanky. It was all I could do to keep from throwing up again, so I just nodded in answer.

"I got sent to South America—to Peru—on a highly classified mission," he said. "People started disappearing and the local government asked the U.S. to send some specialists down there to check it out. What we found was pretty surprising."

How this had anything to do with giant beasts in the woods of Montana was beyond me. "What did you find?"

Uncle Mike clamped his hands to the steering wheel. "Turns out monsters are real."

# Chapter Two

"If a monster falls in the forest and someone hears it, does that make it real?" I asked, my voice trembling.

"Bad joke, Chief."

I drew a long, ragged breath and ran my hands over my head until my fingers slid into sticky spots in my hair. I shuddered and wiped my palms on my pants. "So, if monsters are real, why'd you get weird about the knife? Seems like we have bigger problems than the fact I used whatever was handy to kill it."

Uncle Mike stared intently out the windshield. "Let's go back to my apartment. I feel exposed out here, like we're being watched. I'll tell you more when we get there."

I glanced around the woods surrounding the rest stop. The darkness seemed absolute. Not even the streetlights could penetrate it. "Yeah. Good idea."

Mike pulled onto the highway. Instead of going to the suburbs, he took me to downtown Billings, where his loft was. His two-story apartment was all open except for the bathroom, with bare ceiling joists and a stained-concrete floor—a real guy's place. What I loved most about it was that his bedroom was on a wooden-floored platform upstairs with rails around it, like he had a giant, floating bunk bed. Tonight, though, the dark corners gave me a chill and I wished I was more surrounded by walls.

"Why don't you get cleaned up. I'll make some hot chocolate or something. Don't think either of us is planning to sleep any time soon," Mike said, shoving me gently toward the bathroom.

I locked the door behind me and leaned against it, taking some time to breathe before I got in the shower. I'd killed something. With a knife. I stabbed it in the gut, gotten splattered with its blood, then stabbed it some more like I'd been sky-high on meth. What had gotten into me? I never even shot at birds with my BB gun, for God's sake.

I felt myself starting to lose it, so I turned on the shower, willing myself to forget. But when I pulled my shirt over my head, the smell of monster filled the air and I hurled again. Hard to believe there was anything left in my stomach.

Mental note: no more tacos for lunch. Ever.

While I waited for the water to get hot, I brushed the dust out of my hair, which had turned the brown a dirty gray. Then there were the glistening patches of slippery goo. My jeans were streaked and stained with similar stuff and weird patches the color of dark mustard coated my hands.

It was monster-blood. And it wasn't red.

Startled, I caught my eyes in the mirror. They were full of horror and something else, a hardness, like Uncle Mike's eyes. They were still blue, though. After everything that had happened, I kinda thought they might've turned green. I stepped back from the mirror and almost fell into the bathtub.

That shocked me back into my senses. Freaking wouldn't help. Time to get a grip before I hurt myself.

I stripped off the rest my clothes, thinking about throwing them out the window to get rid of the stink, but I wasn't sure how I'd explain the missing outfit to Mom. Instead, I took a trash bag out of the cabinet and stuffed everything in. It didn't help. Even after double-bagging everything, the odor still seeped through, so I gave it up.

Once in the shower, I scrubbed my hands raw, feeling like the blood would never come off. Tears ran down my face, but I pretended it was just the shower water. Monster-killers don't cry.

"Chief, you okay in there?" Mike said, sounding worried. "I have hot chocolate. Why don't you come on out?"

I dried off and dressed in clean sweats from my backpack. Finding no other way to delay what I was about to hear, I opened the door, heading for the two-person dining table at the far side of the loft. Mike had changed clothes, too, and he must've cleaned up at the kitchen sink because his hair was wet. It had grown out since his last deployment, curling up a little in the back. Too long for the Army...he'd have to buzz it down soon. That thought didn't improve my mood.

I took my seat across from Mike and snorted a laugh. "Nice _G.I. Joe_ Band-Aids, man."

Mike touched his forehead. "I don't have any grown-up Band-Aids. I bought these for you when you were nine, remember?"

"You haven't bought Band-Aids in five years?" I rolled my eyes. "Uncle Mike, you need a girlfriend or a wife. Then you'd have real Band-Aids and more in the fridge than skim milk and beer and limes."

"Given the type of life I lead, girlfriends lose patience with me real quick. Kinda hard to get married if you can't keep a girlfriend." He pushed a ceramic mug filled with hot chocolate over to me. "Drink half of that. Then, we'll talk."

He must have heard the same nonsense Mom had about warm milk being soothing. I took a few sips to satisfy Mike, wishing I had marshmallows because it tasted bland, then set the mug down. I was still completely wired, though; the cup hit the wooden tabletop with a smash and I sloshed hot chocolate all over my hand.

I mopped up the spill, hoping he didn't see how my hands were shaking. "Maybe you should talk now."

He rubbed his eyes, looking really tired. He needed a shave and, for the first time, I could see flecks of gray in his beard. It had never occurred to me that Mike might be getting older.

"So, last fall I went on that mission," he said. "We were sent to investigate disappearances from villages lining the edge of the rainforest. After asking around, we got a similar story from all of them. Something was creeping out of the jungle at night and snatching people from their beds. They never found any remains—the victims vanished."

"No bones? No nothing?"

"Nothing. Not a trace," Mike said. "We set observation posts at three villages. We had night-vision goggles, heat-sensing cameras, the works. We were also armed to the teeth. No way was this thing getting past us."

"So what'd you find?" I asked.

"A nightmare," Mike said. "This giant lizard came stalking out of the jungle, walking upright on its back legs. The creature was nine feet tall from snout to feet, and its tail was another four feet long—it looked like an alligator from Mars. The guys I was with? We'd all seen things that would make a normal person pass out. When that thing showed up, two of them ran screaming."

The thing was terrifying enough to send two soldiers in the Special Forces running? "What happened to them?"

Mike shook his head fast, like he was trying to shake the memory from his brain. "The monster grabbed one. We blasted that lizard with everything we had, but it didn't do any good. Bullets bounced right of its hide, and Seranto disappeared, just like the rest. We didn't find anything but his helmet and his boots."

"Oh." My voice had changed when I was twelve, but you wouldn't have known it by how high I squeaked.

"We got pictures of the creature, though. The scientists at the Pentagon interviewed us, but no one had any clue what it was. So on the third day, we decided to scorch part of the jungle; that's how terrified we were. No one likes to see rainforest go up in smoke, but we were coming unglued. While we planned where to have the bombs dropped, a medicine man from one of the local tribes came to us." Mike smiled. "Shocker—he spoke English."

"Was he mad you were going to burn down the forest?"

"He was kind of peeved, yes, but that's not why he came," Mike said. "He knew about the lizard. He called it a monster and said he could help us."

A strange thrill ran down my back. "The knife..."

"Yes, Matt, the knife. That knife is special. The medicine man made five of them, and told us they had powerful magic," he said. "Most of us thought it was a crock until we picked one up. I'm sure you know what I mean."

I looked down at the fist clenched in my lap. "It vibrated in my hand. And the handle turned green when I stabbed the monster."

"Well, there's more," Mike said. "It doesn't always do that. The knife selects who can wield it. Some of the guys on my team couldn't feel anything. When I picked it up, my entire arm buzzed and the handle turned bright blue. After that I could hack a tree branch in half with just one swing of the blade. The knives only reacted to three other guys on my team, so the medicine man gave them to us. He said we'd need them because 'dark creatures' would invade all corners of the earth. He kept the last one, to protect his people."

I had a bad feeling about what I'd hear, but I had to ask anyway. "What's up with the knives, then? I get that they're magic, but why?"

"I can't tell you anything else. The knives' origin and workmanship is classified," Mike said. "I probably shouldn't have told you this much, but given the circumstances....Look, let me talk to my superior officer. I have to call him to apprise him of the situation here, schedule disposal of the monster's body. I'll ask if I can get you clearance. Since you killed one, there are things you ought to know, but I'm not the one to tell you. Not yet."

Great. I blew out an annoyed breath before asking, "Did you kill the Gator-thing?"

"Yeah. The three of us with knives hid in the brush, waiting at various points near the tree line. It happened to come out on my end. I jumped the creature from behind and put the knife in its neck. I had to slit its throat before it dropped." Mike's forehead was creased. "I take the knife everywhere. Better to have it and not need it, right?"

"But why didn't you have it tonight? It was right there in the tent!" I said.

"The thing was creeping around outside, so I felt around for the knife, trying to be quiet, and caught hold of the sheath. When I got outside, I realized I'd grabbed my hunting knife instead," Mike said. His face turned red. "By then, the monster had spotted me, so I had to fight with what I had. I was trying to distract it, to keep it from finding you."

"But it would have killed you!"

"Better me than you, Matt."

Mike's voice sounded hoarse and thick. I looked away and slurped down the rest of my cocoa, gross or not, because I sure didn't want to watch a grown man cry. After a minute he wiped his eyes, then got the knife out of his backpack. He put it on the table and pulled it from its leather sheath.

Nothing happened.

Mike laid the knife flat against his palm, like he was weighing it in his hand. Without looking at me, he put it back on the table.

"Pick it up, Matt."

Picking up that knife was the last damn thing I wanted to do, but one look at Uncle Mike's face told me to get on with it. I reached out and wrapped my fingers around the bone handle. It glowed blue, then buzzed in my hand.

"What does this mean?" I whispered. I knew already, but hearing it from someone else would make it real.

Mike gave me a steady look. "It means the knife belongs to you now."

# Chapter Three

"Let me get this straight. We have magic knives and monsters, and I've been chosen by your knife." But to do what, exactly? A little worm of fear twisted in my gut, and I put my head down on my arms, trying to understand what I'd gotten myself into.

" _Your_ knife. Not mine, not anymore." Mike's voice held a weird trace of awe. "The blade left me, Matt. I don't understand how it happened, but you're its wielder."

Mike's reaction bothered me...was he saying I would be stuck with the knife? For how long? The worm of fear grew into a salamander, chasing its tail around my insides. The reverence in Mike's tone disturbed me, too, like I'd done something spectacular rather than accidental. None of it made sense.

"I don't get it," I said into my arms, refusing to face him. "Why would it pick me? I'm only fourteen!"

"I don't know, but it did, and there's no turning back. Unless the knife passes to someone else, it's your burden," he said. "Matt, you're a monster-hunter now."

A monster-hunter? Was he serious? My head popped up from the table.

"What's Mom gonna say?" I asked. "We're talking about a woman who carries a full-sized first aid kit in her purse. I doubt she'll allow me to become some knife-wielding vigilante."

Mike jumped up and paced around the tiny kitchen. "We can't tell your mom. Dani would never let you hunt if she found out. The dangers are too great. She'd have a hard time understanding we have no choice in the matter, and she wouldn't let you risk yourself."

"So I have to kill monsters, and I can't tell Mom about it. Could this get any more complicated?"

Why did the stupid knife pick me? I was a totally average ninth grader—I didn't want be a hunter, fighting monsters on my own. All I wanted was to learn about Gettysburg and hope that Ella smiled at me once in a while.

"It'll be okay, Matt," Mike said. "We'll just have to figure out what to do. I only have six weeks to get you trained up and running before I deploy."

"No, you can't leave. You have to stay and help me with the knife." I glared at him. To heck with Uncle Sam. _My_ uncle was staying put.

"Sorry, man, that's not possible," he said. "I thought of something that might help you, though."

"It better be good."

"You have fall break in a week, right?" Mike asked.

"Yeah."

"I'll take you to Fort Carson. We're going to put you through basic."

"Wait," I said, "isn't that the part where you have to get up at five every morning to run ten miles then do a hundred pushups?"

"Two hundred. Before breakfast." His mouth curved up on one side. "Matt, you're in the Army now."

* * *

I woke up Saturday morning with a nasty taste in my mouth—hot chocolate and puke. I rolled over, sliding and squeaking on Mike's black leather couch, and had to peel my left arm away from the cushions. The grain of the leather was imprinted on my skin. On top of that, Mike only had two extra blankets, one of them looking like it'd never been used, and since we'd deserted our sleeping bags at the camp grounds, I'd ended up freezing my butt off most of the night. These are the dangers of sleeping over at a bachelor's house.

"He needs a girlfriend," I grumbled.

Mike responded by snoring like a T-Rex upstairs. It was only nine and we'd talked until four. Old guys needed more sleep, so I let him be, heading off to brush my fuzzy teeth. That was a grosser process than normal, so I threw my toothbrush away afterward, hoping it wouldn't crawl out of the trashcan on its own.

Puke-fest overnight or not, it was breakfast time, and my stomach growled right on cue. I went to the kitchen, searched every cabinet and only came up with a bottle opener, two cans of chili, and cocktail onions.

"You need a girlfriend, Mike," I said, a little louder this time.

He came down the stairs, the wooden steps creaking under his weight, still wearing flannel pj bottoms and an old t-shirt with some cartoon called _Ren and Stimpy_ on it.

"I'll keep that in mind. What'cha looking for?"

"Cereal or something else normal for breakfast," I said.

Mike dug the skim milk out of the fridge and sniffed it. He didn't make a face, so it must've still been good. After pouring two glasses of milk, he dumped in some grey powder and stirred it up.

"Bottoms up," he said, thrusting the glass at me.

"Chocolate milk? How old is that stuff? It looks like dust." Sludge floated around in my glass. "You know, Mom'll kill you with a fork if you poison me."

Mike's face got serious. "It's a protein shake. We've got to put a little muscle on you. No more cereal, Matt. You need to eat like a man."

A cold bead of sweat ran down my back. "You meant it...last night. I'm really going to basic, and I'm really gonna have to kill monsters."

Mike nodded. "Drink up. Then we'll talk about a fitness regimen."

"Uncle Mike, this is just stupid. Brent's the jock," I said. "I can run fast; that's about it."

Mike put his shake down on the counter and looked me square in the eyes. "Everything happens for a reason. The knife chose you on purpose, which means you can do this. You have to."

His expression was pride mixed with worry, but mostly pride.

I chugged the whole nasty shake in one go.

* * *

We pulled into my driveway just after two on Saturday, the Jeep's tires splashing in puddles from a sudden rainstorm. Mom had already turned on the porch light. It glowed against the red brick walls and the oak front door cheerfully, like my house was welcoming me. Dodging the rain drops, I ran with my backpack over my head to the porch. The air smelled damp, like moldy leaves. Like fall and home. After everything I'd been through, I was happy to be here.

"You're home early," Mom said as I straggled through the front door.

Thank goodness for the rain. "Yeah, it was too muddy to hike," I said. "I left my camping stuff at Mike's to dry out."

Mike followed me in. "Dani, gotta sec? I need to talk to you about fall break."

We trooped through the entry into the living room. Mom sank onto the couch sitting closest to the fireplace. She patted the seat next to her. I took a load off and she put her arm around my shoulders. She'd laid a fire, and we listened to the logs crackle while waiting for Mike to settle down in the matching recliner. It took him a while; he always fidgeted when he was getting ready to roll out some lies.

Like Mike had said last night, he didn't plan to tell Mom about the monsters. He tried to justify that by explaining that dudes in special forces didn't really _lie_. They had cover stories.

Yeah, right. Tell that to the bobbing recliner and my twitchy uncle.

Finally Uncle Mike got comfortable enough to speak. "I was thinking I could take Matt to Colorado for a big hike. He's old enough for some serious rappelling and I'd love it."

My older brother appeared at the door to the kitchen, holding a peanut butter sandwich in each hand. Brent's shoulders nearly filled the doorway. I stared thoughtfully at the hulk, getting an idea...Mike said to eat like a man. Okay, Whatever Brent ate, I would, too.

Brent glared at us. "Hey, what about me? I like to rappel."

My understanding was that seventeen-year-olds aren't supposed to whine. Brent did it anyway. He cocked his perfectly square head to one side—an amazing feat since he had almost no neck after all his weight training—and squinted suspiciously at us, like we were dissing him on purpose. Uncle Mike shot me a glance, and I saw him tense a little. We hadn't counted on Football Hero being in the way.

"I already took you out for your birthday," Mike said. "To that concert in Helena, remember? This is an early birthday gift for Matt."

Brent put his sandwiches on the coffee table without a napkin under them, ignoring Mom's glare, and flopped on the couch hard enough that I caught air on the wave. "I get an overnighter, and he gets a week? Nice favoritism, Unc." Giving Mike a seriously dirty look, he said, "Why can't I go with you guys?"

So Mike let the shoe drop. Just not about the monsters.

"I'm shipping out in December. Fort Carson first, then on to Afghanistan in January. I seem to remember taking you on a big hike when you were fifteen. Just in case I take a bullet or get stuck over there for two years, I thought it'd be nice to make sure Matt got his turn."

Mom's gasp drowned out Brent's stuttered apology and my sister flew around the corner from the entryway. Mamie's face was pale; she'd caught the news, too. Mike had done a good job diverting Brent's attention...and everyone else's.

Mom raked her hands across her head, spiking up her short, brown hair into a porcupine-like mess. "Upstairs, everyone. Now."

Whenever Mom's voice sounded like that, we moved, and today was no exception. The three of us climbed the stairs as fast as we could. Brent slammed his bedroom door before we could say a thing, so Mamie followed me into my room.

"Afghanistan? For a year?" she whispered.

Mamie twirled one of her brown pigtails around her finger, her classic nervous tic, and burst into tears. I hated watching Mamie cry. Even though she wasn't quite sixteen yet, she was the most together person in our family and seeing her upset threw off the balance of my universe. Brent teased her like crazy and I pulled silly pranks on her all the time, but the truth was either of us would jump in front of a train for her. Something about being sandwiched between two brothers ensured she'd have lifelong protection. It also meant the shy kid in her Latin class would never, ever, _ever_ ask her out.

Feeling like the older brother in this scenario—even though I only came up to her eyebrows—I patted her on the back. "C'mon, Mamie, don't cry. It'll be okay."

"I'm sorry, Matt. I know this is harder on you than the rest of us. You're Mike's favorite, and I don't mean that in a rude way, like Brent does. I'm glad, actually, since Dad isn't around." She pulled off her glasses to wipe her eyes, giving me what she probably thought was a brave smile. "I'm sure it'll be fine. We just have to keep believing that."

A knock on the door interrupted us. Mike stuck his head in. "Hey, Daisy May, can I talk to Matt a minute? I'm staying for dinner; we'll have a chance to visit more then."

The use of her nickname made Mamie tear up again, but she nodded and drifted off to her room. I flopped down onto my bed and played with my pillow. Mike looked serious, but I wanted to pretend everything was normal. Too bad we couldn't.

"Dani said I could take you to Colorado," he said. "We'll leave next Friday. It's a ten-hour drive to Fort Carson so I'll check you out of school before noon. We won't drive back until the following Sunday to get a full week of training in."

I'd never been to a Fort anything, and barracks were a complete mystery. Would I be able to get network coverage there? The idea of being without my phone or an internet connection for a week made me twitchy. "What do I bring?"

Mike winked. "Your camo, of course."

* * *

Mike stayed for dinner and Mom fussed over him a lot. That didn't stop her from nagging me about eating my asparagus, though. And she wasn't the only one checking out what I ate.

"Dude, your guts are gonna explode if you eat any more meatloaf," Brent said. "Leave some for the rest of us."

Mamie glanced at me. "Matt, I thought you hated meatloaf."

I shook my head, cheeks so full of the disgusting stuff I wasn't sure I could open my mouth without hurling. After a huge swallow and a gagging shiver, I said, "No, I like meatloaf just fine."

Mamie's eyes narrowed, but Mom got to me first. "You must be growing, sweetheart. There goes my grocery bill. Two teenage boys in the house is going to bankrupt me." She smiled. "I better start buying more peanut butter."

That was the rule. When Mom came home from work three years ago to find that Brent had cleaned out the fridge only two days after her last shopping trip, she'd laid down what we all called the "snack law." If it wasn't mealtime, we could eat all the peanut butter sandwiches we wanted. Nothing else, unless she said okay. Mom said it was a cost-saving measure, but I think she was just pissed that Brent ate all the cheese along with her hidden stash of M&Ms.

Mamie continued to watch me. She had one eyebrow raised and that little half-smile on her face—the one that meant she was on the trail. Despite Brent saying she lived with her nose in a book, Mamie saw and heard _everything_ around her. She was also smart enough to figure out any puzzle. I'd have to be more careful.

After Mike left, Mom called a family conference. She settled us down around the glass-topped coffee table in the living room like she was conducting a client meeting.

"We need to spend the next few months showing Mike how much we love him, okay? That means not putting demands on his time unless _he_ offers," Mom said. "I'm also going to plan a surprise party. We'll have it right before he leaves for Fort Carson. And let's think about ideas for care boxes to send him. We can send one a month, with pictures, snacks and notes from home. If we mail one before he leaves, he'll get it a few days after he arrives at base."

We nodded and Mom started handing out assignments. "I know it's going to be hard without him here. We're going to have to pull together. Brent—you'll need to be more of a big brother and less of a liege-lord, got it?"

"Sure, Mom, whatever," Brent said. I figured he gave in so easily because he was still embarrassed about sounding like an jerk to Uncle Mike.

Mom turned to me next. "Matt...well, just hang in there for me, okay?"

I smiled and saluted, and Mom laughed. "Mamie, sweetheart, can you keep an eye out for Matt if I have to work late?"

"Mom, I don't need a babysitter," I said. What, did she think I was seven? Mamie was only sixteen months older than me and was scared of crickets. How did _she_ get appointed to be my minder?

"I'll watch him day and night," Mamie said, giving me a sly glance.

I forced myself not to cringe, for fear Mamie would take it as another clue. Seriously, could this be any worse? Mom had just guaranteed that my cover would be blown in short order.

# Chapter Four

Sunday passed in a blur of glum faces and soggy rain. After brunch, Brent headed to his girlfriend's and probably spent the afternoon making out, which meant he was the only one of us with a shot at a smile. Mamie hid behind a book, re-reading _A Wrinkle in Time_ for the umpteenth time in the recliner by the living room window. While she was occupied with something other than watching me, I headed to my room.

I felt compelled to take a look at the knife without Mike hovering behind me, wearing his troubled frown. He doubted I'd need to use it until I'd been through some training, but we both felt it should be closer to its wielder.

I'd hidden it in the pocket of an old backpack stowed in the depths of my closet. When I retrieved it and laid it on my bed it hummed, almost happily, when I touched it. The white bone handle was a little smaller than a carving knife's, and worn smooth, without markings of any kind. The brown leather sheath had been stitched with thick twine and fit the knife snugly, allowing a wielder to draw the knife fast without the fear of the blade falling out on its own. The blade itself wasn't shiny—the metal had a bronze tint to it—and it measured nine inches from where it joined the handle to its razor-sharp tip. Clearly the knife had been designed with one purpose, as a weapon. And a badass weapon at that.

A little shudder ran down my spine. If I was going to wield this blade, I had work to do.

Mike had given me a list of exercises to start on, and I needed Brent's weight set, so I sneaked across the hall. His weights were on a stand in the corner of his room, but how he used them was beyond me. There wasn't a single spot on the floor, except for a trail from the door to the bed, that didn't have clothes, cleats or other junk dumped on it. I picked my way through the mine field and grabbed a pair of twenty-pound dumbbells, thinking I'd just take them to my room since I kept my floor somewhat clean.

Mistake. My arms dropped to the ground and my knuckles dragged like a gorilla's. Maybe the twenty pounders were too much for the first day.

I exchanged the twenties for the ten-pound weights. I could carry the tens without drooping, so I shuffled back to my room. Even with my last growth spurt, I was only five-four and a hundred and seven pounds; twenty pounds was nearly a fifth of my weight. I felt proud of myself until I noticed the dumbbells had dust on them. Brent hadn't used these little ones for a long time.

DNA was a weird thing–all of us had the same smallish nose as Mom, and dark "Archer blue" eyes from our deadbeat dad. But our builds were completely different. Mamie was thin, like Mom, and a little taller than her friends. I was on the small side, hitting below the fiftieth percentile on the stupid growth charts they use at the doctor's office. Brent was the hulk of the family, a good ten inches taller than me and double my weight, all of it muscle and bone. For the nineteenth time, I wondered why the knife picked _me._

Thirty minutes of weight training was harder than it sounded, and it had sounded pretty hard in the first place. I worked out my biceps, my triceps, my delts and a whole bunch of other muscles I didn't realize I had. When I was done, my legs and arms felt like gummy worms. Exhausted, I curled up on my bed huffing and puffing.

"Hey! Who's been in my room?" Brent yelled.

I bolted upright and regretted it when my head spun. The weights were by my closet door, six feet from my bed, but I didn't think I could crawl across the room to hide them.

Brent flung my bedroom door open without knocking. "I know you were in there. What did you take this time?"

"Just your weights." I pointed at the dumbbells, too tired to lie. "Uncle Mike said I needed to do some weight training, you know, put on some muscle."

Brent paused in his attack, looking surprised. "Really?" He smirked. "I guess wimps have to start somewhere. Besides, a little muscle wouldn't kill you."

He turned to leave and bumped right into Mamie. "Hey, Latin Club Princess, you're liable to get run over if you don't watch traffic."

"Being an all-state strong, uh, safely doesn't mean you can tackle people at home," Mamie said, crossing her arms. "Have some manners, you Neanderthal."

I'm not sure Brent understood what "Neanderthal" meant but he could tell she was insulting him. "It's strong _safety_ , genius."

They glared at each other. Finally, Brent snorted and went to his room, slamming the door like usual.

"Ugh, he's loud," Mamie said. "Why did Uncle Mike tell you to do some weight training?"

Crap, Sherlock had a clue. "He wants me to build up some muscle for the rappelling trip."

Her forehead wrinkled, making her glasses slip down her nose. "Is that why you've been eating so much? I know you hate meatloaf; I could tell you were lying last night. And you ate about forty pancakes at brunch today. Are you trying to gain weight?"

"Um, yeah," I said. Not original, but that's all I could think of.

"Matt, a week's not enough time to gain much muscle." Mamie got her mother-hen voice on. "Is someone bullying you at school? If they are, I'll ask Mom to talk to Mrs. Stevens." That was her solution for everything. You have a problem? Tell an adult.

"No—school's fine." I said. "Uncle Mike told me it's a good idea, that's all."

"I promised Mom I'd keep an eye on you. Remember that." She gave me another long stare, then marched off to her room. She didn't slam the door.

The next morning, I rolled out of bed, sore all over. That must've been why Mike said to stretch after working out. A hot shower helped some. After I threw on a semi-clean pair of jeans and a t-shirt, I stumbled down to breakfast ready to get this week over with so I could go to Colorado with Mike. Mamie sat at the kitchen table, reading the paper, still in her robe. She was always up as early as Mom. I didn't know another girl who got up early to read the news, from an honest-to-God newspaper, no less. Mamie was sick that way.

"Mom, listen to this." Mamie pushed her glasses higher up on her nose. "'The remains of newlyweds John and Marcia Carroll were discovered by Park Rangers on Sunday. While authorities aren't providing many details, an unnamed source says they believe it to be a bear attack due to the nature of the injuries the couple sustained.'" Mamie turned to me. "Matt, the attack happened in the same park where you and Mike were camping. Good thing you came home early!"

Mom took the paper from Mamie. "Oh my gosh. I'll need to tell Mike. I don't want you camping near any crazy grizzlies."

Up to this point, I'd been shoveling eggs into my mouth and drinking my milk as fast as I could. When Mom and Mamie both looked at me, freaked out, I had a hard time gulping down my last bite.

I had a hunch it wasn't animals, which meant the creature I stabbed wasn't the only one roaming the woods. Just knowing something was out there killing hikers made me realize how important it was that I did everything Mike told me for the next few months.

And that included not letting Mom or Mamie know there were monsters in Montana.

* * *

"Archer, what are _you_ looking at?"

Carter Jacobs had everything I didn't: awesome basketball skills, a dad who spent time with him and Ella Mitchell, the Goddess of Greenhill High School. He played center for the varsity team and towered over nearly everyone but the seniors. I only came up to his chin. It was a real pity his locker was five down from mine, and Ella's was seven. I didn't have a prayer of checking her out without being busted.

Carter's blond hair fell into his eyes as he leaned over me, fists clenched. This was the closest to a fight I'd been in two years. I kind of deserved it, though. Ella had caught me looking—and had _smiled back._ After that, I didn't really care if Carter killed me, because I could take that smile from Ella to my grave.

"Pick on someone your own size, Jacobs," a voice behind me said.

I stood up a little taller. Will always showed up right on time. Carter frowned as my best friend stared him down. Already five-eleven, and with black hair and square shoulders, Will intimidated pretty much everyone, especially since he was fast and moved better than you'd expect for a big guy. Most people didn't know he was a gentle giant. He'd creamed too many quarterbacks for anyone to believe that—so many, in fact, the JV football team called him Crusher. It was a play on his last name, Cruessan, and it gave him a hallway cred that kept me from getting too banged up by guys like Carter. That should've been Brent's job, but he was too cool to care what happened to his kid brother.

"So," Will growled, "you gonna let me hand your butt to you, or are you gonna turn around and forget this happened?"

Carter swore under his breath. "Whatever." He pointed a finger at my chest. " _You_ keep your eyes to yourself, got it?" He spun on his heel and strutted off, straightening his letter jacket in a really obvious way, as if there was a single person left in the school who didn't know he was a basketball star.

Will watched him go. "You know, he's the reason I don't bother wearing my jacket. He gives the rest of us a bad name."

"Thanks for stopping by, dude," I said. Will was such a good friend, it didn't hurt my pride too much when he had to bail me out. "You know how he is about Ella. 'Mine—back off.' I don't know why she puts up with it." Girls were really strange sometimes.

"Some women like the caveman type," Will said. "Or maybe it's the older man thing. Having a sophomore for a boyfriend might be a thrill or something. I wouldn't have thought Ella would be part of the Carter fan club, but all the girls think he's cute. I guess they don't care that he's an asshat."

We walked to homeroom. In our eight years of friendship, this was the first class we'd had together since we were six. We must have cut up enough in first grade to get that little red sticker on our files that said "don't put Archer with Cruessan." Luckily, that warning hadn't trickled upward to high school.

I plopped my books on my desk, getting ready for a long, boring hour of algebra. Ella sat down in front of me, and I gazed at her perfect, dark red hair. It was long and a little curly and I had a feeling I could get my hands lost in it, maybe while I...

"Mr. Archer, kindly tell us the answer to number seven," Mrs. Burns said. Her pleasant smile said "caught you drooling, young man."

"Um...." Number seven, crap, number seven. I scanned my book, hoping for divine inspiration, because I didn't even know which problem _was_ number seven.

God must've heard my prayers, though, because Ella held her hands behind her back. One had two fingers pointed up, and the other had three pointing down. Ella was good at math; I sure hoped that was a clue.

"Two-thirds?" I asked.

Mrs. Burns looked disappointed. "Correct. All right, clear your desks. Quiz time."

I managed to keep my head down and concentrate for the rest of class. But only because I didn't look at Ella. Or think about the lavender v-neck t-shirt she had on. Or wish that she'd reach down to tie her shoe so I could see if the v-neck gaped open any.

After the bell rang, she spun around in her desk to smile at me. She had a dimple on her right cheek and this dusting of freckles across her nose and when her green eyes caught me, I forgot my name.

"Matt, I'm so sorry for how Carter acted this morning," she said. "He's just in a bad mood because they lost their first game Friday."

Will came up to us, waiting for me to get moving. "Ella, why do you hang with Carter? He's a turd."

My face heated up. For all his protection skills, Will had the tact of a backhoe.

Ella crossed her arms. "Carter's really nice once you get to know him. Thoughtful, too." She smiled, staring into space. "He gives me a flower every Friday and never blows me off when he says he'll call. I think you'd both like him if you hung out with us some."

Will gave me this look that said, "Yeah, like I believe that."

I needed to change the subject before he said anything out loud. "Hey, thanks for giving me the answer today, Ella. I'm, uh, a little tired and must've dozed off."

While dreaming about you and me, alone in the supply closet.

"No problem," she said. "Mrs. Burns is always trying to get the jump on people—I like throwing her off. See you in history."

Ella glided from the room, and her hips swung back and forth as she walked. I had to watch her go before I could gather up my own stuff.

Will smacked me on the back of the head with his binder. "There's nothing to see here, citizen. Get a move on."

I punched him in the arm. "Dude—'he's a turd?' Are you kidding me?"

"Well, I was curious," he said. "It still doesn't make sense, but, whatever."

I sighed. "Do you think I'll ever have a chance with her?"

"It's good to have a dream, man," he said. "See you at lunch."

Shouldering my backpack, I followed him out with my stomach doing flips, not sure which was tougher to handle – a crush on Ella Mitchell, or a magic knife that killed monsters.

* * *

"You aren't planning to eat all that, are you?" Will asked.

My tray was piled high with everything I could get my hands on. I even braved the "Salisbury steak," which looked like a soy-burger patty smothered with a mud pie.

"Yeah. I'm hungry."

I sat down at our usual table in the corner of the lunchroom and stabbed the muddy burger with my fork. When it didn't leap off the table, yelping, I cut off a piece and tried a bite.

"It's not bad."

Will wrinkled his nose. "Dude, _I_ wouldn't even eat that. What's the deal?"

"Trying to gain some weight. You know, pack on some muscle. Hey—think you could do some weight training with me?" I asked.

Will pushed his chair back. "Who are you and what did you do to my friend?"

I laughed. "Oh, come on. It's not like I'm asking you to go shopping for dresses with me or something. I just want to bulk up some."

"You must really have it bad for Ella," Will said. "You're a natural born runner, dude. I can try to help you train, but honestly, you're wiry and you're gonna stay that way."

My shoulders slumped. Mike was an idiot to think this would work.

"Wiry's good, though," Will said. "Being fast and flexible—that's better than a mountain of muscle any day. Means you can fight more efficiently."

I rolled my eyes. "This isn't about fighting Carter. I just need to get stronger, okay?"

"Why?"

"Because I want to." I clenched my jaw and glared at him. "Are you going to help me or am I doomed to pulling all the wrong muscles trying to learn this crap from a magazine?"

Will frowned like he didn't quite believe me. "Yeah, okay. I do strength training after school on Tuesdays and Thursdays."

"Thanks." I went back to slamming down my mud pie.

* * *

I made it through the afternoon, but I didn't know how. My stomach rolled from my huge lunch, and my arms were sore again. It wasn't until last period that things started looking up.

I didn't get to sit behind Ella in history. I got to sit right _next_ to her. I watched her twirl a strand of her hair with one hand, and tap her bright blue fingernails against her desk with the other. Every fidget, every stretch, every scratch of her pencil, every yawn—all of it was duly recorded in my brain. God had been on his A-game the day He made her.

"All right, people. Essays on the Battle of Gettysburg are due Friday. Extra credit to those who can recite the 'Gettysburg Address' to me from memory," Mr. Anderson said as the bell rang.

Everyone sprang up, eager to escape Greenhill prison. I shoved my books in my backpack, ready to run for the bus. It sucked that Brent had football. Even if he was a butthead, I'd much rather ride with him that endure the bus. Ella stopped me on my way out the door. We were about the same height, so I got to see the freckles up close. My heart thumped hard.

"Matt, I meant to ask you this morning. Have you changed something with your hair? I don't know. You look older." All this was said with a flash of white teeth recently straightened from braces.

"No, nothing new." I smiled back. She actually noticed me last week and this week? Yes!

"I just wondered..." She trailed off and picked at her fingernail polish. "Well, anyway, whatever changed, it looks good on you."

With a little wave, she was gone, leaving me to stand there with my mouth hanging open. Maybe I had a chance after all.

# Chapter Five

On Tuesday, just in time for my muscles to get over Sunday's workout, I joined Will for my first after-school training session. The practice gym, not to be confused with the real gym where we had pep rallies and basketball games, smelled like dirty socks and was full of JV football players wearing gray sweats. Most of them stopped pumping iron or doing crunches to stare at me, the first flyweight ever to walk through the gym door. I wished I could come clean about why I needed to train. Monster killing might have given me a little cred.

I eyed the crowd of jocks. A bunch wore skeptical smiles when they saw me coming. Two looked hostile. Then again, Sanders and McCoy always looked pissed off. They were dumb as dirt clods and their tiny brains probably couldn't make their faces do anything but scowl.

I followed Will to the dumbbell rack. He pulled up a pair of twenty-pound weights. With what I hoped was a cocky grin, I grabbed two ten-pound dumbbells.

Will lifted an eyebrow. "Dude. Twenty pounds total? You're right; we got work to do. I want you up to thirty by December."

I sighed. "How much does a guy Brent's size lift?"

"Bicep curls? Probably thirty pounds for twelve-rep sets," Will said.

"Then why was he making fun of me? I'm not that far off." I did a vigorous set of curls in pure indignation. My biceps went on strike at the seventh rep.

"Thirty per arm, man. Hell, Brent could probably curl sixty with one arm if it was a single shot." Will grinned and went back to his sets.

Well, crap.

* * *

Friday arrived with the promise of a road trip and early release from school. I should've been stoked to go on my first military adventure, but I didn't think I'd ever been as miserable. Every muscle in my body ached, Ella had been out sick since Wednesday, and Mamie popped out from behind corners at random times to check up on me. Even the monster attack, which had seemed unreal for the first few days, was haunting me again. Things went downhill from there, sinking into a valley of suckiness after second period.

"Yo, Archer. McCoy told me you've been coming to the gym with Cruessan. Guess I didn't have to worry about you checking out my girlfriend the other day. You already have one." Carter's face lit up with a nasty smile. "So, when are you and Will gonna pick out engagement rings?"

Grinding my teeth, I clenched my fists and took a step toward him. I had no idea what I'd do from there, but I was sick of this asshat riding me.

Carter snickered at my reaction. "Maybe Cruessan will take you to the Winter Ball. You're short enough that he could tuck you under his chin during the slow dances. That would be so precious."

A flash of magenta light exploded in my brain. I got right up in his sneering face.

"You know what, Carter? One day Ella will figure out that you have nothing to offer except a half-decent hook shot. What girl even cares about that stuff? When she finally sees you for the butthole you are, she'll drop you in a heartbeat, and I'll be right there, waiting."

Carter's nostrils flared as he shoved me into the locker bank so hard I hit my head and saw stars. The impact jarred something loose inside my brain, though, and I got awfully calm for a guy in my present situation.

Right then, I knew. Monsters came in all shapes and sizes.

And I wasn't afraid of monsters anymore.

Carter took a wild swing at my jaw. I ducked at the last second and Carter punched the lockers. While he cursed about his hand, I popped up behind him and slammed him face-first into his locker, then pinned his arm behind his back. Carter struggled and stamped on my foot, trying to break free. When I didn't give, he elbowed me in the cheekbone with his free arm. More pissed than I'd been in my life, I spouted off enough obscenities to fill a dictionary of swear words and shoved him against the locker door with all my weight.

"You are a complete..."

Well, what I said was drowned out by shouts of "Fight, fight, fight!"

A hand clamped down hard on my shoulder. "Let go, Mr. Archer. Now."

Mr. Nolton, our Vice Principal, pulled me off of Carter. I strained against him and he gave me a sharp tug.

"Young man, we're going to the office. You say one more thing and I'll have you expelled."

That didn't cool me off much, but I stopped struggling. Once I was quiet, Mr. Nolton caught hold of Carter.

"You too, Mr. Jacobs."

We marched down the hall at a brisk pace. Mr. Nolton was a tall, reedy guy with the longest legs in the world, and he dragged me so fast I had to trot to keep up. He wasn't fast enough, though; the news moved quicker than we did and we had an audience every step of the way. Mr. Nolton opened the office door, jabbing a finger to point us inside.

Once in the office, I didn't have a clue what to do. I'd only been sent to the principal once in elementary school, for setting off a few firecrackers at recess. Not one of the brightest things I'd ever done, but it had been pretty worth it at the time.

Unlike fighting Carter in a crowded hallway.

Carter seemed to know the drill, which didn't surprise me much. An idiot like him probably visited the office on a regular basis. He strutted over to Mr. Nolton's office and let himself in. I crossed my arms, feeling defiant. Carter started the fight, so what if I finished it? Mr. Nolton scowled and towed me to the door marked "Mrs. Stevens, Principal." He rapped twice, waiting for a muffled "enter" before opening the door.

"Discipline issue, Mrs. Stevens. Caught this gentleman inflicting bodily harm on another student—Carter Jacobs. Carter's in my office. I'll get his side of the story so we can compare notes."

Mrs. Stevens was a plump lady, not much taller than me, with soft brown hair and tough brown eyes. Like a grandma on steroids.

"A fight, huh?" she said. "Well, Mr. Archer, have a seat."

Mr. Nolton nudged me into the office a little harder than necessary and shut the door. I sat in the chair across from her desk. Mrs. Stevens pulled something up on her computer, probably my file. After she read it, she watched me. Her stare was laser-like, and I broke eye contact first, eager to escape her gaze.

"So, what happened?" Her voice was kind and vaguely amused.

I quit examining a thread on the carpet and looked up, shocked that she hadn't yelled. "He said something rude about me and my best friend, so I told him off. Then he took a swing at me. I was just defending myself."

She nodded thoughtfully and steepled her fingers. "Does that make it okay to tackle him in the hall?"

I flushed. "No ma'am, not at all. I should've walked away. If you want to know the truth, though, he's a toad."

Dumb, stupid, I just called Carter a toad in front of the _principal_? And if I was going to mouth off, couldn't I have come up with a better word than toad? Maybe Lord Supreme Jackass?

Mrs. Stevens' face stayed blank, but her eyes sparkled. "Carter has his own challenges to overcome, but your behavior wasn't acceptable either."

I shrank down in my seat as she watched me in silence. Two minutes ticked by, then three. Finally, she smiled. It wasn't a nice smile, but I'd take what I could get.

"I'll let you off with a warning and two weeks detention," she said. "You're a good kid, Matt. From what I've seen, you haven't been in trouble much. I'll chalk it up to raging testosterone this time. Next time, you'll be suspended. Do we understand one another?"

I nodded like a bobble-head doll. "Yes, ma'am, absolutely."

I also should've remembered what Brent said about pushing and shoving in football games—it's always the second guy who gets caught.

Just then, the secretary poked her head in. "Matt's uncle is here. He says he's checking Matt out early." The secretary scowled, as if the idea that I'd get to leave school before last bell was personally offending her.

"Thank you, Miss James." Mrs. Stevens turned back to me. "Matt, I'll call your mother later today to discuss the terms of your detention. Why don't you try to blow off some steam over break."

I nodded. Fort Carson would see to that. And so would Mom when I got back home. At least I'd be on the road before she heard about it.

"Let's not keep your uncle waiting," Mrs. Stevens said. She smiled again; this time it was more friendly. "I'll see you a week from Monday."

I hopped out of my seat and backed out of her office as fast as I could, practically bowing. Once free, I spun around without looking and ran smack into Mike's chest.

"Chief, what were you doing in the principal's office?" he asked.

I shifted from foot to foot. "Long story."

Uncle Mike's lips tightened. "We have a ten-hour drive. I have the time."

On the way to the parking lot, I owned up to the fight. Mike was scowling by the time I got into the Jeep. My bags were already in the back; he must have stopped by my house on the way to pick me up. I stared out the passenger window with my arms crossed, not in the mood to see the stern look on Mike's face because I didn't know what to say in response. I was still too angry.

Mike started the engine and backed out. He drove all the way to the highway before he said anything.

"Okay, Captain Mayhem, what were you thinking, fighting at school?"

I didn't answer.

"Matt, if you get in trouble, Dani will put you under house arrest and monsters will roam free. Is that what you want?

A cold sliver of guilt slipped into my insides. "No. I'm sorry, okay? I know what's at stake, and I won't get into another fight."

"That's right, you won't." Mike's voice held a sharp edge I'd never heard. "After next week, you'll know better."

That pissed me off more. "Carter gives me crap for breathing, Uncle Mike. It was high time I stood up for myself."

He pulled over to the side of the road and glared at me. "What's Carter going to do to you by slinging insults? Nothing. Over the next week you're going to be trained in hand-to-hand combat, among other things. You get in a fight with that kid at school, and next time you'll do him serious harm. I have to trust that you can show some self-control. Suck it up and act like a man."

He pulled back onto the road. "For the next week, I'm not Uncle Mike. You call me sir or Major Tannen."

Shocked that Mike would snap at me like that, I glared out the window and didn't say another word until we crossed into Wyoming two hours later. We stopped for dinner at the Colorado border and had a perfectly normal conversation about the Broncos' imploding season. I felt like things were starting to thaw, but after dessert Mike disappeared to the men's room with a garment bag. He returned wearing a crisply ironed, Army-green Class B uniform: olive-colored trousers, long sleeve shirt covered in commendation ribbons, gold oak leaf insignia for a major's rank, tie, and black shoes shined within an inch of their lives. Seriously, if those shoes could talk, they'd be screaming from the rub-down they'd taken.

"We're leaving," he ordered.

Wondering what the heck had gotten into him, I left the last bite of my pie and scurried out to the Jeep, dreading whatever came next. He hardly talked the rest of the way and I shrank down in my seat, thinking Major Tannen was one scary dude.

I had to admit though, once we made it to Fort Carson, it was kind of awesome to see dozens of uniformed soldiers saluting as Mike walked by. He led me to a little house on the edge of the base that served as quarters for visiting personnel. The building, consisting of two whole rooms and a bathroom, was square, with walls made of cinderblocks painted gray and a floor of the same kind of ugly, thick vinyl you see in hospitals. The only furniture I had in my room was a metal bunk, a metal footlocker and a metal folding chair. A small, gray-tiled bathroom, with just a sink, shower and toilet, separated my room and Mike's. His room didn't look any nicer, except he had a desk. It was metal, too.

"Bed," Mike barked. Then he shut the door to his room, leaving me alone.

I sat down on the Army-green blanket covering my bed, wondering how I got here.

# Chapter Six

A fire alarm went off directly above my bunk. At least that's what it sounded like. The alarm shrieked, reverberating off every hard surface in my room. Considering everything but my mattress and blankets was made of metal, the room buzzed until my brain screamed for mercy.

"I'm up, I'm up!" I rolled from the bunk just as Mike flipped the lights on. I rubbed my eyes and tried to remember what I was doing in a room that looked like a prison cell. "What time is it?"

"Quarter of five. You have ten minutes to get dressed and fall out."

Mike's barked orders were much too loud for such an indecent hour. But there he was, already dressed in sweats and looking ready to rumble.

I shuffled to the foot of my bed. "Yeah, whatever."

"The customary answer would be 'Sir, yes sir.'"

"Are you kidding?" I asked, even though I suspected he wasn't.

This morning, Mike's eyes had that same hard look I'd seen the night we'd fought the monster. Briefly, I thought about bailing and calling Mom to come rescue me. But I wasn't a wuss, so I saluted him in my pajamas.

"You now have nine minutes. And leave the knife here. You won't need it." He spun on his heel and clomped out of the room.

I picked up the clothes laid out for me on the footlocker. Mike had been joking about the camo. There was a gray t-shirt, sweatpants and hoodie, along with a black knit cap. The t-shirt and hoodie had "ARMY" printed across the chest. Even though all the clothes were sized as smalls, they swallowed me. I had to pull the drawstring on the pants nearly a foot so they wouldn't fall off my butt. I grabbed a pair of gloves and trotted outside, glad that Mike had let me use my own running shoes instead of combat boots.

I barely made it out the front door to the yard before Mike tossed me a backpack. I caught it on the fly, then tumbled to our little patch of lawn with the bag on top of me. "Geez, Mike, what the heck is in this thing? Titanium bowling balls?"

He yanked me and the backpack off the ground. "That's Major to you."

"Sir, yes, sir." Not even here twelve hours yet, and I was ready to cry for my mama. Mike strapped the backpack on me. My legs shook with the added weight.

"It's only twenty-five pounds." He flung his onto his back and tightened the straps. "Mine weighs twice that."

"What's the point? To see what kind of wimp I am?" I tried to keep the growl out of my voice, but failed.

A faint, amused smile crossed Mike's face. "No. When you go out on a hunt, you'll need to carry equipment. If you can't hike through rough terrain with twenty-five pounds on your back, we might as well go home now."

That hurt my pride. Of course I could carry twenty-five pounds to stop monsters from rampaging around my home town. I forced my back to straighten out. "So now what?"

Another faint smile; approving this time. "We run."

Run was an understatement. Mike took off down the road toward the center of the base. Buildings passed in a blur of dark outlines as I pounded asphalt trying to catch him. Every time I got close, he sped up. At one point, we started to overtake a squad of soldiers doing the same thing—jogging along wearing backpacks three times the size of mine. A drill sergeant yelled a song that would get me grounded if I dared repeat it back home. Mike veered right and we left the road.

"Why don't we just run with them?" I said, barely able to get enough air to ask.

"How would we explain a fourteen-year-old, in standard physical fitness uniform, running across base first thing in the morning?" Mike didn't sound winded. So unfair.

He turned sharply into some woods on the far side of the base. The trees grew close together and the ground was uneven, thick with roots, fallen leaves and hidden holes, all perfect for getting hung up. I was wheezing before we'd gone a hundred yards. I felt myself slow down and the backpack dug into my shoulders.

The sun wasn't up and I could barely see Mike in front of me. I thrashed along, trying to keep up, but my feet couldn't go any faster. Mike ducked around a clump of brush, out of sight. Intent on catching him, I surged forward only to slip on a loose rock. I twisted my ankle and rolled onto the ground.

I sprawled out panting, not in the mood to get back up. "Uncle Mike? I need a break, man. I think I sprained my ankle."

The only answer was the hoot of an owl.

"Uncle Mike?"

Nothing.

Oh crap, he left me behind! "Mike—I mean, Major—stop! You need to wait!" I pushed myself to my feet and limped ahead. "Major, wait for me!"

Tears stung my eyes. No more of this "dudes in Special Forces don't cry" garbage. I was stuck in the woods with a hurt leg and no clue how to get back to base. My breath came in gasps of cold, early morning air and the trees seemed to close in on me, murky shadows hiding who knows what. Every so often, the brush would rustle. I sank back down to the forest floor and hugged my knees to my chest.

I was lost.

"Mike, you butthole, you better come back for me!"

When I heard how small my voice sounded, swallowed up by all those trees, I felt like a dork. Mike would realize I wasn't behind him soon. In the meantime, how did I get back to base? At Boy Scout camp, I'd learned how to read a compass, and how to get around without one. I just had to stay calm and think. The house we were staying in was next to the road, and we'd turned onto the northbound lane when we started our run. Then Mike had turned slightly to the right when he ran into the words. Okay, good. Even with the twists and turns we'd taken, I knew we'd come into the woods heading northeast...I'd go back southwest and find the road.

Sitting with my eyes closed, I waited for my heart to slow down. Feeling calmer, I stood up and put a little weight on my injured leg. It didn't hurt too bad; I could walk. Ready to be on the move, I turned in a circle, getting my bearings. Over the trees, I could see a hint of pink in the night sky.

"East."

I drew a compass star on the ground with a stick, using the sun as my eastern marker, then pointed my body toward the southwest. With more confidence, I picked up the backpack and limped that direction.

The trees rustled again, followed by a twig snapping. I froze. A rabbit? It was a rabbit, it had to be a rabbit. Then I heard a few soft crunches in the leaves.

A rabbit wouldn't make that much noise.

My breathing got so loud I was sure the animal had heard me. This close to base, I didn't think it was a bear or, god-forbid, a monster, even if Fort Carson was surrounded by wildlife conservation land. Probably a deer, maybe a stag.

I crept forward a few paces and didn't hear anything following me. With a ragged sigh, I started up the trail. A shadow, low to the ground, darted between the trunks of two trees, slipping in front of me.

Oh, my gosh. Had I really just seen that?

The shadow shifted through the trees to the right of the path, and a branch shook. Too big to be a raccoon. But just the right size to be a cougar. I halted again and waited, afraid to blink in case the animal could hear my eyelashes rub together. If I got mauled by a cougar, Uncle Mike would have to re-up for an extra tour in Afghanistan so Mom couldn't kill him.

When the shadow didn't move, I took a step, then another. I reached the spot where the shadow had stopped and looked around.

Nothing. Just my imagination.

I squared my shoulders, lifted my chin, then marched ahead as if I had nothing to fear. Never mind that my pulse was sprinting; I could feel the artery in my neck throb. Could the cougar hear my heart pound?

I took a few more steps. Another twig snapped, behind me this time.

Something was watching me; I could feel eyes trained on my back. I stood with my feet cemented to the ground and caught the sound of a single footstep, just barely crunching the leaves. The shadow in the trees ahead moved.

I forgot about my ankle and took off running.

With a mighty screech, a huge mass lurched out of the shadows and tackled me. I squirmed, keeping my hands up, so the cougar couldn't get my face. Digging my feet into the dirt, I tried to roll the cat off of me. It was too heavy. Terrified, I kicked with all my might, connecting with what felt like a guy's thigh.

"Oof." A deep voice I didn't recognize. Chuckling, the man said, "Major Tannen, you were right. The kid's got a lot of fight in him. Quick, too."

A pair of big hands pulled me up. The man wore all black, including the same kind of knit cap I had. He pulled it off and the silver in his salt-and-pepper hair gleamed in the dawn light slanting through the trees. Not much older than Mike, but definitely career military; I could tell by his posture. He was at least six-four, maybe six-five, and he had to weigh two-fifty.

Mike came up behind us. "Told you, sir."

"Did I hurt you, son?" The man brushed leaves off my hoodie. "I didn't mean to knock you down. You moved too fast for me to get a good grip on your arm and I slipped."

"Who the heck are you and why were you stalking me through the woods?" I asked, pausing to give Mike a dirty look.

"Colonel Ryan Black." The man stuck out a hand. "And you must be my new monster hunter."

# Chapter Seven

After my tussle in the woods, Mike and Colonel Black conceded that I needed some breakfast. As we walked down the road toward the little bunk house, I asked about something that had been bugging me.

"Colonel Black, are you surprised the knife picked a fourteen-year-old?"

"Well...I'll be honest. Yes, very," he said. "But I've had a week to get used to the idea. Major Tannen briefed me right after the knife transferred to you." He gave me a quick look and I could see worry in his eyes. "We've got some work ahead of us, getting you trained. It's not going to be easy—probably painful. Are you up for that?"

I mulled it over. "Have to be, don't I? No real choice but to suck it up and learn as much as I can this week."

Colonel Black's shoulders relaxed. "I'm glad you're taking it seriously." He nodded at my leg. "How's the ankle?"

"Barely feel it," I said. "Guess I walked it off while the 'cougar' was chasing me."

The men laughed as we turned onto the drive near our barracks. The sun had nearly risen, and the little house looked shabbier by daylight. The brick was a dingy ivory color and the screen door had a few holes in it. Tired as I was, though, I doubted a five-star hotel would have looked better.

Mike let us in. "Grab the knife."

Now I got why Mike had insisted on leaving it behind for our run. It wouldn't have been good if I'd stabbed the colonel in the back during his ambush.

"Where to next?" I asked.

"Colonel Black's office," Mike said.

I crossed my arms and made an impatient noise. "Food first."

"Matt, you're going to eat in my office," Colonel Black said. "We don't want the whole base to know you're here until we can concoct some kind of story for it. My team will know, but that's it for now. They'll be here at oh-nine-hundred to meet you. Now, let's go, Private."

"Private? Oh, come on...not even a sergeant or something? I killed a monster on my own, sir. That has to earn me three stripes at least."

"High expectations there." Mike pushed me out the door, wearing a wry grin. "I'd guess corporal at best."

Colonel Black's office was closer to the center of the base. It was a good sized room with a large desk, a narrow window that cranked open and a little wooden table with four folding chairs. Not fancy, but comfortable. Once we got settled, he rang for his secretary, who turned out to be a staff sergeant with a buzzed head and a big nose.

"Kingston, breakfast for three," the colonel said. Kingston gave the colonel a crisp nod and marched down the hall.

"See, even your secretary gets to be a sergeant," I said. He probably hadn't killed a monster by himself. But, no, _I_ was a private.

Uncle Mike dropped into a chair at the table. I joined him and asked, "The monster team...are they all part of the 10th Airborne like you?"

Mike had told me that the 10th Special Forces Group was a tough bunch of Green Berets who liked to jump out of airplanes and do other dangerous—and righteously awesome—things. Behind enemy lines usually.

He shook his head. "They're from the covert operation in South America. The general heading up that mission hand-selected a team of Green Berets from the 10th and other units. But since Colonel Black's our commanding officer, we're based here."

I looked back and forth between Colonel Black and Mike. "And the team knows about me?"

The colonel busied himself with a stack of papers on his desk. "Not yet."

That didn't sound good. Even if Colonel Black was sort of okay that I was fourteen, I wasn't so sure everyone else would be.

Breakfast arrived. Kingston came in carrying a tray loaded down with eggs, bacon, and toast. Starved, I grabbed a plate and attacked the food.

Mike chuckled as I stuffed my face. "Took my advice about eating like a man to heart, huh?"

I nodded, too hungry to answer him.

"Just don't make yourself sick. We ran hard this morning and you're going to work again this afternoon. Last thing I need is to be cleaning up puke," Mike said.

"I won't," I said after gulping down a bite. "Is there any more bacon?"

Smiling, Colonel Black pushed the platter my way.

We left Colonel Black's office just before nine, heading down a long, pale green hall and through a concrete walkway to an adjoining building. The conference room was square, its plain white walls covered with big paper maps that had red and yellow pins stuck in them. The pins marked locations in China; the western edge of Peru, in the Amazonian rainforest; central Australia; and Billings, Montana. A single blue pin had been stuck in Botswana in Africa. I stopped to touch the red pin marking Billings. I had a feeling that one was for me.

A couple dozen padded, plastic chairs sat in rows facing a screen and a small lectern. Colonel Black took his spot at the front of the room. A few men had already arrived, wearing BDUs—battle dress uniform. Camo...finally. Mike and the colonel had changed into BDUs as well, but I still wore my sweats and felt self-conscious because I hadn't bothered with a shower after our trek through the woods. I'd turned down my chance to clean up so I could stay in the office to finish off the bacon instead. Maybe that had been a mistake. I'd have a hard enough time winning these guys over without looking like a gym-class reject.

More soldiers arrived, all of them with "high and tight" haircuts, polished belt buckles and big, black boots. Most were roughly the size of Mike—over six feet and muscular. A few were bigger. The only thing I had in common with these guys was my two-blade buzz cut.

Right at nine, Mike pulled the door closed and called everyone to order. I glanced around the room, feeling really small in my too-big sweats. Twelve hard faces stared back.

Mike caught my eye and mouthed, "You'll be fine."

I didn't have time to wonder what that meant before the meeting got underway.

Colonel Black moved in front of the podium. "Good morning, gentlemen."

"Hooah!" they answered in concert.

Colonel Black waved me up. I stood next to him with my knees knocking together, wondering how he'd explain who I was.

"This is Matt Archer, Major Tannen's nephew. He killed a monster in Montana a week ago."

Well, blunt was one way to go.

All their eyes swiveled back to me. A few of the men smiled a tiny bit, like they didn't believe it. I flushed under the weight of their stares.

"Obviously the U.S. is being invaded now. Major Tannen brought some pictures of the creature's body, along with the autopsy records, and we'll brief everyone on them later. This is an issue though, because we're spread thin at the moment. Parker's team is in China, at the request of the Chinese government, dealing with the mutant Pandas. Things have escalated in the Amazon again, and Ramirez's team went back down there two months ago." He paused. "We've also received unconfirmed reports of lion-like beasts roaming Botswana. Brandt's team left last Monday to scout out the situation."

The soldiers watched Colonel Black with intense concentration. I imagined they all had the same question...what does that have to do with the kid?

"On top of all this, the Australians have formally requested our assistance. The Dingoes are leaving the deep outback and threatening populated areas, so Parker or Brandt may have to head there next. With most of you, including Major Tannen, shipping out over the next several weeks, we don't have enough coverage to deal with Montana. But there might be a solution." The colonel paused. "Major Tannen's knife settled on Matt. Maybe he could cover the area for us."

It got so still, I could hear a Humvee rumble by on the road outside.

"A kid?" someone asked from the back. "The knife chose a kid?"

I clenched my jaw and stood up taller, about to bark that I wasn't a kid, but caught Mike's eye. He shook his head a fraction, his face dead serious.

The colonel sighed. "Yes. That's why I called you in. I need to see if one of you can take it back. Major Tannen tried but the knife wouldn't leave Matt. I just want to be sure our only option is a fourteen-year-old, because that's a lot to saddle him with." He held out a hand. "Matt, knife please."

I dug through my new Army backpack, strangely reluctant to give the knife up. When I touched it, it pulsed against my fingers. I drew it out of the bag, the smooth bone handle now glowing blue, and laid it on the colonel's open palm. The second it touched his skin, the handle went dark.

The colonel nodded slowly. "All right, that's one of us down." He passed it to the next guy.

The knife went around the room, to one soldier after another. It never glowed or vibrated. Finally, the last guy, a burly Green Beret with white-blond hair and black eyes, gave the quieted knife to Mike. The knife didn't register the change, not even for its old master.

"Here you go, Chief." Mike laid the knife on the podium, like he didn't want to hand it to me directly.

I stared at the knife. Sheathed, it didn't look all that scary. I reached out. My hand had barely touched it when the handle glowed blue and the knife vibrated on the table, sounding like a muted cell phone getting a call. I picked it up, feeling it buzz my arm, and glanced at the crowd. The skeptical looks had been replaced with astonishment in some cases, admiration in others.

"Guess that's settled, then," Colonel Black said. "Matt, welcome to the team."

# Chapter Eight

"As you can see, there's a hole in the paneling at the back of the hut. The 'Gator—'" Colonel Black nodded to me, "that's the code name—was intelligent enough to pull away the wood and grab the victim from her bed." The colonel paused to flip a slide on his laptop, projecting the image of a small wooden house with a gap in the back wall. "They're efficient hunters. In every attack we've seen, they surveyed an area, then stalked their victims. We still haven't found any dens, either. They hide themselves well. All we really know is that they're smart enough to be extremely dangerous."

I threw my hand up, forgetting this wasn't school. A few of the men chuckled. "Sir, what exactly are these things? The monster we killed...well, it looked like a bear, but it didn't, if you get what I mean. It had a bear's fur and the same kind of big paws like a grizzly. But the face was all wrong; it was squashed and it had a bigger snout, with these tusk things, like a boar would have. Its legs and arms were longer too, built kinda like Chewbacca, except not as nice." That got another few laughs. "Oh, and its blood was the color of spicy mustard."

Colonel Black nodded. "That's it in a nutshell, Matt. They seem to be hyper-intelligent, mutated animals. And they're getting smarter at an accelerated rate." He pulled up a new slide. "This one, taken in Peru, is of a Gator."

The creature resembled a cross between a crocodile and a giant iguana. It had a flatter face with pointy horns along its head and back like an iguana, but its hide was thicker, with larger scales, and its taloned feet were webbed, like a crocodile's. The Gator's arms and legs were human-length and muscular. In the picture, the monster lay crumpled on a jungle floor, bright green blood oozing from its slit throat.

Holy _Jurassic Park_ reject. I scooted my chair away from the screen. "Maybe you should call it a Croc. It doesn't look like an alligator."

Mike laughed from the back of the room. "The scientists told us that too, but we'd already named it."

I rolled my eyes. Middle school science had taught me the difference. Shouldn't these guys know, too?

Mike sat down behind me and put his hands on my shoulders. "No matter what we call them, the monsters hunt humans. That first picture, of the hut? The Gator took a pregnant woman. It ate her and the unborn baby."

I pressed the heels of my hands against my eyes, feeling truly sick. "Oh, my God."

"Gentlemen, we're finished for now," Colonel Black said. "Next briefing at fifteen-hundred. Dismissed."

Metal chairs scraped the floor as the soldiers stood. No one said a word, but once they made it into the hall, I could hear them whispering. Mike gave my shoulder a squeeze and got up to shut the door again. When he came back, his face was blank, but his muscles were bunched with tension under his BDUs.

"Matt, Colonel Black has some things to tell you. You've been given clearance; it's time you knew what was going on. This isn't going to be easy to hear." He glanced at the colonel. "We have an idea of where the monsters are coming from."

"You mean this isn't some weird pollution problem?" I asked. "I figured some animals got into some toxic waste like the Joker in _Batman_ and turned into monsters."

Colonel Black pulled a chair around so we huddled together in a little group. "No. They were created."

"By terrorists? They can do that?"

The colonel shook his head. "Not by humans."

My toes curled up inside my running shoes. Just when I thought this couldn't get worse, it did. "Aliens?"

"No," the colonel said. "Something equally fantastic, though."

My face must've turned green, because he hurried to explain. "Really bizarre cases of malicious mischief have been occurring worldwide for the last few years. For example, one of the stone Gargoyles at Notre Dame came to life a few months ago. It flew off the cathedral's roof and pelted the crowd with rocks. The media played it off as some kind of stunt, but we knew better. For the most part, no one has died in any of these incidents. Scared, sure; hurt sometimes, too. Never killed. The monsters represent a more organized assault."

Too much information. My brain wanted to explode, and they hadn't even told me the punch line. "So, where are they coming from, then?"

The colonel rubbed his hands together like they were cold. "Several months ago, we received intelligence reports that leaders of mystical religions had started conducting rites and rituals not seen for centuries—rituals to ward off evil. We wondered if the activity was related to attacks, so we sent delegates to speak with some of these medicine men, shamans, witch-doctors and priests."

"What kind of evil?" I whispered, like if I said it louder, a poltergeist would show up.

"Every religion believes in a dark force of some kind—evil spirits, demons, and the like." Colonel Black's eyes never left mine. "All the leaders we spoke with said a war was coming. Seems the forces of darkness, no matter what religion you may or may not believe in, have come together to wage war on humankind."

I looked at Mike. He stared back without a hint of a smile. Holy crap, they were serious. I wrapped my arms around my chest. "Where do the knives fit in?"

"Conventional warfare doesn't exactly work against things that go bump in the night, Matt," Mike said. "We tried flame throwers on the Gators, and they walked right through the blaze. We tossed grenades; all that did was stun them. Bullets are useless. Parker says the same thing about the Pandas. My hunting knife didn't make a dent in the monster we encountered last week. Short of a bomb blast, you name it, we tried it. Nothing we have kills them." He nodded at the blade in my lap. "It takes special tools to stop these things."

"So why do they work when nothing else does?" I asked.

Colonel Black exchanged a glance with Mike again, then said, "When we went to Peru to check out the Gators, we met Jorge. He's...a very unusual man."

Another truck rumbled by and Mike got up to pace. I waited.

"He's a medicine man to several local tribes in the Amazon—and he went to Yale." Colonel Black raised an eyebrow. "Jorge holds a Masters in chemistry, of all things. When he was a child, some missionaries came to his tribe. One of them was a high school science teacher. Jorge said he followed the man around, learning everything he could—including English."

Mike smiled. "The teacher was from New England, so Jorge speaks English with this very formal, clipped accent. Bit of a shock if you aren't expecting it."

"Anyway," the colonel said, "the missionaries convinced his family to allow Jorge to study in the United States. He lived here for about fifteen years before returning to Peru."

"Wait. Jorge's got a chemistry degree, and he lives in the rainforest?" I asked. Not what I'd do, but, okay.

"It's his home, Matt. He chooses to live among his people and tend to their needs, as his father did," Colonel Black said.

"So how did he get tangled up in all this stuff?"

"Well," the colonel said, "Jorge says the monster attacks were foretold by his elders. He believes the creatures were created by dark spirits who want to cleanse the earth of the human race, and the knives are the only weapons that can stop them."

"So Jorge says we're facing terrors from heaven knows where?" I asked. "Until we're wiped out?"

"It would seem so." Colonel Black's expression was every bit as serious as Mike's. "The monsters are probably just the beginning. A first-strike, maybe to see how well-defended we are."

My stomach sank. "Then why doesn't Jorge make more knives? That'd be what I'd do if the devil was planning to open the gate to Hell."

"Jorge had enough material to make six, but didn't, on purpose. We asked if he could make more and he told us five was a powerful magical number," the colonel said. "Magical numbers seem to matter. The number thirteen is considered significant in many cultures. The moon has thirteen cycles per year, for example. And the Gators showed up in a pack of thirteen last fall. Then thirteen Pandas arrived in the spring."

"But if there were only thirteen," I asked, "then why haven't Ramirez and Parker finished theirs off yet? I'd think they could kill off that many in just a few months."

"You know what a lunar eclipse is?" he asked.

I nodded. "Yeah. The earth orbits between the sun and moon, which casts a shadow on the moon."

"Right," Colonel Black said. "Sometimes they're partial eclipses, and don't cover the whole moon. Other times they're full, causing the night to be darker, under a blood-red moon. Full eclipses only come every three to four years. But when we have them, there are three in a year's time. There was one last October—visible on every continent but Africa. Then another in April, again not visible in Africa. Finally, we had one more, last month, and this one was visible in Africa, but not in Australia."

I raised my eyebrows. The timing couldn't be coincidence.

"The first Gators came the night of the October eclipse last year. Another thirteen Gators came in April, in addition to some new creatures, the Pandas and Dingoes. Thirteen more Pandas and Gators came last month, after the September eclipse, and now we have new monsters in Billings and Africa, but no new Dingoes, from what we've heard."

"So we ended up with thirty-nine Gators, and twenty-six Pandas?" No wonder Parker and Ramirez had their hands full.

"Yes. Our assumption is that there are only thirteen monsters in Montana, Australia, and Botswana," the colonel said. "There won't be another full eclipse for two years, so Jorge believes once we exterminate these beasts, they won't return for a while."

"Good thing." I thought for a minute. "But why did the monsters show up in those places? Why not London, or New York City? They'd do a lot of damage in a big city."

Colonel Black spread his hands. "Our theory is that the other monsters chose those locations because some powerful shaman lives there. Ancient, mystical religions are practiced in each of those areas. So maybe the monsters are targeting holy men that pose a significant threat, like Jorge. We think the Gators hit Peru because he made weapons that could kill dark creatures."

"Why Montana, though?" I asked. "There aren't any big-time shamans in Billings, are there?"

Mike winced. "Matt, there weren't any monsters in the U.S. until I brought the knife back home."

There was a sharp note of guilt in his voice that made me nervous. "But—"

He cut me off. "I'm the only wielder who went home. The general wanted a knife stateside while we assessed the threat, so I was released from duty while the others were sent abroad to investigate other paranormal events. Billings isn't exactly a prime target, which leads me to believe none of this is a coincidence. I brought the magic of the knife home last spring. And then we had a lunar eclipse in September. So monsters came to Billings."

"Then...why are they still sending you to Afghanistan? If there are monsters here, you should stay and help me." I looked at the colonel. "Right? He can stay now."

Colonel Black shook his head. "Major Tannen has a mission there, son."

Mike caught hold of my arm and squeezed. "The monsters aren't the only threat. I'm leading a small team into Afghanistan to check out some newly reported supernatural incidents. The peacekeeping effort is my cover."

"So you can't stay here," I said.

"I wish I could, but I'm needed elsewhere." Mike let my arm go, his eyes sad. "The human race is in this together, Chief. Most people just don't know it yet, and we hope they never find out."

I walked to the window, staring out at the traffic moving along the road. I was smart enough to understand what this meant, even if I was frightened out of my mind. Was I going to act like a scared brat, knowing more pregnant women, maybe even kids, could be killed if I begged Mike to stay?

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. "Okay. I'm in."

* * *

Mike and I jogged along the same road we'd taken to the woods in the morning, but now it was busy, with trucks and Humvees rattling by. Squatty, gray buildings lined the street, all square and boring, especially compared to the forest and mountains abutting the base. Camo was everywhere and barked orders filled the air.

The afternoon had warmed up into the seventies so I traded the sweats for shorts and a t-shirt—all standard issue. I felt better, too. Having a plan, even in the face of total insanity, was better than curling up in a corner.

"So when do I get my Class B uniform?"

Mike snorted. "When you're eighteen, and then only if you enlist. I'd prefer that you go to college first and come in as an officer. For now, though, let's just focus on keeping you alive that long, okay?"

I hoped he was kind of joking about the keeping me alive part, but I didn't think so. "Sure, okay."

We headed for the woods at a gentle trot. Now that I wasn't totally freaked and alone in the dark, I could appreciate the juniper and pinyon trees, along with a scattered aspen here or there. My Plant Science merit badge came in handy sometimes. As the branches swayed, the warm afternoon breeze filled with the sharp scent of pine. Sagebrush grew up along the trees, covering the ground, its grayish-green fronds poking out in all directions. It was a relaxing scene when you weren't expecting an ambush.

At the trailhead, we met up with a soldier I recognized from the meeting this morning.

"Oy, Major. So, this is the wunderkind." Master Sergeant Schmitz was the smallest member of the team, only about five-eight, but totally spit and polish. His hair was a faint, dark smudge on his skull, and his brown eyes darted constantly, like he expected enemies to leap from the bushes at any second. "Hello, Mr. Archer. Just so you know, I'm here to teach you something."

Mike dragged me past him, following the narrow dirt path we'd run on in the morning. Surprised we didn't even stop to say hello, I asked, "Aren't we gonna wait for the Master Sergeant?"

I turned back to ask Schmitz what I'd be learning. He was gone. Poof. Like a ghost. "Whoa! He was _right there!"_

"Who was right there?" Mike asked. "I don't see anyone."

"Schmitz, you idiot. Where did he go?"

"Careful or I'll make you drop and give me fifty." Mike grinned, then cupped his hands around his mouth. "Schmitz!"

"Sir," he called, from somewhere in front of us.

"How did he move so fast without us seeing him?" I hadn't seen or heard a thing, but in thirty seconds he'd gotten past us.

Mike yawned. "That's what you're here to learn. I'm going to take a nap. Major's privilege." After a sly glance, he turned toward base. "You can come back once you find him."

"Oh, that's just great!" I kicked at the ground. "Find a ghost in the forest. Great."

Schmitz called out—now behind me to the left. "Have a good nap, sir. This'll be a while."

"Can someone tell me why I'm hunting the invisible man in the woods?" I thrashed through the sagebrush along the trail, not finding anything but moss and a few crickets.

"Because if you can learn to move the same way I do, you'll be able to sneak up on monsters," Schmitz said, breathing down my neck.

I jumped in surprise and spun around to find him right behind me. "That was seriously awesome. Can you really teach me how to sneak like that?"

"If you listen to me, by Friday even the Major will have a hard time finding you out here. That's what we're working toward. A little de-mon-stray-shun." Schmitz bobbed his head as he spoke.

A grin spread across my face. "Excellent. Show me how."

# Chapter Nine

Most of the week passed in an exhausting, non-stop whirl of early morning runs, brush-crawling, learning how to track monster prints in the dark, and equipment training. I went through four sets of sweats in the first three days, ripping holes in the knees or elbows, and I was constantly filthy, sweaty or bloody. Usually all three at once.

My favorite part of the training turned out to be hand-to-hand combat exercises. I spent two hours every morning getting my butt handed to me in a small gym with stark-white walls and a worn wooden floor. Fighting equipment, including staffs and practice swords, were on racks bolted to the walls. Serious work went on in this place. Lucky for me, thick, red mats padded the hard surfaces, otherwise I would've been sporting some broken bones.

Lieutenant Johnson, my fighting instructor, was a huge black guy with a deep voice and a lot of patience. He was well over six feet tall, and broader than a bus, so he had to stoop to square-off with me. Which didn't make me self-conscious or anything, especially since I was supposed to be trying to hit the guy.

"Archer, feint right, more weight on your back leg, so you're stable." He chuckled when I moved. "Your other right."

With a sigh, I shifted the other direction. I kept making stupid mistakes, and it was starting to wear me down. "All right, all right. Let's go, old man."

"Oh ho, talking smack? Kid, I invented smack." Before I could blink, I was upside down, hanging by my knees on Johnson forearms. The blood rushed to my head. He swung me back and forth a little, just to be a smartass. "Most officers would do worse than this for back-talk. Maybe make you clean the floor with a toothbrush. Lucky for you, I'm nice."

"Understood, sir." I squirmed, but he didn't let go.

"You want down? Say please."

Feeling like a bat at roost, I crossed my arms. "Fine, let's see how long you can hold me, sir. I bet I can outlast you."

Johnson laughed, a rumble that vibrated against the hard surfaces in the room. "You weigh, what, a hundred pounds? Archer, I can walk around all day carrying a hundred pounds."

To prove it, he walked around the gym, me dangling with my ankles over his left shoulder, his arms around my waist, and my head banging into his knees. My gray t-shirt slid downward, showing off my belly-button. Here I was, fourteen years old, being carted around like a preschooler. Johnson knew how to make a point.

Properly embarrassed, I gave up. "Fine, you win. Please put me down, sir."

He flipped me over and set me on my feet. Once my head quit whirling, I picked up my practice knife and assumed the correct stance, knees bent, knife hand down and back, left fist up.

"Ready."

And then I was hanging upside down again.

"Archer, the monsters aren't gonna give you a minute to collect your wits. Don't tell me you're ready, just _be_ ready," Johnson said. He put me down, his expression stern. "Fighting fair doesn't count in a life or death situation. Stealth, cunning, and decisiveness–that's what matters. Make sense?"

Life or death. Like I needed that little reminder. In a way, maybe I did, though. I couldn't let myself fail. "It does, sir."

"Good."

He rushed me. I dodged and managed to duck Johnson's arm as he swung out to catch my shoulder, but I didn't get away fast enough. He grabbed my hip on the follow through, and I landed on my right side, ear first.

"Ow!" My tongue ached and I tasted blood. "Crap, sir, that hurt!"

Johnson pulled me to my feet. "Is that what you're gonna say to those mutant grizzlies? 'Crap, Bear, that hurt!'"

"No, sir. I'm gonna sneak up on it and stab it." My voice sounded tougher than I felt, but I gritted my teeth and assumed the stance again.

Johnson lunged. I struck out with my right hand, aiming for his head. I missed and he flipped me onto the floor. On the plus side, I did land a punch on his shoulder before I went down.

"Better. You anticipated an attack, kept your guard up," Johnson said. "We need to work on avoiding an attack more. You're quick—it's just a matter of practice and knowing what moves to make."

I forced myself to sit up. "Don't make me anticipate anything for the next five minutes, okay, sir?"

He laughed and sat next to me. "You got it."

"Why'd you call my Montana monster a Bear?"

"You said they looked a little like a grizzly in the briefing. Why not Bear? Fits with Panda and Gator," Johnson said. "Good enough code name, right?"

"I guess." I paused for a minute, curious about something. "Did you ever fight any of the monsters, sir?"

Johnson cocked his head. The overhead lights gleamed against his bald scalp. "I was down in Peru with Major Tannen."

"What was it like? My fight happened so fast, it's like it wasn't real."

"Combat's like that."

When he didn't add anything, I asked, "Well, were you scared? Of the Gators?"

"Those things are freaks of nature. They'd scare anyone. But I couldn't just sit there and watch them kill people." Johnson's voice trailed off at the end. He shook himself. "Getting those knives was a godsend. Nothing else slowed those Gators down."

"So what did the rest of you guys do while the knife-wielders hunted?" Parker and Ramirez had teams with them, but what good did extra men do if the knife was the only weapon that worked?

Johnson laughed. "Archer, who do you think you're talking to? Think we sat around all day, knitting socks? The teams have all kinds of jobs—setting traps, tracking the monsters, evacuating civilians, intel, flushing the beasts out with ordnance. Just because I didn't have a knife in my hand didn't mean I wasn't fighting, too."

"Sorry. It's just...well, I'm gonna be out there alone, since Uncle Mike's leaving."

My stomach flipped a little at the thought of being on my own. If I didn't ace this training, what was I going to do? I couldn't let Montana, or my uncle, down.

"The major won't let that happen. You'll have some help. Not sure who though...wish it could be me, but I'm being deployed. Almost everybody is." He stood. "Okay, let's practice avoiding an attacker." The lieutenant pulled me up. "You know the drill..."

Johnson put me through my paces and I spent the evening in bed, nursing a whole lot of bruises. But it was so worth it; I had a feeling school hallways weren't going to be a problem ever again.

* * *

On Wednesday, I jogged to the woods and the now familiar "Cougar" trail. I dodged Humvees and marching soldiers, enjoying the sounds of the busy base. Uncle Mike had concocted some story about me visiting Fort Carson for a school report, so no one batted an eye as I ran past the barracks and administrative buildings until I reached the cutoff to turn into the forest. Schmitz was already waiting for me, but that was evidenced only by the stopwatch and hat lying on the ground by a tree.

I sighed. "It's _my_ turn to hide, Master Sergeant."

A pair of hands grabbed my arms and I jumped sky high. I turned to glare at Schmitz. "You _have_ to stop doing that! It takes ten minutes to get my heart rate down."

"I'm not stopping until you beat me," he said. "Until then, I plan to scare the crap out of you each and every time you show up, Mr. Archer." Smirking, Schmitz picked up his stopwatch and jammed his camo hat on his close-shaved head. "You've got five minutes. Go!"

I took off, muttering, "Today's the day, dude."

There wasn't any wind, all the trees were still, so being stealthy was tougher than usual. Deciding to risk a fake-out, I made two false trails, first by leaving footprints in the dirt near a small gully filled with pine needles and leaves. Then I bent some grass and broke a few twigs near a huge aspen tree, hoping Schmitz would think I'd climbed up. Finally, I crept to my resting spot, walking in a random path over pine needles to hide my footprints. Crawling underneath a thick patch of brush, I hugged the earth, pressing down tight to the ground so I wouldn't jiggle the scrubby bushes keeping me out of sight. All I could see or smell was moss, soil, and branches. My mind quieted, and I concentrated on the dirt under my body, pretending to be the forest floor.

"Time's up!" Schmitz called. "My turn. Stop where you are."

His feet crunched by once or twice, and he thrashed through the trees nearby, but he never found me. When Schmitz's stopwatch beeped again, he shouted, "Time's up." He sounded excited. "You finally did it! Where the heck are you?"

I popped up six feet in front of him. "I hid close; thought you'd look further out. Guess I was right."

"No kidding. Right under my nose the whole time." Schmitz laughed. "I owe you twenty."

That was the deal—whoever lost had to do twenty pushups. I'd done so many for my instructors that my shoulder muscles had knots in them. When Schmitz dropped and did his, I grinned the entire time. It was nice to see an adult pushing the ground for once.

After I finished playing hide and seek in the woods, I went to Colonel Black's office for equipment training. He wasn't there, but Kingston let me in. The little table where we'd had breakfast the first day was covered with cool, slick-looking gadgets.

"What's all this?" I reached for a black rectangle that looked like an oversized iPhone.

"Stop." A soldier stood in the doorway behind me. "Look with your eyes, not with your hands, Mr. Archer. Without proper instruction, you could break something. The equipment on that table is worth more than a hundred video game systems."

"Really?" I rubbed my hands together. "Awesome."

"No, not awesome. These are tools, not toys, Mr. Archer. Understand?" The man walked around and stood between me and the table. He was tall, pale, with perfectly buzzed hair. I could see my face reflected in the shine on his boots and his BDUs had creases ironed into them.

This guy would be a barrel of fun, no doubt. I wanted to play with the gadgets, though, so I decided to suck up. "Absolutely. I promise to treat everything here with respect." After a glance at his rank and name patches, I added, "Specialist Davis, sir."

"I'm not an officer—I work for a living. Just Davis or Specialist will suffice." He pulled out a chair and pointed at it. "Have a seat; it's quiz time. What's the most important piece of equipment you'll need on a hunt?"

I checked out the gadgets. "The GPS? That's what the iPhone-looking thing is, right? That way I won't get lost."

Davis stared me down until I squirmed. "What about the knife, Mr. Archer?"

"Um, yeah," I muttered, feeling my face get hot. "I thought you meant—"

"Put it on the table, with the rest of your gear," Davis cut in, eyes piercing mine. When I laid the sheathed knife on the table, he asked, "What do you know about that blade?"

"It kills monsters." I crossed my arms and glared. If he could be a butthead, so could I.

"It's a supernatural blade, created by a medicine-man in Peru. It's made of a metal alloy, including copper and gold, and infused with chemical compounds made from plant materials native to the Amazonian rainforest." He rattled off the details like he was on _Jeopardy_ or something.

Not to be outdone, I added, "And it picks its master."

Davis nodded. "It does. Still seems fantastic if you ask me. Either way, there's more to those knives than we understand."

That got my attention. "Like what?"

"The medicine man told us about a war—"

"With evil spirits—I already heard all that." I drummed my fingers on the table, wishing he would hurry up so I could get my hands on the night-vision goggles.

Davis scowled. "Don't interrupt me."

When I sighed and gave him a "please, go-on" look, he stood and paced, lecturing down his nose like my least favorite teacher. "He told us about a war against the forces of darkness, which had been foretold by a pre-Incan holy man. They believed a team of hunters, warriors marked by blood, would lead the battle to save humankind. The warriors would fight, even in the face of death, assisted by special knives." He pointed at my knife. "The knives have some really interesting lore: 'born of the ground, tied to the heavens, the blades of redemption will meet their brothers in unearthly combat to fight for men's souls.'"

Goosebumps covered my arms. "Any idea what it means?"

"Well, everyone has a theory," he said. "Personally, I think the blades are more powerful than we understand. So be careful with yours."

"But, what—"

He cut my question off. "That's all we know. Everything else is just speculation, and I like facts. Now, let's talk about your night-vision goggles." His expression clearly said "conversation over," so I turned my attention to the toys.

Two hours of instruction later, he finally let me touch the GPS system, the satellite phone, and the night-vision goggles. To my disappointment, he didn't let me take anything with me when we were done.

"Next time, I'll teach you maintenance and how to pack each item for travel," he said.

"You're gonna teach me to pack?" I stared at him in disbelief. "Um, how hard can that be?"

"If you don't want to break everything while crawling through the forest? Somewhat complicated. Oh-nine-hundred tomorrow. Don't be late." With that, the specialist picked up my electronics and left.

"That man needs a hobby," I muttered, pushing my aching body out of the folding chair. "Or a girlfriend."

I went back to quarters for a shower, a new pair of sweats and an afternoon nap so I'd be rested for night maneuvers. Searching for tracks in the dark took some doing; I needed to be sharp. Especially since Mike had developed a habit of jumping out from behind trees to startle me. Between him and Schmitz, I had no idea why I hadn't died of a heart attack yet.

Mike wasn't in quarters when I got back. Except for morning runs and night-stalking exercises, he had turned my training over to various instructors. I didn't mind, though; when he wasn't watching out for me, he was planning his op to Afghanistan with Colonel Black. He had things to do. So did I. Showered and stretched out on my bunk, I thought how cool it felt to be just like him. I was protecting the world from monsters.

* * *

Thursday night, I sat on my metal bunk, leaning against the wall at the head of the bed. I left the window open and listened to vehicles growl along the road even though it was past eight o'clock. The base never stopped moving. Kinda like me over the last week.

My cell phone rested in my lap. For the most part, I'd been too busy to miss home, but I was having a hard time tonight. Mike had warned me that if I called Mom I would get an earful about the dust-up with Carter. My family thought I didn't have cell coverage, out rappelling in the mountains with Mike, so I knew no one would call to check on me. I wondered what they were doing, and whether or not they missed me.

Mike knocked on the door separating my room from the bathroom, then poked his head in. He was already dressed in BDUs for our night maneuvers. "Chief, I thought you'd be crashed out. We have tracking exercises at oh-one-hundred. You should get some sleep while you can."

I shook my head, my chest feeling tight. "When I get back home, how will I do this alone?"

Uncle Mike sat at the foot of my bunk. It squeaked from the added weight. "You aren't alone, Matt. You have an entire team of Green Berets at your back."

"That's just it," I said, embarrassed by the tremble in my voice. "I don't. Johnson told me everyone's leaving, either on regular deployment orders that can't be changed because they're needed elsewhere, or to check out supernatural activity, like you. I can't even meet the other wielders. They have their own creatures to fight."

"Colonel Black and I have been interviewing personnel from Fort Carson, people outside the 10th Airborne, but good soldiers. We'll find you a partner" he said. "I promise."

"Be good for you to find this 'partner' before I leave base, you know," I said. "Since you're abandoning me."

The second I said it, I regretted it. The hurt look on Mike's face made me want to crawl under the bed. Being homesick and in a pissy mood didn't excuse being an a-hole.

"I have to find the right person and that takes time. I can't entrust your safety to just any master sergeant with good hand-to-hand combat skills." Uncle Mike stood. "We'll find someone. For now, focus on the mission. Logistics have a funny way of sorting themselves out."

I picked at my cuticles, ashamed for doubting him, and even more ashamed for continuing to doubt myself. If I was going to do anyone any good, I had to stop being a coward and prove I was worthy of being chosen. "I'm sorry...for what I said. I know you and the colonel won't leave me twisting in the wind."

"Never." Mike dropped a hand on my shoulder. "Matt, I'm proud of you."

He left and I stretched out in bed, feeling better. Mike always had my back. I wouldn't gripe again—to prove I had his.

* * *

Friday, it all clicked.

"No, Archer, no," Lieutenant Johnson said during our final workout in the fighting gym. "If I'm coming at you with a left hook...don't just duck then stand there. Duck and hit me on the underside. Don't worry about that wooden knife, man, you won't hurt me."

I lunged and he grabbed my arm at the elbow. With a whirl and a twist, I ended up flat on my back.

"Down again, kid." Johnson's voice rumbled like a Harley in prime shape. "All right, let's do it over, and this time, don't get all nice on..."

Before he finished the sentence, I popped into a crouch and grabbed his knees from behind, butting him with my shoulder to make them bend. Johnson rolled over my back as I turned a somersault underneath him to keep from getting kicked in the head or squashed. After he dropped, I jumped on him.

Putting my knife against his throat, I said, "Something like that, sir?" I gave him a little smile, trying not to whoop with excitement.

Johnson laughed, his brown eyes alight. "Yeah, man, yeah."

I glanced at Mike, who was leaning up against the gym wall to watch us spar and he smiled at me. I'd improved in my training much faster than he expected. He'd told me so, and that made me work even harder.

I even aced equipment training.

Later on Friday morning, Davis paced around Colonel Black's office, barking out questions. "Name the standard night vision goggles supplied to the U.S. Military."

"ATN PVS7-DP. They include Automatic Brightness Control and sixty hours of battery life," I recited.

"Correct. At what elevation above the horizon does your sat-phone get a signal?"

"Any elevation above ten degrees."

"Yes. What's the resolution on your GPS display?"

"Four hundred by two-forty." I rolled my eyes. "Any more questions, Specialist? I read the manuals like you assigned, so hit me."

"That won't be necessary. Let's see how well you packed."

Davis picked up my equipment bag and balanced it on his hand. "Feels even." He unzipped it and rifled through the contents, taking a long time to check everything out. "All the gear's in the right place, except...where's the knife?"

I'd tried something different from his instructions, and of course he noticed. "Front pocket. It's easier to find it there and besides, when we locate a trail I'm going to keep the knife on me, not in the bag."

Davis gave me a curt nod. "Good. I've been wondering how long it would take you to figure that out. Speed drill. Unpack it all and pack it back up."

I hid a grin. No matter what it sounded like, Davis had just complimented me.

* * *

Right after lunch, Master Sergeant Schmitz asked Mike to attend our "dem-mon-stray-shun" in the woods. I wore a brand-new pair of BDUs the colonel had special-ordered to fit me. I even had a name patch with "Archer" on it. My sneakers ruined the look, but Mike promised to buy me some boots for an early Christmas present.

Colonel Black in tow, Mike strode out to meet Schmitz, looking agitated. "Schmitz, appreciate the effort, but we don't have time. Something's come up. Matt, come on out; we need to talk."

"Find me first!" I was thirty feet ahead, hiding under some bushes that surrounded an aspen tree, but I started moving right after I called out.

Mike came toward the sound of my voice. "Fine, found you."

By that point, I'd already crept the other direction through the dense sagebrush. I settled down on my belly in front of the colonel to watch the progress, keeping my breathing even and quiet, just like Schmitz taught me.

Mike thrashed around the brush. "Kid, come out of there."

"Out of where?" I yelled.

Schmitz laughed his head off. "Told you the kid was a quick study. He's so much lighter than we are that it'd take a bloodhound to find him under cover. _I_ can't even find him most of the time now. He's too dang quiet. Kinda freaky, huh? Like he's a sneaking-savant or something."

Colonel Black's eyebrows shot up. "Must be if you can't find him, Schmitz." He called out to his right. "Matt, there were two monster attacks last night in Billings. Get your butt out here, now."

I jumped to my feet. "Two more?" My limbs were shaking from the exercise but also from something else. Not fear. Excitement. "Does this mean I need to go back, sir?"

Mike threw up his hands when he saw how close I was. "Yes. I know we had more training planned, but we can't wait." He smiled. "I've talked to Johnson, Schmitz and Davis. Everyone says you're good to go."

"Even Davis?" That was hard for me to believe.

The colonel laughed. "Even Davis. He's not good with letting other kids play with his toys, but you convinced him."

"So," Mike said, "you ready to do this?"

"Yes, sir. I'll go pack at once, Major." I stood up taller and saluted—right hand at my eyebrow, crisp and straight and tense—the way they'd showed me. I turned and made it three steps before my "Special-Forces-swagger" left me. I pumped my fist in the air. "Let's go hunt some monsters!

# Chapter Ten

We didn't drive home. We flew.

In a UH-60 Black Hawk helicopter.

So badass.

"All right, Matt. You have the satellite phone and my number." Colonel Black hurried us to the helipad. "We'll give you periodic updates on sightings and let you know if there have been attacks."

I gave him a quick salute. "Yes, sir."

"It's good to have you on the team, son. You sure were full of surprises this week." The colonel helped me into my seat and got my headphones untangled for me. "Godspeed."

"Thank you, sir." I tried to act nonchalant about riding home in a helicopter, but it wasn't easy. A stupid grin kept erupting across my face.

Colonel Black said his goodbyes to Mike, and let him know a couple of enlisted personnel would drive his Jeep to Billings. Mike and I needed to hunt as soon as we got back, which is why I got to ride in the Black Hawk. We didn't even bother to change out of our BDUs in our hurry.

The helicopter zoomed into the sky, leaving the ground and my stomach behind. It was the most amazing flight of my life. The countryside looked much closer than from an airplane, like we were flying in the clutches of a giant eagle. The vibration of the rotors rumbled in my back and chest, as if I was one with the machine. If only Ella could have seen me. Carter would've been an afterthought.

On the flight, I caught Mike watching me with the same awed look he'd had the night the knife had transferred to me.

"Something wrong?" My voice crackled over the headphones.

Mike flipped the switch that cut our conversation off from the pilots' speakers. "I was thinking about when you asked why the knife picked a completely average ninth grader instead of a trained soldier."

My insides squirmed. "Yeah, I still wonder that sometimes, actually."

"Matt, you're far from average," he said. "I don't know how the knife sensed it, but you're fast, have a good sense of direction and can creep around the woods without being seen better than I can. And I noticed something else."

"What?"

"You don't panic. That day you got 'lost' in the woods, you got yourself under control and made a plan much quicker than Colonel Black and I expected."

"So you were watching me gripe and moan, curled up in a ball on the forest floor? Thanks for that, man." I fiddled with the cord of my headphones, embarrassed. I didn't know why I hadn't thought about that before, because of course they'd been watching me. Now, though, it hurt my pride to hear about it after finishing my training.

"I'm trying to pay you a compliment," Uncle Mike said. "When I gave you that twenty-five-pound pack for our first run, you had trouble carrying it. But when you thought you were lost and being chased, you didn't even seem to notice the weight. It's like intense situations give you strength. That's a rare quality, Chief. And an important one."

I thought about the fight with Carter, how I'd been able to pin a much bigger guy against his locker once my blood boiled.

"Guess we'll get to test your theory tonight," I said.

I hoped I wouldn't disappoint him.

We made it to the Billings airport just before sunset and landed on the helipad on the far end of the general aviation buildings, where a rented SUV waited. The crew helped us load everything into its trunk, then we were off.

"Good thing I set up my backpack yesterday," I said, still finding it amusing that Davis had made me practice packing my gear.

"Yep." Mike's shoulders were tense. He glanced at me, his eyes dark. "You have everything?"

I patted down the pockets on my BDUs to make sure I had my compass and flashlight. The knife was safely stowed in the front pocket of my equipment bag. "Yeah."

Mike's chest heaved as he took a deep breath. "Okay. This is your show. I'm just here to give you backup and pointers. Tell me what to do first."

My show? Wasn't this supposed to be a ride along? "Um. Well, we need to find a good entry point into the woods. One that's close to home, so I can get there on my bike when I hunt alone." I winced at how stupid that sounded. The mental image of me riding my bike to go on an unsupervised monster hunt—carrying a backpack containing a deadly knife, a top-of–the-line handheld GPS, and a pair of night-vision goggles—seemed a little ridiculous.

To my surprise, Mike looked impressed. "I hadn't thought about that. You're right, we need to find you a way in that's close enough to home. Any thoughts on where?"

That was easy. "Yeah. My friend Will's house butts up to the woods where we camped, at the opposite end from the campgrounds. I'll have a four- or five-mile hike to get into the center of the forest, but that's a piece of cake after running with you this past week."

Mike turned out of the airport's main driveway. "All right then, off to Will's."

* * *

We parked down the street from the Cruessan's house. Mike took a long look and whistled. "Good Lord, kid. What, did Will's family win the lottery or something?"

Will's house was a nine-thousand-square-foot mini-mansion. I'd gotten lost in it a few times. "No. His dad's retired NFL and owns some car dealerships. His mom's a neurosurgeon." And they were never home, which made this the perfect spot to sneak in. "They have six acres out back, so we can skirt the house to the woods without being seen."

That earned me an approving smile—a real one, not the faint, fleeting ones I'd gotten on base all week. "Good thinking, Chief. Really good."

We crept around the back edge of Will's property, passing the detached four-car garage. There was a gap in the hedges that I could squeeze through easily. It was a bit of a challenge for Mike, but he made it and we sneaked into the back yard.

"Didn't they have a garage on the house?" Mike asked.

"Yeah. That one's for the actual cars. The detached garage is where they store the boat, the ATVs, and a bunch of hiking and camping stuff. Will's dad is a big outdoorsman. We play ping-pong out here sometimes, too."

"Must be rough being this well-off," he whispered.

I sighed. "Believe it or not, it is. Their housekeeper, Millicent, hangs with Will most of the time. His parents travel a lot. But we have him over for dinner about once a week, so he gets plenty of nagging and worry-warting from Mom."

Mike grunted. "That sounds familiar."

We got into the woods via a small gap in the trees near the southeast corner of Will's property. I'd only made it ten feet before Mike held up a hand. "Stop."

I skimmed behind a holly bush. "What?"

"Thought I saw someone moving on the back patio."

"Probably just Millicent. She smokes, but doesn't want Will's folks to know, so she sneaks a cigarette out there."

"Okay. Oh, as your uncle, let me just say that smoking's stupid." Mike gave me a self-righteous nod and crept into the trees.

"Sir, yes, sir." I followed him, laughing that my cigar-loving uncle would give me an anti-smoking lecture while he dragged me into the woods to hunt a big, hairy monster.

We fought our way through scrub brush and pines until we found one of the main hiking trails. The night was cloudless, with a waxing moon lighting our way. The weather stayed mild, about forty degrees, and if I hadn't been apprehensive about what we were looking for, it would've been a great hike. We trekked single file, marching toward the coordinates of the last attack. I stopped every so often to don my night-vision goggles and search the trees for heat signatures, but the beast eluded us for the first hour.

About three miles in, we found the first hint that we were getting close. I scanned the ground with my flashlight, looking for signs. "Mike."

Two giant paw prints crossed the trail, leading off to the east. The prints were longer than my size-eight sneakers and they sank down into the dirt, like the creature who made them weighed more than a refrigerator. Mike took a picture of the paw print with his digital camera, then gestured for me to lead him through the trees. I followed the tracks until I pushed into a small, moonlit clearing. I stopped short, hand over my mouth so I wouldn't yell in fright.

The remains of a deer had been scattered in a twenty-foot radius around the clearing. Bits of meat hung from the pines, stuck in the needles, and splattered the matted mulch of the forest floor. The stag's horns had been discarded to one side. Everything else, including its hooves, was gone, taken.

"A bobcat or grizzly didn't do this," I whispered.

"Not even a person with a machete could do this, Matt," Mike said, his nose wrinkled in disgust.

"God." I blew out a little breath, trying to keep my stomach steady, determined not to throw up. "Major, what do I do if it hurts me? How do I get away?"

Mike froze. "There won't be time." He turned to me. "You have to be on constant alert and move fast. You _cannot_ hesitate. Kill the monster before it kills you. Period."

My knees threatened to turn to jelly, but I gave myself a mental slap in the face and squared my shoulders. "Then let's get moving and take this one out."

I searched the brush for tracks. Based on the broken twigs, crushed leaves and huge paw prints, the monster had continued on to the north. Its claws left four gouges at the front of each footprint. That should've scared the piss out of me, but my pulse quickened with anticipation—we had it now. I started ahead, but Mike didn't come.

"Did you hear something?" he asked, looking behind us.

"No." I strained my ears. A few leaves crunched together. "Wait, yeah. Doesn't sound like a monster though. Too small. A raccoon, or a big rabbit?"

Mike stared at the trees without moving. Finally, he shook his head. "Just an animal. I'm keyed up; we're getting close. Let's go quiet, though, just in case."

We moved silently through the evergreens, using branches and shadows to hide us as we followed its tracks. Only ten minutes later, we found it. A huge shadow shuffled through the trees fifty feet in front of us. It lumbered without caution, as if it didn't care who or what it ran into.

Cold fingers prickled down my back. As we crept ahead, I wondered if it would be able to smell us. Almost at my thought, it turned our direction, and sniffed the air. Mike held up a fist—the sign for "halt"—and motioned for me to get down. I crouched in the brush, holding my breath. After a moment, Mike pushed forward again.

As we sneaked closer, we caught glimpses of the monster through the branches. Its shaggy fur was mottled, with both dark and light patches. Same short snout and curved, boar-like tusks as the first one I'd killed, but this monster was taller and lankier. The Bear stood on its hind legs and pulled eggs out of a bird's nest, popping them in its mouth like they were mints. Mike and I held so still that I could hear the poor eggs crunch in its teeth.

With a shock, I realized the knife was still in my backpack—I'd forgotten to put it in my pocket when we found the trail. I tried to pull the knife out of my bag, but the zipper stuck, making a grinding noise as I tugged it.

The monster's ears pricked up. Had it heard us?

"Steady, Matt," Uncle Mike said, his whisper barely audible. "Get ready. I'll divert it, and..."

Something crashed through the trees off to our right. "Ow!"

Will fell out of the bushes, ripping the sleeve of his ski jacket on a branch, and landed on his knees right in front the creature. The Bear jerked its head in his direction and Mike and I flattened ourselves against the ground. Will's head tilted slowly upward as he checked out the beast in front of him, his mouth hanging open. The Bear flexed its claws and took a few steps toward Will with a pleased-sounding grunt.

I yanked the knife out of my backpack and tried to get up, but Mike held me down.

"Lemme go," I whispered. "It'll kill him!"

Mike shook his head. "We wait. Need to see what it does to get a better point of attack."

In the meantime, Will had gone rigid, still kneeling on the forest floor, staring at the beast with terror painted all over his face. The monster lumbered toward him, its eyes wide.

"Nice bear...thing. Nice bear," Will babbled to the monster like it was a stray dog. "I'll be going now."

He scrambled to his feet. The Bear leapt on top of him; they tumbled to the ground in a heap of fur, arms and legs.

Mike was up like a shot, waving a tree branch. "Hey, ugly! Over here. Pick on a man, why don't you?" He glanced back at me, face tense, then darted his eyes to the right.

He wanted me to crawl right and get behind the beast. I nodded and started moving.

Will lay flat on his back with his eyes screwed shut, saying, "I don't believe in Bigfoot. I'm asleep. I'm asleep. Okay, Will, wake up now."

Mike walked backward, shouting insults, most consisting of some really cool swear words, and whacked the branch against a tree trunk. The Bear couldn't have understood the insults, but it shrieked at Mike anyway. The sound, like school bus brakes forced to stop short on the highway, filled the whole clearing. For the first time ever, my uncle looked scared.

"Come on, you hairy mess, bring it." Mike's voice shook as he swung the branch at the monster's head. "Let's dance."

It loped toward him, howling. Mike backed himself into a group of trees that grew in a thick line. Caught, he took one last look my direction, steel in his eyes, and gripped the branch like a baseball bat.

"Buying time."

That's all he said—but I understood. He'd let the monster get him if that meant I could kill it and help Will escape.

"Not today," I whispered.

Everything around me slowed down and came into sharp focus. My heart rate slowed; I felt steady, ready. I made my way behind the monster, then unsheathed the knife.

The thing lunged at Mike, growling in rage, and swiped at his head. Mike ducked, but not fast enough. Its claws cuffed his ear. Mike went down with blood streaming from the side of his head.

The sight pissed me off. Forgetting all my training, I flew out of the brush with a bloodcurdling yell.

The monster whirled around.

Johnson's voice growled instructions in my head. _Just wait. Make it come to you. Patience, Matt, patience._ I bent my knees in the defensive position Johnson had taught me. I needed to stay on my feet and move at the last possible second.

The Bear ran my direction...maybe because it sensed easier prey. I was the weaker one. Or so it thought.

Not today.

It flung its arms wide, like it planned to wrap me up in a big hug and snap my spine.

_Don't hesitate. Use its momentum. Kill it before it kills you._ I chanted Johnson's orders, waiting for the monster's rush. No matter what, I wasn't going out cowering like a kid. Tonight, I was a Green Beret.

I pulled my arms up to chest level, elbows turned out, my right palm wrapped around the bone handle, and my left palm flat, pressed against my right fist for added resistance.

It took a final bound, leapt at me with a shriek.

I braced my feet.

The monster realized, too late, that it had brought about its own death. It couldn't stop when I sidestepped underneath its arm. I twisted my shoulders, rotating the knife upward for the only blow I knew I'd have. Missing wasn't an option.

And I didn't.

# Chapter Eleven

Will threw up a second time and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. His breath came in rasps. I'd pulled him up and dragged him away after I took out the Bear. Now he sat against a massive juniper twenty yards from the carcass. He closed his eyes, wheezing harder, pulling at his hair while he rocked back and forth. Each time he did, his back banged against the tree trunk. He was so messed up, I didn't have time to think about what I'd just done.

I knelt next to him, worried he'd hyperventilate. "Dude, calm down. Everything's gonna be okay now. It's dead. I killed it."

Will's eyes flew open. He scrambled away from me and threw up again. I rocked back into a squat. "Major, he looks pretty bad. We need to get him out of here."

Mike came over to squat with me, bringing the first-aid kit. He pulled the first piece of gauze off his ear without saying anything. The gash had cut a jagged tear through his earlobe. Had to hurt like heck, but Mike slapped a fresh piece of gauze against it without flinching.

"Maybe," he said. He watched Will for a moment, then his face went from concerned to cast-iron. "Will, get your butt off the ground. Matt, you, too. We have work to do."

At the sound of the "Fort Carson bark," I jumped up. "Sir, yes, sir."

Will shrank lower, shaking his head. Mike stood and jerked him to his feet. "The only way to get over a shock like this is to get busy. Now can you walk, or are you a total pansy?"

Will cringed and threw me a horrified look. It hurt me to do it, but I met his gaze and snapped, "Do as the major says. Move it."

He swallowed hard. "Okay. Where are we going?"

I strode into the woods without looking back. "To get rid of the body."

* * *

We stood over the dead beast, listening to the pine trees whip in the breeze. The monster lay in a pool of blood with one arm flung askew. Its eyes were bugged out, as if it still couldn't believe it had been stabbed. I'd done that. My knees shook. I'd felt so brave in the heat of the moment, but now that it was all over, I couldn't believe it was real. I had to keep it together, though; I couldn't freak. If I was going to do this job, it meant focusing on the task at hand without thinking too much about it.

Mike moved us upwind, because the thing reeked. "Let's find a ditch or a dense clump of brush. It'll take some effort, but you've got to hide the body well enough that it won't be found." He punched Will in the shoulder. "You with me, Cruessan? Once it's hidden, Matt knows what to do."

"I call Colonel Black and they send a team out for retrieval and disposal," I said. "We have to make sure it's hidden because it might be a few days before he can get enough personnel assembled to make the trip from Colorado. And I need to mark down the GPS coordinates of the dump site, so the team can find the body."

"Retrieval....and disposal?" Will stared at me like he'd never seen me before. A stranger—who he'd known since first grade. "Who are you people?"

"I'm your best friend, Matt." I glanced at Mike to see if I could say more. He gave me a brief nod. "Remember when I asked about weight training and you wondered why? Well, _this_ is why. I'm a monster-hunter." I gave Will a once over; he still looked like crap. "I'm betting you wish you hadn't followed us, huh?"

Will jerked nervously. "Oh, yeah."

"Why _did_ you follow us?" Mike asked, with a hint of a growl.

"I thought I saw a man sneaking around the property and went to check it out," Will said. "When I got close enough, I heard you both talking, then Mike said something about smoking being stupid. I wondered what was up." Shaking his head, he followed my lead and took his place on the other side of the Bear.

Moving that three-hundred pound carcass was a big, messy, exhausting job. Dark smears of blood streaked the leaves and the ground along our trail. We huffed and puffed, dragging the body by its arms until black spots danced in front of my eyes. Legs strained, shoulders ached. Mike pitched in some, but made me figure it out for myself most of the time.

After half an hour, we'd moved the body thirty yards through the trees to a small ditch filled with decaying leaves. Will was white in the face and muttered to himself the entire time. I didn't bug him. It had taken me days to get used to the idea that monsters were real. He needed some time, too.

We heaved the body over and rolled it down the little hill. I threw leaves, branches and dirt on top of it until I'd totally covered everything. When I was done, I unbuttoned my camo jacket to cool off. I was covered in dirt and had the Bear's blood splattered all over my arms, hands and pants. No telling how freaky I looked. I wished I could wear gloves when I hunted, but the knife didn't respond unless it had skin-to-handle contact. The blood wasn't toxic; I'd just have to get over the gross factor.

Will sat slumped on the pine-needle-covered ground, staring into space. Every once in a while he'd wipe his hands on his jeans or tug at the collar of his ski jacket, muttering something about death. Mike knelt next to him. Without warning, he slapped Will's face. Will's head wobbled on his neck and he cried out in surprise. I winced in sympathy, but it had to be done.

Mike put his hands on Will's shoulders to steady him. "Cruessan, I know you're freaked out and sick and tired and wondering why you aren't dead." Mike's voice softened. "When you get home, it'd be understandable if you hid under your bed and didn't come back out. But, we need your help. You have to keep quiet about what you saw. You're Matt's best friend. Can I trust you to keep his secret?"

Will nodded and whispered, "I won't tell. I'll cover for you."

I smiled a little. Will had my back; I could always count on him. Always. Will always had my back...a light bulb went on in my head.

I plopped down next to Mike and shook his arm. "I have an idea. You haven't found me a partner. What about Will? He's strong as an ox and he has a four-wheeler. His house would make a great base of operation, too. It's the perfect arrangement."

Mike raised his eyebrows. "Matt, I'm not sure about this...it's too dangerous. It's bad enough that you have to—"

"I'd much rather work with him than some random lieutenant from Fort Carson," I said.

"I'm sitting right here, you know," Will mumbled.

I turned to him, willing to beg if necessary. "Dude, you've hiked these woods your whole life; no one knows them better. Having your help would be huge."

Will blinked rapidly, looking confused, flattered and terrified all at the same time. He took a deep breath. "Maybe you should tell me exactly what I'd be getting into, first."

I launched into the story. Will's jaw hung slack throughout most of explanation.

"Monsters?" he asked. "Really?"

"That thing wasn't the tooth fairy, man." I rolled my eyes. "Look, since the knife chose me, I'm the only one able to hunt them down and I'm gonna need help." After a loaded silence, I squeezed his shoulder. "I'd trust you with my life."

Will thought about it. Eventually a hard smile spread across his face. "Hell, yeah, I'll do it."

Mike looked alarmed by Will's sudden enthusiasm. "Cruessan, you sure about this? I definitely prefer Matt working with someone he knows, but we're not talking about paintball, here. Maybe you ought to sleep on it, just to be sure."

"Uncle Mike, he gets it," I said. "He's not taking it lightly. Will just makes decisions quicker than I do. He's always been that way."

Will got to his feet, standing only a few inches shorter than Mike. "These things invaded my backyard. I want to help kick them out."

"Good," I said, before Mike could protest. "Can we go home, now? I'm tired."

"Me, too," Will said.

We hiked back to the Cruessan's house, and made sure Will got inside okay. Then Mike and I headed to the rental SUV, ready for some rest. Mike kept his jaw clenched and didn't say much on the drive downtown to his loft.

"What is it?" I asked.

He pulled into the garage at his apartment building and parked before answering me. "I hate this."

Mike sounded bitter; wrecked in a way I'd never heard before. I sat up straighter. "Whoa. What's the deal?"

"You're not even fifteen, Matt! You're a kid, Will's a kid. And I'm sending you out into the woods with a knife to kill eight-foot tall Wookiees." Mike pounded on the steering wheel. "I just slapped a fourteen-year-old to get him over battle shock. What in the world am I thinking? What's the Army thinking? We're out of our minds!"

Watching him melt down rocked the thin resolve I'd manage to build over the last week. "Uncle Mike, if we don't do it, who will? The knife passed over a colonel and a bunch of Green Berets for _me._ You said this stuff happens for a reason, that it _picked me_ for a reason."

"I know I did. And I meant it," Matt said, strangling the steering wheel in his hands. I scrunched down in my seat, horrified to see him so frustrated and pissed. "But now Will, too? This is pure insanity. If something happens to you boys out there, I won't be able to live with myself."

"You can't worry about me. You have to worry about keeping yourself safe in Afghanistan." The steel in my voice surprised me. I sounded like Major Tannen. "I can't do my job if I'm worried about you worrying about me. Besides, now that Will knows, nothing will stop him from helping me, so you need to get used to the idea."

Mike pinched the bridge of his nose. "I hope nothing goes wrong."

Wiping my face free of any fear, I said, "It won't. I trust Will. Heck, I can practically read his mind. We'll make a great team. You'll see." I popped open my door. "I'm starving. Please tell me you have more than chili and cocktail onions in the apartment."

Mike laughed sadly. "How about we order a pizza?"

After eating two-thirds of a large pepperoni pizza, I slept like the dead. We got up at nine and spent most of Saturday morning discussing tactics. Mike had calmed down overnight, and was now in full planning mode. I had the instructions down as well as I could without getting more actual hunt experience, so he started pounding me with a long list of training exercises for Will. Most of it involved teaching him to be more quiet in the woods. Uncle Mike's list for me included as much weight training as my body could stand, in addition to eating protein four times a day.

I agreed to all of it, but in my mind, the bigger issue was Mom.

"Keeping this from Mom is gonna be pretty hard, you know. Mamie'll be worse." I poured Cap'n Crunch into one of the two bowls Mike owned. "At least you got me some cereal."

"Only because I'm feeling guilty. Starting tomorrow, cereal is no longer part of your diet." Mike sighed and scratched at his unshaven face. There were more gray flecks in his beard than just a few weeks ago. "I know it'll be hard. But if Dani finds out, she won't allow you to hunt and the Bears will continue to prowl. Most moms are like that; they don't care if a hundred strangers die as long as their own kids stay safe. So you'll need to get better at cover stories and learn how to sneak out of the house."

"I've been working up a plan," I said.

"Good," he said. "Matt, there's something else. Next time, do _not_ yell and rush the monster. No doubt it was effective, but when I came around after getting my bell rung, I heard that scream of yours and about had a stroke when the Bear ran at you. All of this–sneaking out, finding your prey on the quiet, mounting a surprise attack–it's really important. You need to limit your exposure."

I nodded. "I wasn't thinking. Next time, I'll sneak up and get it from behind. I'll oil my backpack's zipper, too, so it won't stick."

"Good. Okay, tell me how you'll be getting out of the house."

* * *

"My goodness, kiddo, look at you!"

Mom gave me a stunned grin as Mike and I returned from our "rappelling trip" on Sunday afternoon and found her in the kitchen, cooking dinner. The smell of spaghetti sauce made my stomach growl. I thought seriously about diving into the pot and going for a swim.

She wiped her hands on a dishtowel. "Did you grow two inches while you were gone? I swear, you look like you've aged." Mom put a hand on my head and ran it level to her nose, like she was trying to measure my height.

"You were the one who said I was growing when I ate all that meatloaf a few weeks ago. Guess you were right," I said. She wasn't though; I might be a little taller, but not much. Mom saw something else, and I didn't think it had anything to do with how tall I was.

Mike shot me a sly look. "Fresh air, exercise and as many scrambled eggs as he could hold. That's the secret."

Mom shook herself and snapped out of "welcome home" mode. "Hmm. I know another secret."

Uh oh. That was her "you're grounded" voice.

She must've seen the guilt on my face, because she said, "That's right. Were you planning to tell me about the fight or the two weeks' detention? Mrs. Stevens called but you were already on the road."

I kicked at the tile floor. "Mike said he called you."

"That's not the same as _you_ calling me, young man." Mom glared first at me, then at Mike. "Michael, even if you did discuss it with Matt, a week's worth of fun wasn't exactly what I had in mind after the principal called."

If Mom only knew; Fort Carson hadn't been fun and games. Honestly, I thought I'd been punished pretty well in Colorado.

"Dani, Matt knows his actions were unacceptable." Mike met my eyes with a firm stare. Major Tannen was back, and still one scary dude. "And he agreed that he'll maintain discipline at school. He promised me."

Mom looked back and forth between us, brow furrowed. "Matt, did you promise Uncle Mike?"

"Yeah, Mom. I won't cut up like that again." Nice and humble; maybe it would work and she wouldn't ground me.

"You better not. And to make sure you mean it, you're grounded for the next two weeks. School, detention and your room are the only three stops you'll be making."

She did that paradoxical Mom thing where she kissed me on the forehead after chewing me out, then went to the mud room with a pile of my dirty clothes from the trip.

What a homecoming for a monster-killer.

# Chapter Twelve

It felt weird going back to school. I'd spent the last week practicing mortal combat skills and today I was in algebra, sitting behind Ella and her strawberry-scented ponytail. All my daydreams came rushing back. At one point, she leaned forward to get her book out of her bag, forcing her hot pink long-sleeved t-shirt to pull up. For a brief moment, I saw a sliver of skin above the waistband of her jeans. That made my morning, at least until the bell rang.

After class, Ella turned to me, but she didn't smile. "So, I heard you slammed Carter into a locker before break." Her voice was stiff.

My face got hot and prickly. "Um, yeah, just a little misunderstanding. He..."

"Matt, I thought you were different," she said, her tone softer now. "Other guys spout off all the time, but not you. I've never seen you pick one fight, and I liked you because of that; you were a good friend."

She picked up her books and left the classroom, walking fast, before I had a chance to finish saying, "...started it." Watching her disappear, I whispered, "I just lost my temper. It won't happen again."

"Aw, who cares," Will said, whacking me in the shoulder with his math book. "Carter had it coming. You needed to trounce him."

"I care." I stared out the classroom door. She'd said she "liked" me—as if she didn't anymore. What if she hated me now, all for shoving Carter when he deserved it?

"Dude, we got bigger things to worry about than your undying love for Ella." Will grabbed my bag and pushed me out the door, away from Mrs. Burns' superhuman hearing skills. "I bought a spare gas can for the ATV yesterday and hid it in the garage. You know, in case we get called and have to roll fast."

"For a guy who puked six times on Friday night, you sure seem to be excited about all this." I shook my head, still upset about Ella. "No, wait, you sound exactly like I did after I got over the shock. I was really jacked up, too."

Will laughed. "I just wish we could tell people, you know? How awesome would that be? I bet Ella would give you another look, clobbering her idiot boyfriend or not."

"Yeah. That thought definitely crossed my mind." Four hundred times...this morning.

Carter found us at lunch. Will had been keeping tabs on me in the hallways, and we'd avoided him all morning. But since we had the same lunch period, there was nowhere to hide.

"Archer, heard you got detention," Carter said, an evil glint in his eye. He shook his blond hair like a model in a shampoo commercial. "I got off with a warning. Guess talking down the principal gets added to the list of all the other things you can't do."

Uncle Mike started lecturing me inside my head. _What are Carter's insults going to do to you? Nothing. You could hurt him if you lose your temper. Keep it together._

Trying to sound bored, I said, "Maybe I didn't want to avoid the punishment. Makes that beat-down I gave you more valuable because I have to pay for it."

Carter clenched his fists. "You better watch your mouth or we'll finish that fight."

Will stood up, scraping his chair along the linoleum. He bunched up his broad shoulders menacingly. "Leave. Now."

That earned me another withering look from Carter. "Still letting Cruessan do the heavy lifting, huh, Archer?" he said. "Coward."

With that one word, Carter almost made me forget my promise to Mike. I got up slowly, my eyes never leaving his face. "You don't get to call me coward."

Carter took a step back. After one last glare, he turned and stalked to the basketball table, like he'd put the fear of God into me, straightening his letter jacket as he went. What a tool.

"Sorry about that, dude. I keep forgetting...you don't need my help anymore." Will sat and stared at his lunch tray looking like I'd caught him stealing my pocket change.

I felt bad for him—his perspective of me had changed in a big way, but old habits die hard. "No problem. He just needed to prove he was still a badass to his friends. Can't have a freshman giving him crap."

I went back to wolfing down my double cheeseburger, not giving Carter another thought. When I finished a bite and reached for my milk, I noticed Will staring at me. "What?"

"I don't know what's happening to you, but when you stared Carter down, you could've melted a hole in his forehead with your eyes."

Will glanced at the basketball team table. Carter must've felt our stares, because he flipped us the bird. When I didn't do anything other than glare at him and eat French fries, he turned his back on us. Grinning, I picked up my cheeseburger again. I must've learned more than I thought last week.

"Well, guess this means I'm off hall patrol." Will leaned his chair against the wall, resting it on two legs, and swung his feet in the air. "Maybe you should cover _me_ during passing period."

"Whatever, man. Happy to help you out. Oh, and save me a spot at the weight rack tomorrow. I'm ready to try the fifteen pound dumbbells after detention. We need to keep in shape, so we're ready when we get called."

Will gave me a fist bump across the table. "Rock and roll, dude. Rock and roll."

* * *

I wrapped up detention with Mrs. Stevens in mid-November. During my two weeks in her office after school, she made me read _To Kill a Mockingbird_ and write an essay about tolerance and loyalty. I got a laugh out of it because if anyone needed that particular assignment, it was Carter Jacobs.

But as the month went on, any confidence I'd felt after my training wore off. I didn't have a chance to prove myself by killing another monster because the Army hadn't called. Strange that the activity just stopped. I wondered if my kill had scared the Bears off, but that didn't make sense. I had more pressing things to worry about, though. Mike was leaving December first.

"That's great, Ryan....Yes, the Saturday after Thanksgiving, at Brownstone....Wonderful, see you then."

Mom ended the call and crossed something off her checklist. Our kitchen table, a large wooden rectangle that could seat six, had become party central. She was always parked there and had so much stuff spread out we usually had to clean papers off its top to eat.

"More RSVPs?" I asked. Mike's send-off was getting bigger by the day, between the catered dinner and the twenty million people showing up.

"Yes. Mike's friend, Ryan Black, can make it." She smiled at me. "I don't think you've ever met him. He's a colonel out at Fort Carson. I met him a few years ago; really interesting guy. You and Brent will like him."

Mom knew Colonel Black? That could be a problem.

She noticed I wasn't entirely there. Her smile faded. "Matt, sweetie, are you okay? You haven't been yourself lately..."

Crap. "I'm fine, Mom."

Her eyes searched mine. "If there's something you need to tell me, I promise I'll understand and try to help, no matter what it is."

Understand the fact that I was part of an elite military unit that hunted and killed deadly monsters? Somehow, I didn't think so. "Mom, really, it's nothing. I'm just...tired. I think I'll go lie down for a while."

I escaped to my room and flopped on my bed. There was a spider building a web in the corner above my closet. Spiders were cool; they ate bugs. I didn't mind sharing my space.

"You don't have much to worry about," I told it. "Steady supply of flies, nice warm web...bet your uncle isn't going to Afghanistan."

Mamie peeked through my cracked bedroom door. "Who are you talking to?"

She opened the door wider, wearing a sympathetic smile.

"A spider." I kicked off my shoes and pulled my knees up to give Mamie a place to sit at the foot of my twin-sized bed.

She had her holiday ribbons tied to her pigtails. Brown and orange for Thanksgiving today would give way to red and green on Friday. I wondered if anyone at school made fun of her braids. If they did, they were jerks. Mamie without pigtails would be like Christmas without snow. It was a constant, and had been since I could remember. I needed constants right now.

"It say anything back?" Her voice was light.

"Nah."

"Matt, I know you're hurting. But, it's the holidays, school's out for a week. We should be having fun, even if we don't feel like it. Want to play Wii Tennis with me?"

I laughed. "Wow, you really are trying to cheer me up. I clobber you at tennis."

"Whatever it takes...so let's go. Maybe I can beat you once."

I rolled off my bed and stretched. "Not a chance..."

Mamie's eyebrows shot up. "Matt, when did your arms get so huge?"

Surprised, I flexed to see what she was talking about. My muscles were definitely bigger than they had been, and I had that awesome line running down the middle of my upper arm where the bicep separated from the tricep. Look at that—welcome to the gun show. That got me thinking...maybe I could accidentally-on-purpose pick up something heavy right in front of Ella. She'd be sure to notice that, right?

With a pleased laugh, I said, "I've been working out with Will. Trying to bulk up, you know?"

Mamie continued to stare, amazement giving way to suspicion. "Uh huh. Why this sudden interest in physical fitness?"

"Physical fitness? Mamie, you sound like a dictionary." Time to start wearing long-sleeves around the house; I couldn't give the bloodhound any more clues. "I just felt like it, okay? Now quit stalling—you threw down; it's time for you to lose."

She wasn't convinced, I could see that, but she stopped dogging me.

Tennis went as predicted, and Mamie lost gracefully five times out of five.

* * *

The scent of Mom's pumpkin pie hung in the air–spice and cinnamon. Too bad I hated the flavor and texture of pumpkin pie filling, because it smelled great. Mom had decorated the dinner table with her good tablecloth and napkins, complete with one of those stupid paper turkeys with the fan shaped tail, but none of us really felt like celebrating. Either way, it wasn't Thanksgiving dinner without a pie browning in the oven, even if we were miserable.

"Brent, can you put the cell phone down long enough to finish dinner? It's Thanksgiving, for goodness sake." Mom jabbed her fork in his direction.

Mike gulped down a mouthful of green bean casserole, obviously trying to head Mom off. "Dani, I think you should cut him some slack."

"Yeah, Mom, listen to Mike." Brent slid his phone into his lap and hunched down over his plate to shovel a few bites into his mouth. Something was eating him. He hadn't finished his first plate, with smaller portions than usual, and I was already on seconds.

"That's _Uncle_ Mike to you," Mom said, scowling. "And it's certainly not okay for you to sass me at the dinner table, young man."

"Dani...." Mike's tone held a note of warning.

That got through to Mom and she saw it, too. Her scowl melted into a frown. "Sweetheart, are you getting sick?" She reached across the table to feel Brent's forehead.

"Mom's right, you do look off," Mamie said. "Do your joints ache?"

Mom followed up. "And if they do, is it sharp and stabbing, or dull?"

Mike shot pointed looks at the mother-hens, but neither of them noticed. They were too interested in smothering Brent with concern. Mike looked to me for help and I shrugged. How would I know what it took to stop them from overdoing the love?

"Damn it, just leave me alone!" Brent shoved his chair back so hard it toppled over and stormed from the kitchen. I heard his door slam a few seconds later.

The mother hens jumped like they'd been caught napping by a fox. Mamie's lips quivered; it didn't take much to reduce her to tears these days. I got up to pat her shoulders.

"He's just stressed out or something, Mamie. Playoffs didn't go well–he's probably still mad about that."

"No, that's not it," Mike said. He wouldn't look at us, spending time cutting his cranberry sauce into smaller and smaller chunks with his fork. "He, uh, he's having a rough day."

We stared at him, astonished. Brent had "grown out" of confiding in Mike years ago.

Mike tugged at the collar of his sweater. "His girlfriend broke up with him this morning. By text. He didn't want anyone to know, but he's pretty upset about it. He was trying to convince her to take him back."

Mamie went on red alert. "You're kidding me! By text? When I see that little...well, that was just mean!" She sniffled angrily and wiped her nose with one of Mom's good linen napkins.

Mom sighed, her eyes focused on a spot outside the kitchen window. "Honey, let's leave it to him. He's usually the one to break it off with a girlfriend. Far as I know, this is a first for him."

She picked up Brent's plate and carried it upstairs. We could hear his voice rise and fall, telling her about it. While we sat around the table, waiting for Mom to come back, the pumpkin pie started to smell burned. Tears streamed down Mamie's face again.

"So," I said, to break the tension, "anyone want to play Boggle?"

Mamie cracked up while crying at the same time. That made her blow a snot bubble and it was over. I gave her a fist bump for upping the gross factor. Mike shook in silent laughter with his eyes squinted shut until he ran out of air. He finally gave a great, gasping wheeze and collapsed howling against the table top.

Best Thanksgiving ever.

* * *

"All right, present, check. Photo album, check. Index cards for bon voyage messages, check. Email list for Mike, check." Mom muttered these little reminders to herself while she ran around the living room wearing one shoe and trying to put an earring in. She paused in front of the decorative mirror on the entryway wall to finish with the jewelry. "Make-up, good. Hair, well, it'll do."

"You look great, Mom," Mamie said.

She was right; Mom did look nice. She had on this blue dress that wrapped around in front, and she was pretty skinny these days—her latest diet had worked. Her brown hair was spiked up in all the right places. It was meant to look like she ran her fingers through it, a feat that took her ten minutes and a handful of gel. Mamie was all dressed up, too, wearing a light blue sweater over a short, beige skirt. She'd even lost the pigtails, letting her hair hang down her back. I wasn't sure I liked it—she looked eighteen. Good thing that shy kid in her Latin class wasn't around. I might've had to glue his eyelids shut.

While they gushed about the party, I got sick to my stomach for the tenth time that day. It was bad enough sending Mike off without having to make small talk with Colonel Black while I pretended not to know him. If I made it through the night without going insane, I planned to drink a gallon of milk when we got home then sleep until noon on Sunday.

Brent shuffled into the living room, looking uncomfortable in a navy blazer that strained across his shoulders and dress pants he hadn't worn in months. He'd been really subdued since Jada dumped him. Funny thing about that, though—he was nicer because of it. After sweeping back a lock of freshly gelled hair that had gotten stuck to his forehead, he waved me over.

"Dude, come here. Your tie is all crooked."

A week ago I would've told him to shove off and fixed it myself. Tonight, both of us were messed up enough that a little brotherly affection didn't seem stupid. I let him straighten out the knot.

"You know," I said, " if you just buzzed your hair like mine, you wouldn't have to mess with gel and stuff."

Brent pushed me into the wall. "Maybe, but then I'd look as geeky as you."

I shoved him back. "At least I don't look like a greased up gorilla."

Mom broke it up and hurried us out to our minivan. We got to Brownstone in plenty of time for her to fret over the last minute details. Brownstone was this fancy old restaurant downtown, with cloth napkins and candles and waiters for every little thing. One waiter for the water glasses, one for the food, and one that walked around the room asking if the meal was okay.

Mom had reserved their back room for the party. The walls were dark brick and the lights were dim, for "atmosphere." Two long tables ran down the middle, each covered with white tablecloths and centerpieces with real flowers and little American flags stuck in them. I wrinkled my nose. Uncle Mike was a beer and pizza guy. None of this really seemed like _him_.

"Do you think Mike will care about color-coordinated napkins?" I asked Brent while Mamie and Mom buzzed around the room. "Heck, as long as they feed me, I'll sit on the floor."

I pulled one of the little flags out of a centerpiece and stuck it in pocket of my dress shirt. It looked better there than lost in all the flowers.

"Women are like that. Details matter. But I'm with you; who gives a crap? Bring on the steaks." Brent dropped onto one of the spindly little chairs set up around the table, fingers twitching at his pocket. Cell phone withdrawal.

People, and then more people, arrived. Friends from the Army, friends from his civilian job at the bank, friends from...well, everywhere. I didn't think the back room at Brownstone could hold a crowd this size. Colonel Black arrived a few minutes before Mike was due. He scanned the room, and his eyes went right over me, like we'd never met. But I knew he'd seen me.

Mamie squealed. "He's here!"

I stood in the doorway to the back room with Mamie. The other thirty or so people shushed and hid behind the wall, but I could tell Mike knew what waited for him. He winked at me and sighed, like he was steeling himself for combat. After he stepped through the door and I heard all the screaming, I realized he was.

It took three hours for poor Mike to shake hands and talk with every single person there. Except us. I was beginning to feel like this wasn't my farewell at all. He'd fly out at noon tomorrow and I'd hardly seen him all night.

While I watched Mike work the room, Colonel Black sat down next to me. "So, you must be Matt. Your uncle talks about you all the time."

I bit my lip to keep from busting up. "Yes, sir."

"Seen any good monster movies lately?" He raised one eyebrow.

"Yes, sir. About, what was it that Mike called it? A eight-foot Wookiee."

After a glance to make sure Mom wasn't watching us, the colonel leaned in. "We picked up your kill; took it back to base for autopsy. You stabbed it in the heart—fatal blow right off the bat. Good work."

"Beginner's luck," I said, pretending to be modest while giving myself a mental high-five.

He got serious then. "The major told me about your desire to add your friend, Cruessan, to the team. I don't think this is a good idea, son."

I crossed my arms. I'd counted on the arguments. Mike had given up on talking us out of it; the colonel would have to get over it, too. "Will wants to help. And from what I've heard, you haven't found anyone available at Fort Carson that's 'right' for the job. Will is."

The colonel's eyes narrowed. "That doesn't mean I _won't_ find someone. I've expanded the search to other bases. It's not safe for two teenagers to hunt these things alone."

"Colonel Black, Will's the only person I trust enough, other than Uncle Mike," I said, trying to keep my voice down even though I was totally frustrated. "If the Army won't let Mike stay home, then Will's my next choice. You want me to fight, you have to let me do it my way. With Will, I start with a leg up. He knows the woods, he's fast, strong and has plenty of equipment." I glared at him. "And, besides, how are you going to stop him?"

"I could tell his parents," the colonel growled.

I shook my head. "But you won't. Because then I'd tell my mom, and the game would be up for everyone." Blackmail sucked, but sometimes you had to do it. "Will's my partner, no exceptions. I won't fight without him. Period."

He sat quiet for a while, a silent struggle playing across his face. "I'll give you a month. If you convert a hunt successfully, then we'll talk about a longer-term solution." He sounded resigned. "Still no sightings, but there was a mysterious disappearance in the woods a few days ago. You're on alert, okay? I may call soon."

"Yes, sir. I have the sat-phone hidden in my backpack at all times. If possible, though, don't call between eight and three-fifteen. If my teachers catch me with that thing, they'll confiscate it, thinking it's a fancy cell phone."

Colonel Black chuckled. "Right. We won't call you during school hours. Oops, your mom's looking this way. Better move on." The colonel clapped me on the back and got up.

After another ten minutes, I decided I couldn't take the party anymore. I pushed my way through the crowd and wandered out front. Brent was already out there, sitting on the bench next to the valet stand under the restaurant's green awning. It was colder than Hades, but he didn't have his coat. Neither did I; getting away from the crowd was more important than being warm. I plunked down next to him.

"Doesn't seem real that he's leaving, does it?" Brent asked.

"No." I shifted on the bench. "You know, I just realized something. Mamie didn't get her birthday card from Dad. She's been 'sweet-sixteen' eleven whole days, and not a word."

"Bastard," Brent said. "I hate the man. Seriously." His face had a pinched look, bitter and angry to the core. "Didn't call when I signed with Washington State, either. His kid's gonna play football at a Pac-12 school and he didn't bother to say congrats. I'm glad he left us."

Suddenly, Brent's break-up with Jada had a lot more meaning. A girl had dumped him and his father didn't give a crap. My chest burned. The only man who did give a crap was being taken away. How were we going to make it?

Mike must've sensed we were thinking about him, because he came looking for us. "Guys, it's twenty below out here. I know the party's a beating, but I've been waiting for you two to liven things up a little." He leaned down and put a hand on my shoulder, mischief in his eyes. "Please, I'm begging you. Juggle dishes, I don't care. If we stay buttoned down one more minute I'm going to lose it."

Brent and I glanced at each other, sly smiles stretching across our faces. We trooped inside intending to give Mike the going-away present he wanted most, not caring what price we'd pay with Mom later.

A full-sized sheet cake—vanilla and chocolate with "Godspeed Mike" written in blue on the white frosting—was set up on a little table at the head of the room. Brent pinched my arm and winked. I nodded. Bingo.

Mom, with a smile too bright to be real, stood to make her goodbye speech, quavering voice, unshed tears and all. I watched Mike. He stood behind her, staring at nothing, his face drawn. Brent kicked my foot under the table. We got up and inched our way through the chairs toward Mom, Mike and the cake. Mom went on and on, but the only words I heard were "going to miss him," "keep yourself safe," and "back in a year." By the time she wrapped up, Brent and I stood beside her, a few feet away from the cake.

"Mom? How about Matt and I help serve," Brent said, his true purpose carefully covered up by his sincere voice.

Mom beamed. "Oh, honey, how sweet." She handed him the cake spatula and the other guests watched as Brent cut a huge corner piece.

"Uncle Mike," he said, a laugh barely contained, "this is for you."

Now, I thought he was going to shove it in Mike's face. But I was wrong and next thing I knew, I was cleaning frosting out of my nostrils.

"Oh, that's so uncool, dude," I said. "It's on."

After wiping cake out of my eyes, I grabbed a hunk from the other end and aimed for Brent. He ducked and the cake plastered Mike on the side of the head. From then on, it was pandemonium. Even Mamie got splattered. We were all laughing so hard we tuned out Mom's feeble attempts to get us to behave. I'm sure the other guests thought we'd gone crazy and Brownstone probably wouldn't ever get the blue icing stains out of their white tablecloths, but the huge grin on Mike's face made the mess worth it.

# Chapter Thirteen

The Monday after Thanksgiving break was bleak. The skies were dark gray with thick, low clouds and the air smelled like frozen iron. A big snow seemed imminent, and I kept waiting for the blizzard to come, hating this feeling of limbo. At home, we all went through the motions, trying not to think about Mike doing a ten-mile run at Fort Carson. In a month, he'd be in Afghanistan, but he was as gone now as he would be then.

When I trudged into algebra, my heart got heavier. Ella was the only person in the classroom. She had on jeans and a kelly-green Notre Dame sweatshirt, with her hair in a twist. The new hair style made her look older, and I liked it. But something seemed wrong. Her eyes were red and she was breathing hard, like she was trying not to cry. I put my books down, walked around to the front of her desk and knelt so I could see her face better. As soon as I did, she started bawling like crazy.

"Oh, gosh, I'm so sorry...I, uh." Oh, crap. What did I do to upset her? "Look, I'm sorry. For whatever I did. Really...sorry."

I probably would've kept on babbling apologies, but three girls came in. I groaned—the Ponytail Gang. Will and I called them that because they dressed alike and did their hair in bouncy ponytails every day. Today they had on mini-skirts and leggings, never mind the cold. They were all cute, various shades of blond and popular. They were also mean as a nest of rattlesnakes. No one had been able to explain that to me yet, why rude people were always popular.

Ella quickly turned her head and swiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. I hurried to my desk...but not fast enough.

"Wow, Ella," Caitlin said, an ugly streak in her tone. "That was quick." She tossed her dirty blond ponytail over her shoulder and flopped down at her desk two rows over from us. Tara and Jenna hung in the doorway, identical mocking smiles on their faces.

Ella kept her back to them, turned sideways in her chair. I could see the tear tracks on her face. In that moment, I wanted nothing more than to give her a tissue and offer the Ponytail Gang up as bait for my next hunt, but something in the way Ella held herself convinced me to keep still. Jenna plopped her books down on the desk behind Caitlin's and walked over to Ella with a spring in her step.

"Oh, poor Ella. What a tough morning." Jenna glanced at me, smirking. "At least you have someone's shoulder to cry on."

Ella didn't acknowledge Jenna at all, but I saw her fists clench in her lap.

Jenna leaned on Ella's desktop. "This is for the best, you know. You need someone easier to manage. I hear some guys in Chess Club are looking for girlfriends."

What was Jenna talking about? Did she mean...?

Before I could complete that thought, Tara giggled. The only true blond, she wasn't the brains in the outfit. She just came along for the ride and added the laugh-track to Jenna and Caitlin's cruelty. I had no idea why they were going after Ella while she was upset, but man, slamming Carter into a locker seemed nice compared to this.

"Ladies, something going on here?"

I had never been so thankful to see Mrs. Burns in my life. She was like a gray-haired guardian angel in a wool sweater, marching to her desk with her laptop bag and a grim expression.

"No ma'am. Just asking Ella about her weekend," Jenna said, cocking her head like "I'm pretending to be thoughtful, so I can be a witch."

Mrs. Burns watched, eyes narrowed, as Jenna pranced across the room to sit behind Caitlin. She glanced back at Ella then scrawled out a note. "Ella, would you mind taking this to the office? The copier in the teacher's workroom was jammed, and I need to hand it out today. Thirty copies should do it."

Ella jumped to her feet, grabbed the paper from Mrs. Burns' hand without looking at it and fled from the room. Other students, including Will, filed in as the passing bell rang. Over the din of homeroom chaos, Jenna and Caitlin had a loud conversation. Tara, who sat next to Jenna, hung on every word.

"Oh yeah, he totally dumped her. Too boring, you know," Caitlin said. "Can't believe he picked her over..."

My heart leapt into my throat. That _was_ what they meant—Carter dumped Ella! Was he stupid? Wait...yes, yes he was. I couldn't decide whether to jump onto Mrs. Burns' desk and shout for joy that Ella was available, or to punch Carter in the head for hurting her feelings.

Stupid Tara put in her two cents. "I heard it was 'cause she wouldn't let him do anything but kiss her...too prude for second base."

Half the class laughed behind their hands at that announcement. Mrs. Burns stopped writing problems on the white board, scowling at the Ponytail Gang. None of them noticed.

I sat up straighter, my insides boiling. Carter dumped Ella then talked trash about her? He was definitely getting a punch in the head. My face burned hotter every second that passed.

Jenna preened a little. "I heard that too. I mean, come on, how middle school can you get? And it's not like she's that cute, no matter what everyone says. Maybe Carter will wise up this time and go for someone more mature."

The classroom got way too small for me and my temper.

Before I could stop myself, I jumped to my feet and shouted, "Someone like you, maybe? That's what you mean, right?" I looked her up and down, hoping she could see the disrespect in my eyes. "Carter can have you—you're a perfect match. And neither of you are worth a damn."

There was a ringing silence. Oh...what had I just done?

Mrs. Burns cleared her throat loudly and pointed at my desk. "Mr. Archer, kindly take your seat."

Jenna made that little "uh" noise girls make when peeved and not getting their way. "Mrs. Burns, he should have to apologize for being rude."

"And for cursing," Caitlin added, with a whine.

Mrs. Burns, wearing a very odd smile, walked to Jenna's desk and whispered something to her. After that, Jenna was quiet for the rest of class.

Ella didn't come back.

* * *

At lunch, I kept an eye out for Ella. After my stunt in math, I didn't know if I was in for a big "my hero" moment or a kick in the pants.

Will kept laughing and shaking his head every so often. "It's not like the whole freshman class doesn't know you like her, but, dude! You might as well have rented one of those advertising planes to fly a banner that said 'Matt loves Ella' with a big heart around it."

I picked at my lunch. For once, my appetite was all but gone. "I know. Stupid!" I banged my head against the table. "I couldn't let them talk about her like that, though. You didn't see her before she ran out of class. Dude, she was wrecked. Crying, the whole bit."

Will swallowed a ginormous bite of pizza. "No, I guess you couldn't help yourself. And Carter's a moron."

"Yeah," I said, prodding my half-eaten pizza with my fork. "I hope Ella's not too mad at me."

He whistled softly. "Looks like you won't have to wait long to find out."

I followed his gaze. Ella was gliding across the cafeteria, regal as a queen, heading straight for me.

"Will, what do I do?" I put my napkin down and ran my tongue over my teeth, just in case pepperoni had gotten stuck in them.

"Don't look at me, dude. You're the Prince Charming in this situation. I'm just the big guy in the background–you know, the one who holds the spear and grunts every so often."

She stopped at our table. Behind her, a hundred and twenty people watched. "Hi, Will."

Will jumped, looking startled to be noticed. "Um, hey, uh...Ella."

She turned back to me. Before I knew it, those green eyes had me hypnotized. Who cared if everyone was watching? If she asked me to do a swan dive off the table smack onto the floor, I'd do it, pronto.

"Matt, I need to talk to you. Can you meet me after school?"

"Um, sure," I said.

She nodded briskly, then walked away, furious whispers and stares following.

"Any idea what that means?" I asked, hating to hear my voice shake. I hunted monsters! Real-life, honest-to-God monsters! How was it that a girl terrified me worse than that?

"No clue, dude," Will said. "You want the rest of that pizza?"

I pushed my whole tray over to him and glanced at the basketball table. Carter was looking my way. He gave me a jackass smile as Jenna came over. She draped herself across the back of his chair, her lips close to his ear. Carter turned to face her, tugging her into his lap just as Ella walked past them. They laughed when Ella bolted through the doors at the opposite end of the cafeteria.

I'd make this right if it killed me.

* * *

While the rest of the students in history class stared at us, Ella and I ignored each other. The clock moved one click at a time, and Mr. Anderson's lecture on the "Roaring Twenties" roared right through my brain into space. When the bell finally rang, several people lingered, waiting to see what we'd do.

"Class dismissed, people," Mr. Anderson said as he sorted essays on his desk. When no one moved, he said, "I don't know what the deal is, but skedaddle...go catch your rides home."

The room cleared. I was glad I didn't have to run for the bus. Will had done me a favor and called Millicent at lunch, telling her we needed to stay after and asking her to pick us up. I texted Mamie so she wouldn't worry that I'd missed the bus. The words "girl trouble" got a response of "understand" and that was all there was to it.

Ella picked up her bag and stuffed her books inside. "I need to go get my coat."

"Me, too." I followed her out, wondering if I should offer to carry her books, but decided that was too old-fashioned. On the way there, my phone buzzed.

"Go ahead and answer that if you need to. I'll be at my locker," Ella said, continuing on down the hall.

When I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket, it didn't show an incoming call. I closed my eyes and groaned. Not now. The ring sounded again, and I wrestled the sat-phone out of my backpack, glad they'd gotten me one only slightly larger than a regular cell phone. It would've been hard to hide a big, clunky box with a separate antenna.

The display lit up as it trilled another quiet ring. The ID said "Black."

I stared longingly at Ella, who was doing the combination to her locker, then pressed the talk button with a frustrated sigh. "Archer here."

"Sorry to call you this soon after school, but park rangers discovered the remains of four bodies this morning. We've triangulated the locations of the remains in an attempt to pinpoint the Bear's den. I'm sending coordinates to you now. You and Cruessan are on alert tonight. Call me once you're at his place and ready to be briefed. Say, thirty minutes...you can make that, right?"

The fact that other people had to come first really hit me over the head right then. I watched Ella put on her coat. This sucked. "Yeah. I can make it."

After I rang off, I went to her, my feet feeling too big and heavy to make the trip. "Ella, I'm really sorry, but something's come up. I have to head out, um, right now."

The look on her face made me want to fall on my knees to beg forgiveness for upsetting her again. She managed a teary smile. "Sure, I understand. Maybe tomorrow."

"Thanks." Feeling braver, I brushed her wrist with my fingers. "I'll see you in the morning."

I left by the side door without looking back at her. I couldn't do it.

* * *

"Lock and load!" Will said. He scurried around the garage, making sure the ATV would start and that all the gear was packed up.

"This is it, man, we're really going! Hey, I dug out some of my heavy-duty winter coveralls." He held them up. They were camo-print, with a bunch of zippered pockets on the chest and legs. "These are my old ones, from when I was ten. They should fit you."

"Gee, thanks, dude. Nice of you to remind me that I'm a shrimp," I grumbled.

"You _will_ thank me," Will said, grinning. "They're made out of GOR-TEX, so the coveralls aren't bulky and you can move fast in them. Perfect for stalking monsters. Those crap BDUs the Army gave you have nothing on these."

I nodded, unable to muster up much excitement. Ella's hurt expression kept tapping me on the shoulder, begging me to relive it until Colonel Black called to give us our briefing. I put the sat-phone on speaker so Will could hear.

"The remains were found about three miles east of where you got the last kill," the colonel said. "Program these numbers into your GPS."

I punched in the longitude and latitude as instructed. "That's an eight-mile hike from Will's. Think we can use the ATV for part of it, sir?"

"Probably, but at the first track you find, cut the engine and go on foot. Mike told me about your less than stealthy attack last time. Try to do it like you were taught—by the book. Got it?"

"Sir, yes, sir." I rolled my eyes at Will, who was laughing. I pushed the mute button. "This from the guy who called a monster 'good bear?'"

Will made a face at me as I unmuted the phone. "Anything else, sir?"

"Yes. Sunset in Billings is at four-thirty today. With the hike and the tracking, you'll be out late. Is that an issue?"

"Shouldn't be a problem," Will said. "My folks are in Aspen and Millicent has her 'programs' to watch."

I cleared my throat—it had constricted. Our first solo hunt...this was it. "I can talk my Mom into letting me stay over at Will's. I'll tell her we have a school project or something."

"Then saddle up, boys," the colonel said. "You're going hunting tonight."

# Chapter Fourteen

The ATV purred along the trail. Mr. Cruessan liked his toys, and we benefitted. The black four-wheeler we rode was Will's own personal mode of transportation—a hand-me-down from when his dad bought two new ATVs, both bigger. With special, heavy-duty tires, Will's ATV could drive through anything but foot-deep snow, and it had a tight turn radius, making it perfect for trekking through the woods. The four-wheeler made for a bumpy ride, especially with me on back, but it beat hiking. Will even had an extra helmet for me.

Reflected in the headlights, the trees passed as shadows set against a blur of pale gray and white snow. Thin clouds danced across the sky, blocking out what little light the waning moon gave. This was both good and bad. We'd have an easier time sneaking up on the monster since it was darker. But the same could be said for it sneaking up on us.

I held the GPS in one hand and the seat rail with the other. Our green dot made steady progress toward the coordinates Colonel Black had given us. After driving five miles, we got our first sign.

"Will, cut the engine." I shook his shoulder to make sure he stopped. The stupid helmets made it hard to hear, but better safe than sorry. It'd be difficult to explain that I'd failed to make a kill because I'd gotten a concussion.

Will parked the ATV near a large pine and covered it with a camo blanket while I put on the night-vision goggles to make sure nothing was hiding, waiting to attack us. No heat signatures—all clear. I pulled off the goggles and clicked on my flashlight, shining it across the trees.

The torn up deer I'd seen with Mike had been bad enough. This time, it was a bobcat. Strewn around the gnarled roots of big spruces, and hanging from the lower branches of pines, were the torn remains of meat and entrails. The only reason we knew it was a bobcat was because the monster had left its head behind; outside of that, there wasn't a bit of its pelt, claws or bones to be seen.

"Holy Mother of Brett Favre. Is that what I think it is?" Will asked, looking like he was about to hurl our hastily eaten dinner of Kung Pao chicken all over the snow.

"Unfortunately." I closed my eyes, trying to block out the image of ground meat stuck in the evergreen branches. "It also means we're getting close."

The front pouch of my backpack flashed. The knife was vibrating, waiting to hunt. I slid it into my thigh pocket, to keep it close. "We hike from here."

Will strapped on his backpack, fumbling with the clasps because his hands were shaking. "The thing did that. It tore a bobcat into hamburgers."

I put a hand on his arm. "You knew this. You knew. Seeing it makes it tough, but nothing's changed, okay? This is the same as it was the first time. Follow the plan...that's it."

"Follow the plan, right," he said, with a jerky nod. "I can do this."

Will's panic made me feel stronger, like holding him together kept me from falling apart. I led him away from the ATV, examining the brush around the slaughtered bobcat. Holding the penlight in my teeth, I got down on my hands and knees to check for broken leaves or smudged moss. Paw-prints, larger than Will's size thirteen boots from heel to claw, were distinct in the snow that had made it through the trees. The tracks led off to the east.

I stood and shrugged my pack onto my shoulders. "This way. Let's go."

The terrain was rough and the snow made things worse by hiding holes and rocks. Both of us fell down more than once even though I kept the pace slow. It took us thirty minutes to make the next mile, and we got slapped by wet, snow-covered branches as we headed off the trail into the deeper woods.

The further we went, the more concerned I became about Will. He jumped at every rustle we heard, always twisting around to see if something was behind us. We could get hurt if he got so scared he bolted at the wrong time. I stopped him. "Listen, we can do this."

"But what'll we do if we can't?" Will's teeth chattered. As warm as our coveralls were, I knew it wasn't the cold.

"If something happens to me, stay hidden as long as you can, then run like heck," I said, giving him a level stare. "The knife only works in my hands. You won't be able to fight this thing by yourself. So if I go down, you run—understand?"

He nodded and I started along the trail again. The thing was close; the knife buzzed my pocket, almost like a warning. I motioned for Will to creep along behind me, but he didn't follow.

"Did you hear that?" Will whipped his head around.

Twigs snapped, pine needles crunched–something big was plowing its way through the trees off to the right, bearing our direction.

"Get down, get down." I shoved Will into a clump of bushes. "Lay flat on your belly. Don't move, not one inch."

Will huddled to the ground. I spotted a mature pine across the trail with branches low enough for me to climb. Sneak attack. If it was the monster, I could drop on it, stab it in the back before it knew I was there. I scaled the tree and made it halfway up before the monster came crashing through the bushes right in front of Will. He managed to stay quiet, but I don't know how. I wanted to scream my head off.

Of course the moon picked that moment to shine a little light down on us, giving me a full view of the horror standing below. This Bear stood much taller than the first two, maybe nine feet. Its dark coat was glossy and thick, and it was more muscular than the others, with bulkier arms and legs, and a broader torso. Tusks jutted out of its mouth, curling upward to its nose, ending in cruel points. The tips of its long claws looked so sharp that I wondered if it had sharpened them on a rock or something.

Did the Bears know how to do that?

I shook in my tree, watching it lift a paw to its mouth, finishing a meal of what was probably bobcat sirloin. While it chewed, it sniffed the air. I worried it had already smelled us and was on the lookout for dessert. Fighting an urge to run, I got the knife out of my pocket, hardly daring to breathe. It buzzed softly, but intently, in my hand, like it knew we were in stealth mode. I tensed on the branch, ready to jump onto the beast's back once it was under my tree. Closer, closer, closer.

_Roller Coaster of Love,_ by the Red Hot Chili Peppers, started playing in the bushes, followed by a beep, beep, beep.

I muttered curses under my breath. Will didn't turn his ringer off? We were so screwed.

The Bear's head jerked in Will's direction and its pointed ears twitched. The bushes trembled as he hurried to shut off his cell phone. The beast lumbered his way, swiping its claws along the brush. It snuffled at the ground with its squashed-looking nose, then froze, its body quivering like a hound pointing at prey. The Bear had found Will.

I didn't have a choice now—it was too far away for me to jump on its back. So I leapt out of the tree, shouting, "What's up, ugly?"

The thing straightened up and turned my way. Then it laughed.

The thing _laughed_ at me.

Oh, man, I was a goner.

The Bear glanced in Will's direction then turned back to me, as if it was weighing its options. I took a step toward it, jaw clenched, and growled through my teeth, "Come and get me. Or are you scared?"

The thing gave me an indignant look, and screeched, throwing its head forward and leaning my direction, mouth wide and teeth bared. The noise cut through me like a saw blade. Then it laughed again. "Huh, huh, huh." It sounded like a hoarse dog barking, assuming the dog was a pissed-off Rottweiler.

I backed away, willing it to follow. The Bear sauntered along, looking smug, staying with me. Behind it, I saw Will stick his head up then drop back down. The bushes rustled as he crawled off to a new position.

Pushing my way through a cluster of evergreens, I came out into a little clearing about ten feet across. In a moment of terrified absurdity, I thought the space looked the same size and shape as a boxing ring. Maybe it was a good place to make a stand.

The Bear entered the clearing, and when it saw me, it pulled a pine branch about the diameter of my arm off the nearest tree. With a grunting chuckle, the monster snapped the branch in half like a twig. The world swam before my eyes, but a bluish glow in my hand yanked me out of my panic. The knife was ready to rumble, and an unnatural calm washed over me.

"So that's how you want it to be?" I called. "You don't know what you're dealing with here."

It stopped and stared at me, neither of us moving. We were like runners waiting for the starter pistol. My heart thundered in my chest; adrenaline was a scary thing.

Then the monster raised the stakes.

"Mun. Et Mun." It licked its lips. "Et Mun."

Holy...oh my...freakin' A! Oh, it talked. Oh, holy zombie apocalypse...it _talked!_ It wanted to eat me!

The knife buzzed so hard it made my whole hand shake. Again, waves of calm washed over me, locking down my nerves. I gripped the handle, treating the blade like it was an extension of my arm.

"Yeah, well, I don't taste so good. I bet you'd make a nice rug, though."

"Huh, huh, huh." The Bear crouched, its mouth spread wide in what must've been a smile.

Then it sprang.

I rolled out of its way as it flung itself forward. With a speed I didn't know I had, I spun around and jumped on its back, digging my fingers into its thick, shaggy fur.

The Bear stood and jerked wildly, trying to shake me off. I had to use both hands to hang on, trapping the knife in between the palm of my hand and the creature's coat. When I didn't let go, the monster rushed backward, heading for the trees at the edge of the clearing. Did I let go and get trampled? Or hang on and get smushed?

Out of ideas and headed for broken ribs or worse, I decided I'd have to chance letting go. Before I could, though, a piercing blue-white light stung my eyes. The beast stopped mid-move and lifted an arm to block out the beam.

Just enough time.

I let go with my knife hand and stabbed it in the back. The Bear reached around with its long arms, howling in pain, to grope for the knife. I released my hold on its coat, grabbing the handle with both hands. My weight, combined with the power of the blade, sliced a wide-open seam down the thing's torso as I slid down its back.

Once my feet hit the ground, I jumped clear. Still clutched in my right hand, the knife flashed green then went dark. The blade, my chest and my arms were covered in thick blood and dark, sticky fur.

With a surprised gasp, the monster reeled and fell sideways. A few twitches later, it was dead.

Will stepped out of the trees, pale and shaking, holding an LED flashlight. "You got it."

My breath came in great heaves and I sank to my knees. "No, man, _we_ got it."

* * *

"Sir, they understand us! They talk, they laugh. Holy shit, sir!" Now that the danger was over, and the Bear's body safely stowed behind a rotted, fallen tree, I was freaking out, big time.

"Matt, slow down." Colonel Black's voice was even, measured. "First things first. Are you and Will safe?"

I took a long, ragged breath. "Yes, sir. We're fine. A little bruised and stuff, but nothing serious."

"Good to hear, soldier. Where are you? Have you made it back to Cruessan's house?"

"Yes, sir."

Will's bedroom was the size of my living room and lit up brighter than a baseball field at a night game because neither of us wanted to be in the dark. I turned to check on him. He sat in the middle of his king-sized bed with a blanket pulled up around his ears. All I could see were his eyes. They looked like mine—he'd seen too much.

"We're at Will's and settled," I said. "I've got coordinates for you. This one was a lot bigger and smarter than the last Bear. Colonel, it laughed at me and it _told_ me it was going to eat me. It talked!"

There was a very long pause. "Remember what I said at Fort Carson, about them getting smarter at an accelerated pace?"

"Yes, sir."

"All of them are, not just your Bears. Ramirez called in to say that the South American Gators are pack hunting, making it very difficult to attack them with only one knife. Parker said the Pandas are doing 'snatch and grab' jobs, stealing people from their homes under cover of night, just like the Gators. Parker's worried, because they've started migrating to more populated areas."

A shiver ran down my body from the crown of my head to the ends of my toes. "So it's true, then. All of them are getting smarter."

"It appears so," the colonel said. "Keep your eyes open. On the next hunt, we need all the details, however small."

"Well, we only saw one Bear tonight. And it wasn't very stealthy. Maybe they aren't developing as fast as the others."

"Let's hope," he said. "The coordinates just came through. I'll let you know when we've made the recovery."

"Do you need me to come along?" I half-hoped he wouldn't, but I didn't know how to say that without sounding like a chicken.

"Maybe next time. For now, I think you need a little distance." The colonel's voice held a firm calmness that settled my nerves much like the knife had. "In the meantime, be ready for action. Looks like we're in for a heavy campaign."

"Yes, sir." I hung up with the colonel. "Will, if you want to quit now, I understand. If you'd let me use the ATV that would be a big help."

Will dropped his blanket and scowled at me. "Are you kidding? There's no way I'm letting you go out there by yourself. You'd get killed! Besides, I've figured something out."

"What?" I asked, not wanting any more surprises. Mutant, evolving monsters and my decrepit love life were enough to go on for the moment.

"The knife. It does something to you."

"What are you talking about?" I rubbed my eyes with my fists, ready to get what little sleep I could before we had to get up for school.

For the fortieth time, Will crawled off his bed to make sure Millicent wasn't listening at the door. "You change. Stronger, faster, scarier. Dude, I watched you and the Bear facing off, crouched on the ground. You were completely steady—so calm you could've performed brain surgery. When it ran at you, you rolled out of the way and leapt onto its back as if you did it every day." Will shuddered. "You scared the crap out of me."

"It was just an endorphin rush," I said. "It happens in tense situations. Besides, you know I'm fast, right? All that crap about being wiry a few months ago."

Will crossed his arms and stood up taller. "No, this was different. Tell me something, have you noticed how quick you're packing on muscle these days? Or that thing with Carter—when you stared him down like he was a cockroach annoying you? This isn't the training. There's more to it than that. Something's giving you extra power."

My backpack was parked next to the futon I used when I slept over. Right after Will said the bit about "extra power," the front pocket flashed with a blue glow. I jumped in surprise. The knife hadn't ever reacted when I wasn't touching it.

Maybe Davis had been right. Maybe there was more to the knife than we thought.

# Chapter Fifteen

Will and I staggered into algebra the next morning on too little sleep and too much of everything else. I'd barely had the energy to wrestle myself into a pair of track pants and an old long-sleeved t-shirt I'd inherited from Brent. The Ponytail Gang, dressed in the exact same style of jeans and variations on scoop-neck t-shirts, made some really rude remarks about my attire as I walked to my desk. After killing an nine-foot tall monster, I felt pretty secure in my manhood and didn't feel compelled to respond.

That confidence died as soon as I saw Ella. Her cheeks were flushed and she stared at her math book, not meeting my eyes.

Gathering what courage I had left, I whispered, "Hey, sorry I had to leave yesterday. A little emergency came up."

Ella glanced at me over her shoulder. "I understand. It wasn't all that important, what I wanted to say. Just...thanks. For trashing Jenna."

"My pleasure." Ugh, that was smooth. My pleasure? Dork.

She smiled, though. I spent part of homeroom devising a plan to walk Ella to her next class, using the rest of the hour to thoroughly observe how hot she looked in her tight, blue sweater. But when the bell rang, Ella gave me another small smile, swept her books from her desk, and left before I could say a word.

"Dude, everything okay?" Will asked.

"Don't guess so." My gut clenched at the thought the whole meet-after-school thing had been just to say thanks.

"Give her some time. See you at lunch." He lumbered off for second period.

The morning dragged. I was so dang tired, I could barely keep my head off my desk, let alone diagram sentences in English class. Science was even worse.

"So, you see, Galileo discovered...."

My science teacher, Mr. Todd, would drone on in a monotone for three hours if the bell didn't stop him. He was worse than Specialist Davis. I wiggled in my seat, trying to stay awake. Only ten more minutes, then lunch.

"...stood on the nugget of solid matter at Jupiter's core, you would be flatter than a pancake...."

Seven more minutes.

"...Obey gravity—it's the law...."

This guy was a total bore. My eyes got really heavy.

Wandering through a jungle. Mist and the call of birds. Can't find my way out. Footsteps to my right. A man, speaking: "Hurry. The armies approach."

My head jerked up. Several students giggled, having caught me napping. Face burning, I glanced at Mr. Todd. He lectured on, with no clue that I'd fallen asleep. Luckily the bell rang, and I headed for the cafeteria. The voice in the dream belonged to no one—it had come out of some fog in my brain. That didn't make it any less freaky, though.

"Hey, you look like death warmed over," Will said, joining me in the cafeteria line.

He didn't look much better, sporting big, purple bags under his eyes. "We've got to figure out how to survive the day after a hunt." I yawned until my jaw popped. "I fell asleep in science, dude. Being this tired is making me crack."

I told him about the voice in my dream and Will said, "That's not as weird as the dream I had in history just now...lots of bikini-wearing cheerleaders were throwing confetti at me."

"Were you naked?" I asked, grinning.

Will pondered that. "Yeah, actually, I think I was..."

We got our food and sat at our usual table by the wall. I watched Ella find a seat with some girls at the far side of the lunchroom. She pulled a sandwich out of her pink, flower-print lunch bag, but after she unwrapped it, she didn't eat. Even from here, I could see her face was pale. Her friends were gathered around her, talking. All of them wore somber expressions more like what you'd see in a funeral home than a high school cafeteria. Was she still upset because of Carter, or was it about me this time?

Will caught me gawking. "Just a thank you? That was all she wanted to say?"

"Yeah. It's weird. I feel like I missed out on something crucial, and I have no clue what it was." I stabbed at my chicken patty. "I don't know what to do next."

"You wait." When I looked at him with my eyebrows raised, Will went on, "You missed 'the moment.'"

I leaned back in my chair, wondering why my best friend sounded like a _Lifetime_ movie all of a sudden. "'The moment?' Will, what the heck are you talking about?"

"Remember last year, when I was all hot for Kelsey?"

"How could I forget?" I snickered. "You were worse about her than I am about Ella."

"Don't think that's even possible, but whatever. You have any idea how long it took me to ask her to go to the movies with me?" he asked.

I stared at him. This wasn't something we'd discussed before. "No. I just remember you followed her around like a puppy, then all of a sudden you were holding hands and walking her to every class."

Being a third wheel for two months had sucked, but at least he'd been happy. Well, until she'd dumped him for her older brother's best friend.

"It took me four weeks. Once I decided to ask her, I never found a good time. Her friends were around, or I was running late for football practice, or...well, something always got in the way. Finally, I caught her at her locker after school and I just knew it was the right time." He pointed at me with a french-fry. "Be patient."

I glanced across the room. Ella turned and our eyes locked. She blinked first, looking away with a torn look on her face. Will was right.

I could wait.

* * *

The last two weeks of school before the holiday break trudged by without me ever finding the "moment." I decided my New Year's resolution would be to ask Ella out, and called the fall semester a bust. The holidays were kind of a bust, too. Christmas passed without a card or call from Dad, and with only two short video conferences with Uncle Mike. He looked fit and stern–Major Tannen had taken over full-time. In a way, I found that comforting. Seeing him acting totally military made me believe he'd stay sharp overseas and keep safe.

Right before he left for Afghanistan, Mike called to talk about the monster program. Mamie was back to watching me like a hawk, so I took the call in my room, away from prying ears.

"So the first hunt went okay, but the knife is acting weird," I said. "Do you...do you think it might have some kind of power over me? Like, maybe it's making me faster or stronger?"

"Chief, I don't think the knife is changing you physically," Mike said. "You've been training hard. It's just a coincidence."

"Uncle Mike, did the knife ever hum randomly for you?" I tried to keep the annoyance out of my voice, but I was pissed that he dismissed my concerns so fast. "When you weren't holding it?"

Mike was quiet a long time. "No."

"Well, it did for me."

After another pause, Mike said, "Why don't you write down every unusual thing the knife does. Then I'll email the other wielders. Maybe they've seen something like that."

"Thanks." I flopped back on my bed, stalling. I didn't want to say goodbye; Mike would be out of contact for several days while traveling and getting settled at HQ. "Have a safe trip."

"I will, kid. You be careful in the woods. Give my love to everybody." And with that, he was gone.

I spent the rest of the holidays staring at the sat-phone, hoping Colonel Black would call. A hunt would have broken the boredom, but he didn't contact me. I probably should've wondered about the lack of activity, but I was too upset about Mike leaving to worry about it.

On the Friday night before school started back up, I was minding my own business, watching _Mythbusters_ upstairs in the game room. Will had just come back from a week-long trip to Aspen—his parents' idea of a good fifteenth birthday present—and we planned to take the ATV into the woods just for fun on Saturday. I was ready to get out of the house and a breakneck ride through the forest sounded great.

Then the sat-phone rang.

I ran to my room. "Archer, here, sir."

"We need you to roll tonight. Multiple reports of 'Bigfoot' sightings have come into the ranger station in your woods—three today alone," Colonel Black said. "The hikers saw it during the day."

"It came out during the day?" Nocturnal beasts roaming in daylight couldn't be good.

"Yes," he replied. "Thank goodness no one got a clean picture of the beast. We've managed to convince the media that what the hikers saw was a hoax, some college kid pranking folks by wearing a Sasquatch suit." The colonel sighed. "Don't know how much longer we can keep a lid on the Bears. So far, the only person to get video was one of the victims. The FBI gave us the camera. The Bureau's been great about locking down the crime scenes for us, misleading the media, but we're running out of time."

"Then Will and I need to get to work," I said, stressed that we might not hunt down all the monsters before someone took a cell phone picture of one and posted it on the internet. "Where was it sighted?"

The colonel filled me in. "When can you get going?"

It was already nine-thirty. "I may need a bit. But don't worry, we'll be running in the next two hours."

"Good. Report when you get back." Colonel Black rang off.

I called Will. "You up for a hunt?"

"Are you kidding? I've been bored out of my skull the last week. I'll have everything ready by the time you get here." Will was so excited he practically shouted over the phone.

"Good. I'll grab my stuff and be there in twenty." I hung up and dug into my closet. I'd gotten one of those plastic storage tubs to store my gear, telling Mom it was for shoes and crap. Hiding things in plain sight worked all the time.

The backpack stayed packed, and I'd charged up the GPS and the phone that morning, just in case. The knife was safely tucked into the front pocket of my bag. Good to go. I pulled my GOR-TEX coveralls out of the tub to get dressed, but someone knocked. I shoved the coveralls back in the closet and called, "Yeah?"

Mamie peeked in. "Were you just talking to someone?"

"Will called." I smiled, trying not to look like I was up to something.

"Hmm," she said. Her eyebrows drew together. "Well, I'm going to read a while. Mom said not to stay up too late."

I nodded fast. "You bet. I'll...I'll go to bed in a little bit. Good night."

"Good night, Matt." With a suspicious glance, she shut the door.

Hoping that was the only obstacle I'd hit, I pulled the coveralls over my jeans and sweatshirt. After putting on two pairs of wool socks and my hiking boots, I turned out my bedroom light and opened the door. Mamie's door was closed, but the light was on. I crept past her room and down the stairs. Mom's office was at the front of the house, by the foot of the stairs, overlooking the front yard. When her chair creaked, I stood on the bottom step, hardly daring to breathe.

A sound, kinda like a cat being strangled, warbled from the office. Ah—Mom was singing along to Coldplay on her iPod. She hadn't heard me, then. Heck, an elephant could run through the entry and she'd miss it. I rounded the post, headed for the living room, when headlights swept across the front windows. Brent was home. Mom's chair squeaked again.

I ran through the living room, into the kitchen, then down the little utility hallway to the mudroom, home of dirt-caked cleats, sweaty workout clothes, the washer and dryer and anything else Mom didn't want in the rest of the house. After climbing onto the washing machine, I opened the window, then threw my backpack out before shimmying onto the threshold. With a lurch, I dropped into the snow drift against the side of the house. I left the window cracked open to be sure I could get back in.

Nobody went into our backyard shed during the winter, so I'd hidden my bike there. The door groaned when I forced it open, but no one looked out the kitchen windows as I wheeled the bike around front. Even with snow on the ground, the streets were mostly clear. The plows had come through early in the day, and we hadn't gotten a new layer yet. I sped down the road, the wind freezing my eyelids and cheeks, covering the mile to Will's in five minutes.

He was watching for me and yanked the side-door to the garage open when I pushed through his bushes. "Mom and Dad are at a stupid party until who knows when, so this is good timing. Get in here."

We packed up in a hurry and pushed the ATV across the sprawling yard. Not easy in six-inch deep snow—we were huffing by the time we got far enough from the house to fire up the engine. But we'd wised up from the last trip. Before we got rolling, we turned off our ringers, checked the zippers on the packs, and put black ski-masks on under our helmets. This time, things would run like clockwork.

* * *

"Dude, does that one look different to you?" Will peered at the Bear through my night-vision goggles. "Something about its body."

I took the goggles to have a look and got a surprise. "Yeah...are those...?"

"Boobs? Looks like it." Will smothered a laugh. "I think it may be a girl."

It was hard to tell from our hiding spot behind a log a hundred yards away, but this Bear appeared smaller than the first few I'd hunted. Its arms and legs weren't as thick and its fur was longer. I could see the strands blowing in the wind. Its profile was bumpy, too. Like Will said, the thing had boobs.

"That's not something you see every day." I zoomed in and watched her pick a bone clean with precise bites. "Wait, what's she eating? Those don't look like animal bones."

I refocused the scope to get a better look. In the weird, green light of the goggles, I saw a pile of rags lying next to a torn up hiking boot. A boot with a piece of bone sticking out of it. I gagged and covered my mouth.

Will snatched the goggles from me. "It's...it's a hiker, man! Holy crap, I see a skull. A human skull!"

Any remorse I might have had about hunting a girl died in that moment. That man-eating chick was going down.

I packed up the goggles and put the knife into my thigh pocket. "So here's the plan. Let's get closer, then I'll stake out a spot in the trees along the trail. Are you up for flushing her out and leading her my direction?"

"Yeah," Will said, a grim smile on his face. "That's better than 'get down, man, and stay there.' I want in on this fight."

"I learned my lesson on the last hunt." I scanned the trees for a good hiding place. "That flashlight trick saved my butt. C'mon, let's go get her."

We sneaked closer until I found a spot between two pines that twisted together at the top. There was a gap deep in the shadows, with good access to the trail. I climbed into the gap and wedged myself in.

"All right, ready."

Will shook his head. "You sure you can jump out of there fast enough? I'm not interested in becoming breakfast if you miss."

"I'm good. Let's do this." I got the knife out and it buzzed. "Knife says go, too."

"Fine," Will muttered. "Be on the lookout. I'm not going to stop once she gives chase."

"Understood," I said. "Guess all those wind sprints Coach made you run are worth it now, huh?"

Will squared his shoulders and made his way down the trail. This Bear was slighter in build than the males. She didn't look more than seven feet tall, but her claws were longer and her snout was more angular with smaller tusks. Her dark, shiny coat even looked like it had been brushed. She also didn't bluster around like the others had. Instead, she prowled the edge of the clearing before sitting down next to a neat pile of bones to finish eating dinner. Her eyes scanned the tree-line before she took each bite. At least there wasn't enough left to recognize that her meal was hiker stew.

Even knowing she was eating a person, somehow I couldn't believe this was the "Bigfoot" the hikers had seen. She acted too cautious to go out in daylight. There had to be more monsters actively roaming around here. It looked like we had our full thirteen, just like the other locations did. Not a cheery thought.

By now, Will was in position at the end of the trail. The She-Bear sat up straighter, nose twitching, like she smelled him. After a startled backward glance, he stepped into the clearing. The monster leapt to her feet with a screech that sounded like rusty gate hinges. Will stood very still for a breath, then turned and took off running up the trail. The She-Bear chased after him, shrieking. Will flew by me, a blur wearing camo, with the monster close behind.

I jumped from my hidey-hole, but snagged a toe on the roots growing up between the twisted trees. I fell flat on my face, and the beast tripped over me, sprawling out on the trail. I could hear Will's footsteps speeding away; he wasn't going to look back. I rolled fast and grabbed a tree branch to pull myself up. The monster sprang up with surprising grace, spinning around with a blur of claws.

A searing pain slashed across my left arm. The knife flashed an angry green. I stumbled back a few steps, holding my arm across my stomach. She used the time to tackle me. I hit the ground with a thud, my knife arm pinned underneath her body. Her weight crushed my chest until I couldn't breathe. I squirmed and gasped, trying to work free. With a snarl, she grabbed my shoulders and shook me, banging my head against the trail floor. The knife vibrated violently, but there was nothing I could do; it was trapped in my right hand.

I couldn't kill her.

Everything got dim. Was I dying? There wasn't any air. Nothing but heat and fur and weight pressing me into the ground. I closed my eyes. My body screamed for oxygen, but even that feeling was getting far away.

I was finished.

"Aaaahhhh!" A scream rang out in the night. My eyes popped open as a tree branch whacked the monster across the face. She rolled off of me.

Once I could breathe, I got hit with endorphins and everything focused bullet fast. I crawled out of the Bear's way just as Will swung the branch again, making contact with her paw. She caught the other end and yanked it from his hands. Before I could jump in to help, Will rushed her like she was a quarterback, wrapping her legs up. She teetered a moment, then they crashed to the ground.

"Stab her before she gets back up!" he yelled.

I didn't pause to think, just stabbed the She-Bear in the neck. Giving the knife a hard wrench, I slit her throat. Warm, sticky blood poured from the cut. She stopped struggling and the light in her eyes dulled then went dark.

Will rolled over flat on his back, wheezing. "I haven't run that fast in years, dude."

"I'm glad you did. I was about ten seconds away from white clouds and harp music." My voice sounded raw in my throat. I leaned against a tree, shaking like crazy. Now that the fight was over, my ribs ached and my arm burned. "She scratched me. Does it look bad?"

Will sat up and shined her flashlight on my forearm. Four claw marks tore through the coveralls, my sweatshirt and finally my skin. The wounds weren't too deep but I was bleeding.

"Well, I think we can get the bleeding stopped if we wrap it up, but you'll need to clean the scratches out good later," Will said.

After a clumsy patch job on my arm, we got to work on the carcass. Once she was hidden in a clump of dead juniper bushes, I marked the coordinates and we set out for the ATV, both of us ready to get home.

The trek back took forever. I didn't crawl through the window to the mudroom until after three a.m. Cold and filthy, I stripped off everything but my underwear and threw it all into the washer with three capfuls of detergent. Good thing Mom had gotten one of those super-quiet models and the bedrooms were on the opposite side of the house, because I wanted to get the blood out of my clothes before it stained. I put the knife on a pile of towels on the dryer then set the water temperature to hot before hitting the switch.

I leaned against the washer for a minute, completely worn out. My arm stung worse than before. All I wanted was to clean it up, take a shower and go to bed.

Then the light turned on.

"It's time you told me what's going on," Mamie said.

# Chapter Sixteen

Mamie was wearing the pink, velvety robe Mom had gotten her for Christmas. Her braids were frizzy—some of the hairs had popped loose in her sleep. She crossed her arms. "Well? Why are you in the mudroom at three in the morning?"

I grabbed a towel from on top of the dryer and flung it around my waist. "Geez, Mamie, I'm in my skivvies. Have some manners."

All she did was stand taller and tap her foot.

"I forgot I didn't have any clean jeans for tomorrow. I just threw some in the wash." I pointed at the machine, which picked that moment to thump like crazy and spit suds out the lid.

Mamie pushed me to one side and turned off the washer. She peered inside. "How much soap did you use? And...wait...what is _this_?" She held up my coveralls. They were covered with red and mustard-brown streaks.

She whipped her head around to stare at me. "There's only one pair of jeans in here, and I know the rest of yours are clean because Mom asked me to hang up laundry today. Where did you get these?" Mamie shook the wet coveralls. "This looks like blood, Matt."

I tried to hide my arm, but I didn't have enough towel to do that and keep my underwear covered. Still, Mamie didn't see the slash. She was looking at the dryer.

"Where'd this knife come from?" She reached for the handle.

"No! Don't touch it." I leapt in front of her, not caring about my underwear _or_ my arm anymore. "You can't touch it!"

I don't know how my face looked, but Mamie went all pale. "Okay. I won't touch it." She finally noticed I was bleeding. "What happened to your arm?"

"Long story," I said. "Can I get dressed first?"

She nodded slowly. "Go get cleaned up and I'll take a look at those scratches. Then we need to talk."

Eyes huge, Mamie wobbled out of the mudroom. I slumped against the dryer, thinking I'd had enough for one night.

* * *

Mamie sat on the side of my bed, staring into space. She didn't even look up when I sat down next to her. I was glad to be home and warm, wearing clean sweats, but telling my sister monsters were real and in Billings was going to be painful.

I handed her the box of first-aid stuff I kept in my storage tub, a present from Uncle Sam, courtesy of the 10th Airborne. "There's gauze, tape, antiseptic ointment, and anything else you need. I appreciate the help; it's hard for me to reach the cuts."

Mamie snapped out of her daze. "Let me take a look." She turned on my bedside lamp and put it down on the bed next to us. After examining my arm, she said, "Well, they're not so wide that you need stitches, but they'll probably scar."

I tried not to flinch like a wimp while she cleaned the scratches with a washcloth then smeared them with the antiseptic gel. She rooted around in the tub and came up with two big gauze pads, which she taped tightly over the wound.

"That ought to do it, but I'll need to change the bandages in the morning," she said. "Make sure you wear long sleeves for several days, if you don't want Mom to freak."

I packed up the first aid kit. "Thanks."

"Thanks, nothing. You owe me," she snapped. Mamie's wits were back. "What the hay is going on? And don't tell me you snuck out to toilet-paper someone's house and fell. It looks like an animal attacked you."

"I think it's time we called Uncle Mike," I said.

Mamie leaned forward with her eyes narrowed. "What does he have to do with you sneaking out and getting mauled by a coyote?"

"More than you might think." I stared at the floor. "Before we call Mike, I have to check in with someone else first."

"Check in with someone? At four in the morning?" Mamie asked.

"You'll need to be quiet, sis," I said, dialing Colonel Black.

She huffed and sat on my bed with her legs tightly crossed. Since Mom's room was downstairs and Brent wouldn't wake up for a nuclear blast, calling from my room would be safest, especially since I was about to let Mamie in on everything.

"Colonel Black here." He sounded surprisingly alert for the time.

"Yes, sir. It's Archer."

A sigh of relief on his end. "How'd it go? Did you get one?"

"Yes, sir. I'm sending you the coordinates from the GPS now. This one was female, sir. The scientists might find the body interesting."

"Coordinates? Body?" Mamie whispered, her voice incredulous. "Matt!"

I put my finger to my lips. She stood and paced with a really freaked out look on her face.

"Well done, well done," the colonel said. "You and Cruessan okay?"

"I got a little banged up, but nothing serious, sir." I couldn't let him know that my knees were still shaking from my brush with death. "See, told you having Will as my partner would work."

"So far," he said, sounding torn. "We'll test this out for another month. As long as you continue to be careful, got it?"

"Yes, sir," I said. "Thank you."

"Okay, then. The team will be up in two days to pick up the body. Want to ride along?" he asked.

"Unless you have trouble finding her, I'd just as soon not go, if that's okay," I said. The less I saw of the She-Bear, the better. "I'll send you an encrypted email with the full report tomorrow. I need some rest, sir."

The colonel's voice softened. "That's fine, son. I understand. Good work tonight."

I hit the end button on my phone. "Now we try to reach Mike."

"Matt, what have you gotten yourself into?" Mamie asked. "You're only fourteen."

I glared at her. "Fifteen in a month, and there's more to me than you know."

"Mike better have a good explanation, or I'm going straight to Mom." She started pacing again, while chewing on her fingernails.

I went to the computer and pulled up Twitter. I signed in with my code name, "camo424." Mike's was "desertflower424." We were supposed to be a married couple, which was really idiotic, but he told me one of the Military Intelligence people he knew had come up with it, saying it wouldn't draw attention to us.

Funny that this was the best way to get him. But with innocent messages like "the cat puked" or "I bought new sunglasses," Mike would know what was going on. He'd also get the messages right away, because his phone texted him when I posted something. I typed in, "Missing my sweetheart. Wish we could chat."

"What in the world are you doing?" Mamie asked, looking over my shoulder. "Missing my _sweetheart?_ "

"Just give it time. I'll explain everything soon."

We both stared at the screen, and I refreshed it every thirty seconds. After only five minutes, Mamie got anxious again. "Maybe he's sleeping," she said, "or on patrol or something."

I shook my head. "He just got there, and he's working at HQ for the next few weeks, planning operations. Plus, it's the middle of the day in Afghanistan."

The screen flashed, and DesertFlower424 wrote, "I'll phone soon, honey."

My PC had a camera. Before Mike left the country, one of Colonel Black's computer gurus had sent me a software application so I could send and receive encrypted video. I ran the video program and went through the three-step password process. A blue square about half the size of my twenty-inch monitor popped up in the middle of the screen.

"We're in. Now we wait for Mike to sign on," I said.

Mamie stood over my left shoulder. "How long –"

"What's up, Chief? Everything all right?" Mike adjusted the camera on his end and the picture zoomed in and out.

"Major, do you mind? You're making us seasick."

"Us? Cruessan there?" He leaned close to the screen and all we saw was the top of his head. But we didn't miss the groan. "Matt, you have some explaining to do."

Mamie had the stubborn look on her face again. "No, Uncle Mike, _you_ have some explaining to do. Why is my little brother sneaking out of the house in the dead of night and then calling someone to tell them were the 'bodies' are?"

"Matt..." Mike sounded exasperated with me. "Didn't we talk about covering your trail a little better?"

"Don't you dare blame him! He _was_ being careful. I just knew something was up, and I've been watching him close," Mamie barked, with her face in the camera. "So, let's hear the excuse."

"Mamie, if you'll calm down a second, I'll explain everything," Mike said. "It's a matter of national security."

"Oh, please. Matt's fourteen..."

"Almost fifteen," I muttered.

Mamie talked over me. "What could he possibly be involved in that's a matter of national security? I need to know why I shouldn't march downstairs right now and tell Mom."

She had her teeth in this one. But there was one way to get through to her—and we both knew what it was. Mike leaned back in his seat, saying, "Matt?"

Of course he'd leave the dirty work to me. "Because people will get killed." I squeezed Mamie's arm. "And in a really horrible way. They'd suffer before the end."

Mamie's own personal kryptonite—she couldn't stand to see a run-over animal, or a hurt baby bird, or a little kid with a broken arm. Her eyes got round. "Suffer?"

I nodded. We were so mean. "Yes. So before you rat me out to Mom, listen to Mike first, then decide if you're with us or not."

Mamie sank to her knees next to my chair, her eyes filling with tears. "Matt...what is all this? Why...?"

"It's a long story," Mike said, his voice gentle. "Daisy May...Matt's right. Give me a few minutes and I'll explain."

It took Mike half an hour to tell Mamie everything because she interrupted with a gazillion questions. To my surprise, she didn't freak. Instead she did a typical Mamie. She started planning.

"If the knives are bringing these creatures, how are we going to get rid of them so Matt doesn't have to hunt anymore? It sounds like a never-ending problem" Mamie said. "Maybe I should start researching occult religions."

Mike laughed. "Daisy May, I appreciate the gung-ho attitude, but we have Military Intelligence and the NSA working on it."

"There has to be something I can do to help," Mamie said, giving Mike the crossed-armed stare, the same one I'd gotten in the laundry room. "The sooner we figure this out, the better. I don't like the idea of Matt and Will roaming the countryside killing off walking nightmares, armed only with a magic knife."

"Mamie, give it a rest—enough with the mother-hen stuff," I growled. "I'm barely sixteen months younger than you, and I'm a whole lot tougher. I know what I'm doing." She was giving me a headache and I really wanted to go to bed.

She turned on me. "Oh, yeah? Then why did you get mauled by a bobcat?"

Mike gave me a sharp look. "You got hurt?"

Crap. "Just a scratch, Major. Don't worry about me. Please."

"Matt..." he said.

"Don't. Worry. About. Me." My voice was as firm as I could make it.

Mamie looked horrified. She opened her mouth to argue, but I stepped on her toes. She took the hint and shut up.

Mike sat quiet, watching us through his monitor. Finally, he said, "Be more careful. I'll check in soon. I'm sending a 'family email' home tomorrow...but give Dani and Brent an extra hug for me."

"Will do, sir," I said.

We heard a loud knock on Mike's end. He half stood, and we got an unnecessary zoom of the name patch on the pocket of his BDUs. A woman said something to him and he chuckled, then said, "Wouldn't miss it."

I'd heard that tone of voice before. There was a babe in the vicinity. Here we were trying to keep America safe from monsters and he was taking time out to flirt. I sighed loudly to get his attention.

Mike sat back down, looking mischievous. But his smile turned into a worried frown. "Gotta go, kids. Mamie–you wanted a job? Well, I have one for you. You're my inside man now; clear the path for Matt. Make sure Dani doesn't catch him. Can you do that?"

Mamie swallowed hard. I could tell how difficult this was for her. She was the most honest person I knew.

"Yeah, Uncle Mike," she said. "I'll do it."

He blew her a kiss. "Matt, I haven't had the chance to talk about your knife with the other wielders. Is it still acting strange?"

"Yeah. It, um, talks to me...gives me directions a little bit."

His jaw dropped. "Talks? How?"

"Buzzes and stuff. Lets me know when it's ready to fight. That kind of thing."

Now Mamie was staring at me, too. I fidgeted some as the room filled with a bloated silence.

"I'll see if I can get in touch with one of them," Mike said. "We'll figure it out. Maybe the other knives are doing the same thing." He sighed. "I have to run. Love you, guys. Hang in there."

The screen went blank.

"The knife can _talk?"_ Mamie asked. After all the news, she took the monsters in stride, but a talking knife freaked her out. Sometimes I wondered what made my sister tick.

"Yep." I stood and looked Mamie in the eye, astonished I could. In fact, I was taller than she was. When had that happened? Too tired to think much about it, I said, "Welcome to the team, sis. Now let me go to bed."

# Chapter Seventeen

For the next few weeks, I hunted on a regular basis while Mamie did research on every combination of things she could think of related to monsters, ancient religions, Peruvian knives and the occult. She dragged me into her room to discuss it one Saturday afternoon. Everything in Mamie-ville was crazy neat. Her bed, covered with a bright patchwork quilt, was made to perfection with hospital corners. She even had the books in her floor-to-ceiling bookcase arranged alphabetically by author. Sick, really.

"The Incans and pre-Incan tribes in Peru have been making special knives for ages," she said. "Metal alloy even. But there's no mention of any of them having supernatural properties."

I shrugged. "I guess that's not too surprising, right?"

She typed on her laptop. "I'll keep looking. There has to be a common thread between the knives and evil spirits here somewhere."

Once she got her teeth into something, she just didn't let go. I had to admire that, even if it was a little funny that she was trying to outsmart the United States Army.

"Thanks for being in on this with me," I said. "It's nice to have backup inside the house."

She blushed a little. "I promised Mom I'd help watch out for you, and I will. It's just...a little tougher now. But I'm up for it."

"I know you are." I left her to her research and wandered downstairs for a snack.

"Dude, you waiting for a flood or something?" Brent asked. He had beaten me to snack time and was halfway through a peanut butter sandwich.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I pulled the milk jug out of the fridge and joined him at the table. "Quit hogging the bread."

Brent rolled his eyes and shoved the bread and peanut butter my way. "Your jeans, stupid. They're a good inch too short. I can see sock between the pant leg and your sneakers." He got up to take a closer look at my clothes before I could sit to make a sandwich. "And your shirt sleeves barely reach your wrists."

He yelled in the direction of the living room, "Mom, you need to buy Matt some clothes."

"Nice try, Brent. I already told you I wasn't going to buy that leather jacket for you." Mom walked into the kitchen, shaking her head, and came face-to-face with me. I was as tall as she was. Her eyes widened. "My goodness, Matt. I knew you were growing, but..."

She grabbed a green Sharpie from the pen holder, then marched to the door leading to the mudroom hallway. "Kick off your shoes. Let's see how much you've grown."

I bent down to untie my laces, noticing my big toes were pushing the front of my sneakers. I'd only had these shoes a few months. Wondering what else we'd find, I followed Mom to the doorway.

Mom always measured us against the doorjamb on our birthdays and marked down our heights. Brent's marks were blue, Mamie's were hot pink, mine were green. My birthday was still three weeks away, but close enough.

She stood me against the marked up wood. "Feet flat, stand up tall."

The pen slid across the crown of my head as she drew a line. She had me step away. We all stared at the green marks in shock. The difference between my measurement last year and this year was a little more than five inches. The funny thing? I'd been to the doctor at the end of September and they'd checked my height. I'd only grown a half-inch since my last birthday. All this new growth had come since October—after I found the knife.

I'd grown five inches in just three months?

Mom gave me a once-over. "Good gracious, sweetheart. No wonder I've had to buy so much peanut butter." She got her purse from the window seat by the dinner table and handed Brent a credit card. "Why don't you take Matt shopping. Don't spend too much, or you'll have to take some of it back."

I barely heard Brent gripe about having to drive me. Five inches. I'd never had a big growth spurt like this. Mike would say I was due to sprout. But maybe it was something else.

Maybe I was evolving, just like the monsters.

Despite his complaining, Brent took me to the mall that afternoon. We passed my regular stores and headed for where he shopped.

"Dude, you're five-nine now. I think we're done with kiddie clothes." He looked me up and down. "You gotta stop dressing like a dork. How do you expect to get a girlfriend wearing nothing but sweatshirts and track pants?"

I shoved him for calling me a dork. Brent seemed impressed that I was actually able to move him, but he still shoved me back. "Hey, you weighed yourself recently?" he asked. "You've put on some muscle."

"What, embarrassed that the 'dork' can knock you around?" I said. He kept staring until I squirmed. "I haven't weighed myself in a while. At the doctor's last fall, I weighed about one-oh-seven."

At that, Brent threw back his head and laughed. "One-oh-seven? That's what girls weigh. C'mon."

He dragged me over to one of those mall scales, the kind you feed quarters into, and made me climb on. We watched the numbers tick-tick-tick upward.

"A buck-forty-five. Not sure how it happened, but you've put on almost forty pounds since then." Brent reached out and grabbed my bicep. "Whatever Cruessan is having you do to train is working. Maybe we'll make you into a jock yet. Let's get you some clothes that fit, and see how you look then."

Shopping with Brent was weird. He tossed out half the t-shirts I'd picked, loading me down with polos and sweaters instead. He also made me try on everything while he flirted with the salesgirl. By the time he was done with me, I almost didn't recognize myself in the dressing room mirror, wearing new jeans and a button-down shirt. I looked a lot older. And I liked it.

"Thanks, man. This is the first time shopping hasn't sucked," I said, hoisting the shopping bags into the trunk of his Toyota after we left the mall.

Brent laughed. "That's 'cause you go with Mom and she buys you 'practical' clothes. Screw that. Oh, and don't ever let Mamie help you pick out an outfit." He poked a finger at his chest. "She tried to convince me that I would look good in a sweater with a _dog_ on it!"

"That'd get you beaten up," I said, with an emphatic nod. "No animal sweaters."

"No animal sweaters." Brent punched me in the shoulder and we drove home.

On Monday, I went to school in my new clothes. Will nodded in approval at the sight of me in a maroon crewneck sweater and jeans that fit.

"How come you didn't realize how much you'd grown?" he asked. "I've been watching you stretch since Thanksgiving."

I shrugged. "Too much on my mind, you know? It's not like I didn't know I was growing. I just didn't pay attention to my clothes."

We headed to homeroom. It got a little quiet when I came in; most of the girls in the class were staring at me and not trying to hide it. Even Ella did a double-take.

I stood by Mrs. Burns' desk, ten pairs of eyes trained on me. The girls were giggling, too—in a good way. Like they were embarrassed about staring but couldn't help themselves. I couldn't decide whether to roll up my sleeves and flex my biceps for all of them, or run for cover.

Will gave me a little shove toward my seat, whispering, "Nice entrance."

"I think I'm going back to sweatshirts and track pants starting tomorrow." My skin prickled as the girls turned in their seats to watch me walk to my desk.

"Oh, no, you aren't. You're milking this for all it's worth." Will grinned and left me to the wolves.

"Hey, Matt," a cheerleader named Sami said. She'd sat to my right all year, but hadn't spoken to me before.

"Uh, hi, Sami," I set my books down on my desk, completely tongue-tied.

She gave me a slow, flirty smile. "I thought I saw you and your brother at the mall Saturday. My older sister has the biggest crush on him. She's on the drill team, so she goes to all the football games. You know, maybe the four of us could—"

The bell rang before Sami could finish that thought and Mrs. Burns came in, barking, "Seats people, let's go. Enough chit chat. You too, Mr. Archer."

Embarrassed, I shrugged at Sami and sat down as fast as I could. Ella glared at her math book, her mouth set in a thin line. She didn't turn around to say hi.

Feeling bold, I tapped her on the shoulder. "Good weekend?"

Her ears turned pink. "It was decent." She glanced at me. Her cheeks were as pink as her ears. "I like your sweater."

Class started, but I hardly heard a word Mrs. Burns said.

Ella liked my sweater.

* * *

"You made a C in science? Matthew!" Mom put on her "stern" face as she read my semester report card. She sat on the edge of the living room couch and waved the paper around. "You need to spend a little more time on your homework, mister."

I yawned, too exhausted to care. I'd been on two hunts in the past week alone. Grades were low on the priority list when I had monsters to kill.

Mamie stood behind the couch, smiling sympathetically. "I'll help him study, Mom. Not to worry. We'll have him to an A in no time." She winked. Sometimes I really loved my sister.

"Thanks, sweetie. Matt, I know not having Uncle Mike here is hard on you. And with your dad gone..." She paused, looking startled to have mentioned him. "Um, well, the best thing to do is to keep busy. Focus on school—the time will go by faster."

Mom went to start dinner and Mamie sat down on the couch with me. "We have to figure out how to get you more rest. The colonel has you on a killer pace."

"Maybe, but people aren't getting attacked as often," I said. "That's because of me and Will. The Bears know we're out there hunting. We've taken out six more of them in the last three weeks. Only three to go."

I stretched. Man, I was wiped from bagging that nine-foot tall male with extra-mean claws last night. "I know what my problem is in science. My teacher is a total bore. I fall asleep in class, especially after a hunt. If you can help me study for tests, I think that'll be enough."

"I'll help you with school, as long as you promise to take it easy when you can." Mamie stood. "I hate worrying about you dying from exhaustion."

"As opposed to my dying from a paw to the head?" I grinned at her dismayed expression. "I'm just kidding, Mamie. Will and I haven't been given orders for tomorrow yet, so we're just gonna hang at his house. Have a lazy Saturday for once." I yawned again. Lame as it sounded to go to bed before nine on a Friday, I thought I'd do it anyway.

She patted my shoulder. "Good."

After an uninterrupted night's sleep, I spent Saturday playing _Call of Duty_ with Will at his house, hanging around just in case Colonel Black called. He didn't, so I left Will's at five to go home for dinner. I had biked about halfway there when I spotted a group of guys in Greenhill letter jackets hanging out on the sidewalk at the edge of Will's neighborhood. I slowed down to hop the curb and ride around, but they jumped into the street after me.

"Funny meeting you here, Archer. And you're all alone...feeling tough now?" Carter said. He stood four paces back from my bike, letting the other three guys surround me. Two of them were my scowling buddies from the gym, Sanders and McCoy. How unsurprising.

"If feeling tough means taking you on, sure. But four on one...are you really that scared of me?" I glanced at the burly redhead holding my right handlebar. "Barton, I forgot you were Will's neighbor. What, you ladies wait around for me all day?"

Not the smartest thing I could have said, but the whole situation was stupid.

Barton grabbed the collar of my jacket and yanked me off my bike. I tumbled to my knees in the slushy street. He stood over me, laughing. I should've been scared. But I wasn't. Not even a little bit. Rage pulsed through my veins, soft at first, then getting stronger at the sight of their smirking faces.

Mike's voice shouted in my head, telling me to maintain discipline, but it was drowned out by the rushing in my ears. We weren't at school. It was four on one. Nobody in their right minds would blame me. I got up slowly and Barton looked shocked to see that I was taller than he was.

"Touch me again and I'll tear you apart," I growled.

Carter laughed, an ugly sound that ripped the cold air. "I'd pay real money to see you try. Barton, beat him down."

Barton must have wised up in the few seconds after I locked eyes with him. "No, man," he said, "you wanted Archer. We got him. He's all yours."

Carter turned pale, but he tried to play it off. "Fine by me."

He swaggered over and got right in my face. "Jenna had detention because of you. Mrs. Burns didn't say crap to you about yelling at Jenna, but she got punished. All because you wanted to protect that little..."

At that point, Carter made his biggest mistake yet. No way was I letting him get away with calling Ella _that_ name.

I lunged for him, but his friends grabbed my arms to hold me back. Carter took the opportunity to pop me in the cheek. I let myself go limp. He got one lick in—he wouldn't get more.

"Not so tough after all, are you?" Carter cocked his arm back, fist curled.

In a multiple attacker situation, you need to catch them off-guard. Fake them out, make them tangle up. It's all about controlling the fight. Force them to react to you.

Lieutenant Johnson had always given me good advice.

Carter threw his punch. I slid to the ground between the others before he made contact, dragging Barton into my spot. Carter's fist slammed into Barton's nose with a sickening crack and he fell to his knees next to me, blood pouring through his fingers. "You idiot—you broke my nose!"

One down.

"Dude, I'm sorry, I'm...sorry." Carter spluttered apologies and knelt down to check on Barton.

In the meantime, the other two came after me. Since I was already on the ground, I swept my leg behind McCoy's knees. He crashed down on top of Barton. As he slid off Barton's back, he accidentally kicked Carter in the side of the head before landing on the sidewalk with a thud. I hopped to my feet and backed up into Barton's yard. Sanders came running.

He tackled me and we collapsed onto the snowy grass, him on top of me. After my fights with the Bears, this didn't seem fair—Sanders wasn't even six feet tall, let alone eight. I got a knee under him and flipped him onto his back. Before he could get up, I rolled him onto his stomach, forcing his face into the snow, and wrenched his arms behind his back.

"Stay down, got it? We're done." I gave his arms a tug to make my point clear.

"Yeah, man. I'm done," Sanders squeaked. I let him go and he rolled around, moaning.

Carter and I stood up at the same time. He looked at his friends, all of them worse for wear, and clenched his jaw. It was just us.

"I'm gonna kill you, Archer," Carter said. "I mean it."

_Use your attacker's momentum against him_.

Carter lowered his head like a charging bull, probably convinced he had good line of sight, and rushed me. But I was faster than he bargained on. I sidestepped him and gave him a shove in the back. He tumbled into the snow, his arms barely breaking his fall in time. Not knowing when to quit, he scrambled back up and ran at me again.

I hauled off and rabbit-punched him in the kidneys as he was mid-stride. Carter staggered around the yard, his face purple.

But that wasn't enough for me. I was fighting years worth of torment—for myself and every other kid he'd knocked around. Anger pounded in my head. I was gonna finish this. I stalked Carter down and grabbed his collar.

"Don't you ever insult Ella again! You hear me?" I cocked my fist, ready to send him lights-out, when a car slammed on its brakes in the street.

"Matt!" Mamie screamed. "What are you doing!"

Brent was already out of the Toyota. "Matt, come here."

His voice stopped me dead—I'd never heard Brent bark like that. He sounded like Uncle Mike in Major Tannen mode and, with a jolt of fear, I let Carter go. He sank to the ground. Trembling with unsatisfied rage, I headed for the car. I stopped in front of Brent and said the only thing that made sense.

"They started it. Four on one."

He glanced at the bleeding kids lying in the snow, his forehead creased. "You okay?"

"Little bruised, that's all."

"All right...we'll talk about it when I'm finished cleaning up here. Go get in the car." He nodded to Mamie, who was staring at me like I'd grown horns and a pointed tail. "Mamie, drive him home. I'll bring his bike back after I sort this out."

I crawled into the car as Mamie went around to take Brent's seat. "We came to give you a ride. Mom's still working at home, so we were going out for pizza. Matt..." She trailed off, sounding choked. "All four of those boys are _bleeding_! And you were...."

Every cell in my body still wanted to jump out of the car and beat Carter to a pulp, but Mamie was freaked out enough already. I took a breath, trying to calm down. "It's okay, Mamie. It's okay."

"But...the blood." Her hands shook on the steering wheel. "Your face, the expression you had. You looked like...like a killer." She snapped her mouth shut, like she wanted to swallow the last word.

I put my head in my bloody, bruised, dirt-covered hands. "That's because I am."

# Chapter Eighteen

The fallout from my fight with Carter's gang wasn't pleasant, but it could've been worse. To my surprise, neither Brent nor Mamie said a word to Mom. Mamie was quiet on the drive home, but by the time we made it to the house she didn't seem all that scared of me anymore. She diverted Mom, keeping her in her office so I could go up for a shower without showing off my battle scars. I stared at my soap dish, hot water thumping my shoulders, wishing I could stay in here forever. Then Mamie knocked, disrupting that plan. She wouldn't let me put her off for long, I knew that much, and eventually the hot water would run out. I turned off the shower; time to face the music.

It wasn't late but I put on fleece pj pants and a t-shirt anyway. I didn't have a reason to dress up on a Saturday night—what exciting lives monster hunters led. Feeling very alone for some reason, I took one last look at the bruise Carter had given me, then sighed and opened the door.

Mamie was waiting for me just outside the bathroom, first aid kit in hand. She steered me toward my bed and went to work on my busted knuckles. "Matt, are you okay?"

For once, I didn't mind being smothered with concern. I needed it. "I don't know."

Mamie finished wrapping my right hand and gave me an ice-pack for the bruise on my cheek. "Maybe you should get some rest tonight," she said. "If the colonel calls, I'll tell him to shove off."

I tried to laugh—it came out as more of a grunt. "He probably won't call, but I'd give anything to hear _you_ tell an officer to shove off."

She stood and put her hands on her hips, looking like a pigtailed version of _Wonder Woman_. "There's more to me than you know." With a wink, she left.

It took me a little bit to realize she was repeating my own words back to me, from the night she found out about my job. Then I really did laugh.

When Brent brought my bike home, he dragged me out to the garage. "Those kids are a mess. The guy with the broken nose is the only one you _didn't_ maim! How the hell did you manage to fend off four guys at once?" He didn't sound pissed. He sounded impressed. "I mean, that kid, McCoy? He almost busted his tailbone on the sidewalk. Thought I was going to have to take him to the ER, but it turned out to be a bruise. He's gonna walk with a limp for a few weeks, though."

I'd nearly sent one of them to the hospital. Great. "They surrounded me and were planning to hold me down so Carter could beat the crap out of me. I guess adrenaline kicked in." Now that it was over, I felt a little sick about the whole thing, even if I was right. "Carter's been riding me all year. I must've just snapped."

Brent raked his hands through his hair. When he spoke again, his voice was softer. "Bullies suck. That's a universal truth. I _was_ one for a while, so I know." He closed his eyes and his face twisted with pain at some memory I knew I'd never hear about. "I'm glad you took it to them. Guys like that deserve a trashing every once in a while. Does wonders to have your ego deflated."

I stared at my feet. "Yeah, I guess."

Brent gave my arm a tug to make me look at him. "If they bother you again, tell me, okay?"

"Okay."

"With Uncle Mike gone, I'm the closest thing to a man you have around," he said. "I'm trusting you to let me know if you need back-up. Even if it's just to clean up the mess afterwards." Brent let go of my arm. "I told those morons I'd call their parents if they claimed you started it. I think they're embarrassed about losing a four-on-one fight. Trust me, they won't say anything."

"Thanks for stopping me today. I probably would've really hurt them if you hadn't been there. No telling how much trouble I would've been in then." I stuck out my hand, feeling it was more adult to shake on it.

Brent grabbed my hand, then surprised me by pulling me into a guy-hug. "You're welcome, butthead." He let me go with a shove and we laughed when I stumbled into Mom's van. "You're gonna have to tell me where you learned to fight like that."

"Self-defense class," I said. Taught by Green Berets, but what Brent didn't know wouldn't kill him. "Came in handy."

Brent started at me, a disbelieving, but proud, smile on his face. "No kidding. I'm going to pick up some pizza. You're probably starving after burning all those calories."

I smiled back, feeling my appetite return. "Get me a large Supreme. Extra cheese."

* * *

My birthday, February tenth, rolled in. It was a Monday, and the day didn't start off too well. I didn't hear my alarm and overslept, my locker door got stuck so bad that I was late to homeroom, and I slipped in the hall after second period, earning a round of applause as my butt hit the floor. Things didn't improve at lunch. The cafeteria wasn't serving anything I liked—not even Salisbury steak. That was the last straw. After getting a tray of soggy eggplant parmesan and canned corn, I stomped over to Will and flung myself into a chair.

"Dude, cheer up. It's your birthday! Hey, I brought something for you." Will dug around in his backpack and pulled out a little cardboard box. "Millicent made it, but I did the words."

He'd brought me a chocolate cupcake. "#1 Monster Hunter" was written in icing on the top in Will's barely legible scrawl.

"Thanks, man," I said. "I mean it." I pushed my tray away without eating anything and started on my dessert. Will's housekeeper was an awesome baker; the cupcake melted on my tongue.

"Glad you like it. I tried to talk her into making you a bourbon cake, but she didn't think that was such a good idea." Will grinned at me.

I felt my bad mood shake off a little. "Probably not. The chocolate's enough to help, though." I crammed another huge bite into my mouth. "This morning sucked. I gotta figure out a way to make the afternoon better."

"No kidding. You look like your dog died," Will said, prodding his meatloaf with a fork. "What's in this stuff?"

"The parts of the cow that got leftover after they cut it up for steaks." I shook my head in disgust. "So any ideas on how to improve my day?"

Will looked around the cafeteria. "Yeah. Lick the icing off your teeth and go ask Ella out." He nodded in the general vicinity of her usual table.

A bolt of heat ran through my chest. "Hmm. Let me think. I'm already in a bad mood. Getting shot down on my birthday isn't going to help."

"Enough," Will said firmly. "We're doing this. Besides, Tasha's with her. I haven't had the chance to drool today."

Tasha, Ella's new BFF, had mocha skin, shining black hair and the attention of a half-dozen guys at any one time. That wouldn't stop Will, though. After running his fingers through his hair, he hopped to his feet, then swaggered to Ella's table without waiting for any more excuses.

I sank down in my chair, feeling the flush in my chest spread up my neck to my face. Will knelt down between Ella and Tasha. Ella was facing my direction; she nodded a few times while he talked, then stood. Will took her chair, still chatting up Tasha. Ella headed my way.

"So, it's your birthday, huh?" She plopped down in Will's chair. "Happy fifteen."

"Um, yeah, thanks." I gave her a nervous smile. How awesome would this birthday be if I finally asked her out? My ears started to steam.

She smiled back. "Will says you're having a tough day. You okay?"

My best bud was either a genius or a snotrag. "Better now."

Wow, that was smooth. Ella must've thought so, too, because she giggled. Either that, or she was laughing at my attempt at charm. I decided to believe the former; it _was_ my birthday, after all.

The bell rang, warning us we had ten minutes until fourth period. In a fit of courage, I asked, "Can I walk you to class?"

Ella blushed. "Sure."

On our way out, Will jerked his chin at me in a cocky way. If this worked, he was going to have a swelled head for days.

Ella and I wound our way down the crowded hall, toward her next class. Totally nervous, my insides squirmed as if my birthday cupcake had been laced with live worms.

"Um, so you have Mr. Todd for science, too?" I blurted out. Not much in the way of small talk, but my mouth had gone dry and I couldn't think of anything more creative.

Ella nodded. "Boring, isn't he? Having him right after lunch, while I'm going into food coma, is the worst. I think I've fallen asleep six times this year."

That little exchange had been enough to get her to the classroom. "Thanks for walking me to class, Matt," she said. "Have a happier birthday, 'kay?"

She turned toward the door. It was now or back to square one. I put a hand on her sleeve. "Ella, wait. Will you, uh, would you...Um, it's Valentine's Day on Friday. How about a movie? I mean, going to a movie...with me."

That had to go down as the worst asking-out ever played. And it went downhill from there.

Ella's face turned pink, then hot-pink, then red. "Oh, um, that...I'm really sorry, Matt, but I already have plans."

My lungs filled with acidy air. Another guy had beaten me to the punch.

But she went on, "My sister's in town, home from college, and she just broke up with her boyfriend, so I said I'd be her Valentine's date. Some other time, maybe?"

"Yeah...of course. Sure. That's nice of you to take care of your sister like that. Totally understand." Once I finished babbling, I stared at the floor, not sure how to break away and run down the hall in freakish misery.

Ella touched my hand. Looking sad, she said, "Thanks for asking. It was really sweet." She gave my fingers a little squeeze then went into the classroom.

I couldn't decide if that was good or bad. Was she letting me down easy? Or was she sorry she couldn't go out with me? With five minutes left to clear my head before class started, I headed toward my locker without watching where I was going. Lost, I bumped someone with my shoulder. I stopped to apologize, only to find out that I'd run into Carter. He didn't have the chance to wipe the arrogant smirk off his face before I caught it.

My fists curled on their own. The sting of getting turned down by Ella and knowing Carter saw it happen snapped something in my middle. A red curtain drifted across my vision.

I locked eyes with him. "What? You got something to say?"

Carter's jaw twitched. Probably deciding whether to fight or back down. "Tough luck with Ella."

It wasn't hard to miss the sarcasm in his tone and I took step toward him. "Say that again. I dare you."

It'd feel good to take some of my frustration out on this assclown. Dangerously close to forgetting every promise I'd made to Mike, I shifted my stance—bending my knees a little and turning my body away from him, so I was less of a target.

"It'd be nice to use you for a punching bag," I said. "C'mon, give me a reason."

Carter clamped his mouth shut and set off in the opposite direction. I started after him, but big hands grabbed my shoulders, holding me in place.

"No, Matt," Will said. "You'd hurt him. Let it go." His voice was low and calm, but full of iron, too.

I stopped struggling, but Will held onto my shoulders until Carter turned the corner at the end of the hall, then marched me to my locker. "What was that all about? You know we can't afford to get in trouble."

My blood pressure shot up again. He had no right to tell me what to do. "Piss off."

Will's face went completely blank. Even if I kept pushing, I knew he wouldn't engage. He folded his arms across his chest and asked, "What happened?"

When I told him about Ella, Will's kicked the locker next to mine. "I'm sorry, man. That was my fault for setting you up."

And I was being a total jerk. No matter how short my fuse had become recently, I shouldn't take it out on my best friend. I got my books and took a long, slow breath. "You just gave me a nudge. I needed one. Don't worry about it."

"I'm gonna worry about it, but that's my problem," Will said. "Just take it easy, okay? Carter's a turd—we both know that—but, bad day or not, neither of us can afford to get suspended. There's too much at stake."

With a quick nod, Will strolled off for class. After one last deep breath, I did too.

History was pretty awkward. Based on her flushed cheeks and shaking fingers, I figured Ella had heard all about my run-in with Carter. Neither of us spoke as I settled into my desk next to her and both of us paid strict attention to Mr. Anderson throughout class. I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye a couple of times; she looked kind of miserable. I vowed never to put her on the spot like that again. If I was meant to get another chance with her, it'd have to happen on its own.

When the bell rang, I gathered up my books, then fled the room as fast as I could. I couldn't stand to see Ella upset. I wanted to leave school, Carter, and my screwed up love-life behind and start over. Will was right. The knife counted on me. So did Colonel Black and the rest of the team. I had to keep it together.

As of now, I would.

* * *

I trudged home from the bus stop because both Brent and Mamie had stuff to do after school and couldn't drive me. We'd gotten more snow during the day and the sidewalks weren't clear. Slush slopped over my already-too-small new sneakers and into my socks. Seemed about right.

After I struggled to our driveway, I checked the mail. No card from Dad. That was to be expected after he ignored Mamie's birthday, but it still hurt. If that butthole had any idea what I was up to these days, if he knew I was already more of a man than he was, he'd see that I wasn't worthless, a mistake.

I drifted on those bitter, ugly thoughts all evening, even while my family sang "Happy Birthday" over my candlelit cake. Mom had moved her laptop onto the foot of the kitchen table, so Mike could sing along with them via streaming video. That didn't cheer me up, either.

"Blow out your candles, dude," Will said. He had one of those stupid, paper-cone party hats on his head and his grin was too wide. I could tell he was trying to make amends for the Ella disaster, refusing to believe I'd already let him off the hook.

Not sure how to tell anyone just how bad, how anxious, how confused I felt, I forced a smile and blew out all fifteen candles in one gust. Mom bustled off to cut the cake, and Brent's hands disappeared under the table. He had his cell phone hidden in his lap; his newest girlfriend required a lot of attention. Then Mike's connection got lost, so Will went to the laptop to see if he could fix it. I slumped in my chair, grateful that most of the attention was diverted.

Mamie stared at me, a concerned frown on her face. She had radar for bad moods; either that or she knew me too dang well. After glancing about, she scooted her chair closer to mine. Her voice low, she asked, "Matt, what's wrong?"

"Girl trouble." Maybe those two words would spare me a longer explanation. It worked before.

"It'll get better, it always does." She paused, pulling at the fringe on our tablecloth. "He missed mine, too."

When she looked up, her eyes were bright with unshed tears. "You have so much to do, so much responsibility. The things you've seen...I worry about you all the time. Just remember, even if Dad forgets, we still love you."

Mom and Will drifted back to their seats, and the celebration went on. As I opened the new hiking boots Mom had bought me as a birthday gift, I was able to suck it up and have some fun.

Thanks to Mamie.

# Chapter Nineteen

The rest of the week dragged by. The weather warmed up into the low fifties during the day, and the sun melted most of the snow. Winter wasn't over, the Groundhog told us that much, but it felt good to get a break. Even better, Carter steered clear and Ella was able to talk to me without blushing again. I finally relaxed some.

Then the Army called.

"Happy Birthday, Archer. Sorry I'm a few days late. How about Happy Valentine's Day instead?" Colonel Black said. "I'm afraid I don't have such a good present, though."

At least he'd waited until after dinner. I flopped onto my bed and rubbed my temples. "That's no surprise. But I'm ready to get to work. What've we got?"

"Sightings of Bigfoot again. And there's more. Three hikers, college students, disappeared over the weekend. No remains. The FBI put me on alert once they determined there wasn't any 'human' explanation for the disappearances." Colonel Black sounded tired. "So you're up."

"Yes, sir. Find the beast, take it out."

"Archer..." There was a long pause. "Have the Bears done anything more advanced recently? Like built shelters or pack hunt? Or shown signs of increased vocabulary?"

"No, sir," I said. "All they've said is 'mun' for man, and yes or no. They still lumber around, too. A few of them, especially the females, have been wily, but that's it."

"The other creatures are reaching near human vocabulary levels, and are working in teams. Since the Bears showed up months after the Gators and Pandas, we're trying to understand what their learning curve is." He sighed. "Please keep me apprised of any changes."

"Yes, sir. I'll send a report later tonight." Maybe we were lucky the Bears were still acting somewhat dense compared to the others, considering it was just me and Will out there.

After the briefing, I put my plans in motion. Since it was a Friday, sneaking out wasn't a problem; I just told Mom that Will had invited me to stay over. His parents would be out for Valentine's Day.

"That sounds nice, honey. Need a ride?" Mom had her purse and keys in hand before I answered.

"Yeah, that'd be great. Let me get my stuff." I hurried to my room for my hunting backpack and threw some clothes on top of the gear.

When we got to the Cruessan's, Will was ready for me, flinging his front door open before I rang the bell. "Millicent," he called, "Matt and I are going to play ping-pong in the garage for a few hours."

After a muffled okay from his housekeeper, we waited in the doorway until Mom pulled out of the driveway. Then Will led me around to the garage, singing, "Here we come to save the day!"

"Mighty Mouse?" I said. "Come on, man, give us more credit than that. I think Spiderman. Maybe even Batman, what with all the gadgets we have."

I checked the gas gauge on the ATV and made sure all the flashlights worked. "You know, it's not going to drop below freezing tonight, we don't have snow to deal with...good visibility, too. We're due for a smooth hunt, don't you think?"

"Great, you just jinxed us." Will opened the garage door and we trooped out into the night. "Now we'll have a catastrophe."

"Wasn't 'catastrophe' one of our vocabulary words last week?" I put my ski mask on, folding the brim back up over my eyes like a watch cap so I could see better.

He nodded and put on his ski mask, too. "'Catastrophe' is relevant to the situation, Matthew."

"Okay, Vocabulary King, let's get on with it." With a grunt, I popped the ATV into neutral and gave it a shove. "Less talking, more pushing."

When we got to the spot where we normally fired up the four-wheeler, the woods were silent. No owls hooting, no rustle of small animals foraging through the brush. Dead quiet. The hairs on the back of my neck prickled.

Will stood stiff, looking through the thick evergreens with a tense expression. He pointed into the woods. "I don't think we'll have to go far tonight."

I followed his gaze. The head of a deer was spiked onto a broken tree trunk. Its ears had been torn off. "Good God, look at that."

"Matt, we're less than half a mile from my house," Will said. "What if they start leaving the woods?"

"They haven't yet. Maybe they're too stupid to realize they can." I clapped him on the back to steady his nerves, wishing my own stomach would stop churning. "Let's leave the ATV here for now, track it on foot."

I searched the ground around the decapitated deer head with my flashlight. The footprints leading into the center of the forest were on the small side—about as big as my new size-ten boots.

"Dude, I think we got another girl."

"That makes my night," Will grumbled. "The last one was a handful."

"We'll get her," I said with more confidence than I felt.

The trail gave us a hard time. She-Bears usually moved with more caution than the males, so there were fewer broken plants to follow. We had to rely on faint footprints left in the damp mold and dirt. When I lost the trail for the third time, Will helped walk a perimeter, looking for fresh tracks.

"Ahh!"

I spun around to see the top of Will's head and outstretched arm disappear. Scrambling through the brush, I ran to find that he'd fallen into a crudely dug hole. I knelt down at the edge. "You okay?"

Will rolled from his side to his back, then sat up with a groan. "Yeah. Stupid hole was covered with branches and pine needles and surrounded by bushes. I didn't realize it was here until I fell in. There's rocks down here, too; the floor's really crunchy. Killed my back when I landed on them."

I shined my flashlight down into the hole and gasped. "Uh, listen, we need to get you out of there."

"Well, duh, Sherlock." Will stood up. The top of the pit was a good foot above his head. Cursing, he crouched, then jumped and caught the edge . With a grunt, he hauled himself onto his forearms, feet scrabbling for purchase on the walls. I grabbed him under the arms and helped pull him out of the hole.

Will brushed dirt off his chest. "Where did this thing come from anyway? Could've broken my leg or something."

Once he was safely on the ground, I showed him.

The bottom of the pit wasn't just littered with the branches used to cover it or rocks like Will thought. Human skulls, femurs and ribs covered the bottom. If I had to guess, Will had landed on a foot-deep pile of bones.

"Oh, oh, oh..." Will staggered away, shoulders heaving.

While he puked against a tree, I examined the workmanship of the pit. This wasn't like a dog burying a bone in the backyard. The edges weren't gouged with claw marks. The walls were smooth, like they'd dug it using their paws and a tool of some kind. The size and shape alone suggested a plan. A group of Bears had worked together to build it. The hole was both a disposal heap, and a trap.

They were advancing.

Trying not to freak, I said, "At least we know where some of the victims ended up. Now the families can bury their remains."

Will wiped his mouth. "We need to kill them faster. Before they start raiding gas stations and day care centers."

"Then let's go find our girl," I said.

We picked up the prints again. Around the next bend in the trees, the She-Bear tracks mingled with larger prints for while, then split up. Two trails in one night. We would be really out late.

"Which one do you want to go after first?" I asked.

"The girl. Get it over with," Will said.

I marked the spot in my GPS, so we could find the other tracks later, then set out after the She-Bear. Her trail led us downhill into a section of the woods I wasn't familiar with. The trees grew in weird clumps, with bare sandy spots every so often. We found her less than a half-mile away, in a perfectly circular clearing surrounded by tall pines. The only way in or out was a narrow trail.

The She-Bear had dark fur, splotched with lighter patches. She was also bigger than the first female we'd fought, with the longest tusks I'd seen yet. Her eyes shone green through my night-vision goggles, and she brushed her coat with sharply pointed claws. While I watched, she rose to sweep the clearing's floor with a dry pine branch. Once her spot was clean, she glanced around, her pointed ears swiveling. Seeming satisfied that everything was in order, she lay down with her back to us.

I passed Will the goggles. "You gotta see this."

He checked her out. "Dude, she's huge!"

"Did you see her sweeping up her spot?" I asked. "She had a broom! A broom!"

"Who cares if she's doing some early spring cleaning," Will said in a harsh whisper. He frowned and wrinkled his forehead like he was thinking hard. "We need a better plan than me flushing her out. Sneak attack, maybe?"

"Yeah...problem is, there are dead leaves all around that clearing and I'd have to come in from the back side, downwind from her," I said, stumped. "She'd hear or smell me long before I got close enough to take her out."

Will made a frustrated face. "Then don't get that close. Throw the knife at her."

I rolled my eyes. "You've seen me play darts. I miss the board half the time. Plus, I don't have six throwing-daggers on me like some Imperial assassin. If I miss, I'd have to chase down the knife with an angry Bear on my tail." I thought some more. "Maybe you could lead her into a trap?"

"What if she catches up this time? One of these days, the monster _will_ be faster than I am," Will said.

That gave me an idea. "Look in my bag. I brought some heavy-duty bungee cords with hooks on the ends. We'll string them across the trail, about shin high, and when you run past, jump the snare. She'll trip, then I'll land on her back and stab her."

"Worth a try." Will stood. "Let's go scout out a spot."

We crawled closer to the clearing, careful to stay upwind. The She-Bear was fast asleep; her snores sounded like a garbage disposal full of old pizza crusts. We didn't take any chances, though, stopping thirty paces from the clearing, in the shadow of two mature pines.

"This is it," Will whispered. "We tie the cord here, and you climb one of the trees then wait for us to pass by. You'll have to jump quick, before she gets up. Can you do that?"

"You saw how well climbing a tree worked last time. I should just hide behind one." I pointed to a deep shadow behind the larger of the two pines.

Will shook his head. "It's too open out here. If she sees you moving, she'll dodge the trap and kill you before you know she's there."

After some debate, we stretched the black bungee cord around the trees about knee-high, figuring that would catch the monster's shins. We strained to latch the hooks together, pulling the cord taut across the trail. In the dim light, the black cord was really hard to see if you weren't looking right at it. Satisfied, I climbed the tree and got settled, perching as far out on my branch as I dared.

"Okay. Ready," I whispered. The knife trembled in my thigh pocket. I pulled it out and it glowed blue. "So's the knife."

"Here goes nothing." Will jogged off to the mouth of the clearing and shouted, "Hey, Sleeping Beauty, what'cha doing?"

The Bear sat up with a start, whipping her head back and forth. Will waved at her and jumped up and down. She got to her feet slowly, like she was sizing him up.

"Mun."

I could see Will's back jerk nervously. Knowing they could talk didn't make it any easier to hear.

"Yeah, I'm a man," he called. "What are you? A walking carpet?"

She growled. That was a first. They usually shrieked or howled. But she growled low in her chest, a deep rumble that sounded like a hot-rod's engine. Cocking her head to one side, she crept toward Will, her ears pricked forward. Her tusks parted in what could have been a smile. Chills ran down my spine.

He needed to run, right the hell now.

Before I could warn him, the Bear leapt. With a yelp, Will turned and fled my direction. Somehow he kept his wits together enough to jump the bungee cord before running down the trail, totally freaked. The She-Bear ran after him at an astonishing speed. She was the fastest Bear I'd seen yet; if she didn't trip, we were both dead.

The knife buzzed in my hand.

"OOOF!" A sound like wind leaving bellows came from the monster, and my tree branch swayed as she hit our trap. She sprawled flat on her stomach, one ankle still caught on the bungee cord.

I jumped from the tree, knife at the ready, intending to land on her back. But she wasn't down for the count; she rolled over fast and I hit the dirt on my knees. I sprang up, then ducked as she swung a giant paw at my head. She rounded and slashed me across the collarbone, tearing my skin.

Ignoring the pain, I swung the knife, aiming for a torso strike. She danced away. Pausing just long enough to steal a pointed look at my knife, she took off running in the same direction as Will.

I chased her, huffing and puffing, but lost sight of her in the dark. After five minutes, I slowed, then stopped. The She-Bear was gone, I'd lost my wingman, and my lungs felt shredded. Out of ideas, I squatted down to take a drink of water. How in the world would I find Will? Had the monster caught up with him? Did my stupid idea get him killed out here somewhere?

No, I had to keep believing he was smart enough to hide from her. So I'd wait. Watch.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, I'd gotten worried enough to consider risking a text message to see if Will was safe when I heard footsteps pounding my direction. Certain it was the She-Bear coming back to find me, I scaled the nearest tree to watch the trail. Shouldn't have bothered, though—Will's wheezes could be heard from fifty feet away. I slid down the trunk and waved him down.

"Dude...I saw the...monster run by and...then you went by, too....I was...hiding off the trail....I can't believe...she ran away! She didn't even stop...and I'm sure she smelled me." Will sank down on the forest floor, laid flat on his back, and stretched his arms over his head.

"I can't believe it either. It was weird, man. She stared at the knife, like she knew what it was, and just took off," I said. "We need to find her. Let's go back to where the prints met up with the other monster's. If nothing else, we can look for it instead."

Will grunted. "Only plan we got."

We headed back to the original trail and picked up the larger monster's prints. After winding around the woods for an hour, we came to the edge of the state park where I'd camped with Mike. This creature had ventured into more populated areas, but we didn't find the Bear or its resting place.

"Think we need to call off the search, try again tomorrow?" Will asked. He wandered to the side of the trail, examining the brush for tracks.

I shrugged. "Maybe—"

There was a loud rustle to our right. With a roar, the She-Bear vaulted out of another camouflaged hole in the ground. She hit the ground running, coming for us. Swinging a giant forearm, she knocked Will off his feet. He flew backward and crashed into a pile of dead leaves.

She straightened up, glancing at the knife like before. A growl rattled in her throat. "Blade."

So they knew what I carried. My knees trembled as I stood ready for an assault. But she didn't move. Neither did I. It was an impasse.

Wits, decisiveness. That's what it takes, Archer.

Yes, sir.

Without thinking, I ran right at her. She reached out to grab me, but at the last minute I slid down on my hip like a base runner stealing second. I hurtled under her arms and through her legs. Before she could spin around, I stabbed the backs of her knees and butted her with my shoulder. Rolling hard, I got away before she crashed down on top of me, then finished her with a quick stab in the back.

Gasping, I staggered over to Will.

He sat up, rubbing the back of his head. "Man, that hurt."

"You lose consciousness?" I asked, checking his eyes for a dilated pupil with my penlight.

"No. Just had the wind knocked out of me and racked up a dozen more bruises." He took my offered hand and stood. "Can we call it a night, finish this hunt tomorrow? We're both pretty beat up."

A woman's screams pierced the air.

Will stiffened. "Guess not."

"Sounds like we've found the big one," I said, sheathing the knife. "Which way?"

He pointed northwest. "Campgrounds are that way. We should start there."

We ran through the pines, fighting branches and pine needles, to a campsite two-hundred yards away. Through the trees, I saw two young women, bundled up in ski jackets and watch caps, huddled together in the remains of a destroyed tent. Another monster, a big, solid-brown male, stood over them.

A bright LED lantern swung wildly from a tree branch above their heads, giving the scene a strobe effect. We'd never seen two monsters in one night, and the sight of that Bear hunched over the girls reminded me way too much of my camping trip with Mike. One girl crouched in front of the other one, waving a cast-iron camp skillet.

A shudder ran through me as the beast sniffed at them. I was surprised he hadn't killed them yet. They screamed louder, acting too scared to run. The first girl brandished her skillet. She got a good swing in, but the monster batted it away like a fly. The pan flew across the clearing and crashed into the bushes at the back of the campsite

Time to move.

As I started forward, Will grabbed my arm and spun me around. He pulled my ski mask down over my face. "They can't know who we are."

"Dude, I can't see well enough with this thing on," I rolled the mask back up. "I'll distract them, lead him away. You get the girls and run, okay? We'll meet here after I kill him."

"Put. Your. Mask. On," Will snapped.

"Get a grip! We don't have time for this" I said. The monster circled the girls, laughing. Like he was playing with his food before he ate it. I shifted through the trees. "Who cares if they see us? We gotta go!"

"You sit behind her every single day and you don't recognize the crazy lime-green ski jacket she's wearing?" Will pulled his mask over his face. "That's Ella, you moron!"

# Chapter Twenty

Ella!

Forgetting all my tactics, I slammed through the trees, pulling my mask in place as I ran. I skidded into the clearing in a shower of pine needles and ran straight for the monster.

"Hey, ugly," I called, making my voice as deep and tough as I could to disguise it. I yanked the knife from my thigh pocket. "You want to play? Let's see you pick on someone who likes a fight."

The Bear took a few steps away, frowning when I came between him and the girls.

"You coming after me, or what?" I asked. "I don't have all night."

Ella squeaked, but I didn't spare her a glance, concentrating on the big beast. He watched me, too, staring at the knife. Without warning, he pounced. Swiping a huge paw, he whacked me in the arm, knocking me off-balance. I landed hard on my hip; the knife flew out of my hand. The monster leapt my direction, claws extended.

_Thunk!_ The sound of metal hitting bone. The lid from a cast-iron Dutch oven rolled by.

The Bear turned back to the girls with a roar. I scrabbled in the dirt for the knife and pulled myself up, shoulders throbbing. Ella was on her knees, clutching a metal roasting fork. The other girl, who must've been Ella's sister, crouched in front of Ella, holding the Dutch oven like she planned to toss that, too. The sister's hands were shaking; the handle of the cook pot tapped an uneven rhythm against its side as it trembled.

Will's masked face appeared at the edge of the clearing. He gave me a quick nod. I took a deep breath, feeling the adrenaline take over.

"What, you're not gonna try to kill the blade-wielder? I know you know what this is." I held up the knife. "I'm the one who's been taking care of your friends. I'd want revenge if I were you. But maybe you're chicken."

The Bear's roar was joined by shrill screams from the girls. Will dove out of the bushes and reached for them. I ran into the trees as fast as I could. From the sound of breaking branches and pine cone grenades flying at my head, it was safe to assume the monster was giving chase. The trees grew denser, the path smaller, until needles were snagging my ski mask from both sides.

Just what I wanted.

I plowed ahead, ducking under as many branches as I could. The monster had a harder time getting through the tight space. He became tangled in the smaller, whip-like twigs while trying to shove his way through using brute strength. But the thinner wood wouldn't tear or crack—the twigs bent instead. Too angry to quit, he thrashed on until he was stuck in a spider-web of pine branches, the needles tangled in his fur.

After he stopped moving forward, I crawled on my belly and forearms through the little space below the branches. I got several yards away from the Bear, then lay flat on the ground, staring at his feet, to give my heart time to slow down. The monster couldn't move, sure, but I couldn't get close. The knife vibrated in my hand.

"I know, I know," I whispered back. "But short of playing darts and throwing you at him, we're momentarily hosed."

The knife shuddered violently.

I jumped. Was it responding to me or just excited for a kill? "Um, play darts?"

A long buzz.

"But I suck at darts. You'll probably end up lost."

I paused as the monster roared, sounding more like a lion than anything else. Whole trees swayed as he struggled to free himself.

An insistent buzz.

Maybe the knife knew more than I did. "Have it your way."

I stood. When the monster saw my face, he howled and spit and flailed about. "Kill mun! Et mun!"

"Nothing I haven't heard before," I shouted back. "Got anything new?"

"Hut gul. Hut gul, bad!" He chuckled and licked his lips. "Kill gul! Et gul, slow!"

Fury flooded my bloodstream. We'd see about him hurting Ella. Not if I was still alive and kicking.

"That was the wrong thing to say." I unsheathed the knife, shaking with anger. The handle glowed with ice-blue fire and I gave it a squeeze. "Hit your mark."

I flung it, putting all my fear for Ella into the throw. Like a heat-seeking missile, the knife danced through the branches, not catching on a single pine needle and drove into the monster's eye. There was a green flash, then the knife was still. And the monster was dead, its good eye dark and unseeing.

I dropped to the ground to catch my breath, wondering what was up with my knife. I got that it was magic, but what else? Knives didn't have guidance systems, yet this one had flown into the Bear's head like it was magnetically attracted to it. The knife's handle flickered blue, as if to remind me that I needed to collect it. Wearily, I pushed myself up.

With the way the Bear was hanging in the branches, I had no clue how we'd hide it. Heck, Colonel Black's team might have to cut down the trees to get it out. I crawled to the body and pulled the knife free, shuddering at the sight of brain, blood, and eyeball staining the blade. I cleaned it with some dried pine needles before heading for camp.

Making my way back to the clearing was harder than the trip out without panic to speed me up. The little camp was empty, but the girls had left firewood in the ring and I found a lighter in a pile of stuff that had been dumped on the ground. There was no telling when Will would return from taking Ella and her sister to safety. I was exhausted; a little rest sounded good, so I made a campfire. I spied a bag of marshmallows, still unopened and whole, and laughed. Kill a monster, have a s'more.

I found Ella's discarded roasting fork, popped three puffs onto the end and hung them over the flames. While they roasted, I pulled my ski mask off, enjoying the fresh air on my sweaty head. The marshmallows turned black and crusty and, with a contented sigh, I pulled one loose, stretching the trails of goo still stuck to the metal. I crammed it into my mouth before it cooled too much. When the goo hit my tongue, I groaned out loud. Sugar was exactly what I needed.

Although, that also meant my teeth were stuck together when Will called to me. I could see his shadow through the trees. He must've spotted the fire—dead giveaway as to who won the fight. I pried my teeth apart to give him crap about taking so long, when two shadows broke away from his.

"Uh, Ma-, um, we're coming back," Will shouted. "Is it safe?"

He knew it was—he was warning me to put my stupid mask back on. I turned around and pulled the wool over my sticky face. "Yeah, come on up."

Will led the two girls into the firelight. Ella had smudges of dirt on her thick, green ski jacket and her jeans. She'd lost her watch cap along the way. Auburn strings of hair hung in her face, having escaped her ponytail, and her cheeks were scraped. I wanted to touch the scrapes, tell her they'd get better. She was shaking so I led her to the campfire then eased her to the ground. A sleeping bag had survived the rampage. I draped it around her shoulders and tucked the ends under her legs.

"Thanks," she murmured. "Are you hurt?"

She touched the hole in my coveralls where the She-Bear had slashed my collarbone. Something like electric shock buzzed my body.

Trying not to react, I lowered my voice again and said, "Just a scratch. Don't even feel it."

But if she wanted to kiss it and make it better...my mind wandered and in a flash she grabbed the edge of my ski mask. Not quite as hysterical as she acted. Fast, too.

"Nice try." I jumped back. "No peeking."

The older girl stepped closer to the fire. She was at least twenty, tall and slim, with dark blonde hair in a tight braid and Ella's green eyes.

"We just got attacked by Bigfoot," the sister said, "and two teenagers dressed up like commandos came flying out of the bushes to rescue us." She crossed her arms. "I think we're owed a few answers, don't you?"

Ella snuggled deeper into her sleeping bag. "Alyssa, they saved our lives, maybe we should cut them a break." She smiled at me and it felt like the ground shifted under my feet. "Don't mind my sister. She gets mad when she's scared. The madder she gets, the closer she is to losing it. She needs to take it easy."

Alyssa, looking more than a little pale, crossed her arms tighter. "I'm fine."

"It's perfectly normal to be upset," Will said. "You've had a big shock."

Will kept using this deep, big-man voice, like we were superheroes "Aw shucks-ing" the damsels. I held in a laugh and took over before he got carried away. "We can't let you know who we are. This is part of a military operation...our identities have to stay secret." I crouched down next to Ella. "So do the monsters. If people find out, they'll panic."

But Alyssa wasn't giving up so easily. "You don't sound or look old enough to be real soldiers. How old are you? Seventeen? " Kind of flattering that she thought we were seventeen, but when we didn't answer her, she threw up her hands. "Ella, grab your stuff, we're leaving."

Will stepped in front of Alyssa. "We'll let you go. Just don't tell anyone what you saw."

Alyssa snorted and gave Will a shove. She was only a few inches shorter than he was, even if he outweighed her by forty or so pounds. "How could you stop me?" she asked. "You don't even know who we are."

Thinking fast, I grabbed a backpack and pulled the name tag off of it. "Ella Mitchell, 1153 Broadmoor Lane?"

Ella actually snickered as Alyssa stormed toward me and yanked the tag out of my hands. "Cretin!"

Will glanced at me. I shrugged. There were some people you couldn't please, life-saving heroics or not. I rubbed the back of my neck, really tired of the nonsense. "Look," I said, "telling people would only put lives in danger. Thrill-seekers would come hunting for the Bears. Help us out, okay?"

Alyssa stared at me with her mouth open. Her face went from pale to gray in the firelight.

"Bears? Wait – you called that...that... _thing_ a bear?" Alyssa started to sound hysterical. "And there are more of them?"

"That wasn't the only one, no. And they look like mutated grizzlies, so we code-named them Bears," I answered. They already knew the creatures existed, so I figured telling the rest wouldn't hurt. "But you can call it a monster, or Bigfoot. Whatever you want."

With that, Alyssa fainted.

* * *

Heaving a long sigh, Ella spread the sleeping bag around her sister. "Told you she was about to crack. She's all action until the danger's over then, poof, she collapses."

Alyssa didn't stay unconscious long, but she wasn't in any shape to move yet. She sat crossed-legged, staring at the fire. Will, with more finesse than I would've guessed, sat down and put an arm around her, murmuring who knew what in her ear. Alyssa curled up against him and laid her head on his chest. He winked at me, a half-smirk visible through the mouth hole of his mask. I couldn't get a date with a girl my own age, and there he was, cuddling with a twenty-year-old. Nice.

Once everyone was settled, I wandered off to call the colonel for some advice. "The She-Bear is hidden but the male's tangled up and so are we. I'm not sure what we need to do, other than send the girls on their way."

The colonel grunted. "That's quite a situation, Archer. You're just a magnet for trouble, aren't you?"

"Um...okay. Any ideas?" I asked.

"Sorry, son, I didn't mean to make light of your predicament. I'll try to pull a crew together tonight. If we rush deployment, I can have them there in six hours to cut the Bear down before anyone finds it."

"Thank you, sir. And about the girls? I mean, we never set protocol for meeting up with civilians."

"For now, make sure they get back to their vehicle safely," he said. "I'll send someone from Military Intelligence out to talk to the young ladies either tomorrow or Sunday. M.I. will debrief them and help them understand keeping the monsters secret is an issue of national security."

"Yes, sir. Thanks for the help." I ended the call and went to tell everyone the plan.

Will and I let the girls rest while we packed up camp and doused the fire. We salvaged what we could, but the tent was a total loss. Once we loaded everything into their utility wagon, I dragged it while Will walked Alyssa down the trail with his arm around her waist.

"She's still wobbly—she needs a hand," he'd said. I thought he was stretching things, but let it slide.

Ella walked with me. The trail was barely wide enough for the two-by-four wagon, so she stayed a few steps ahead and talked to me over her shoulder. "We're lucky you showed up. I thought we were dead."

Her voice shook. I fought an urge to wrap her up in a big hug. "I'm glad we got there in time."

"How did you do it? How'd you get rid of the monster?" she asked.

This wasn't a conversation I wanted to start. "Um, classified. Sorry. But you don't have to worry. It won't be coming back."

"Why you guys, though? I mean, you're both so young," she said. "The Army has tons of soldiers, adults, that can take care of this, without leaving it to a pair of teenagers. I can't believe they'd put you out here alone."

She stopped short to look at me and the cart banged into my ankles when I pulled up to keep from plowing into her. Her concern was touching, but the "adults" comment still stung.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," I snapped and Ella's face fell.

Me and my big, fat, stupid mouth.

"I'm sorry," I said, feeling my cheeks heat up under my ski mask. "I...didn't mean to....The rest of the team is deployed elsewhere. Montana is up to us, they can't spare any more personnel. But, I shouldn't have been rude. I'm just tired, or something."

"It's okay," she said, but I saw tears well up in her eyes. "After seeing you both in action, I should've....Sorry."

We walked in uncomfortable silence for a bit, then I asked, "So, why were you two camping in the middle of February? Not exactly the nicest time of year, even if it has warmed up some."

"It's not that cold. My dad took us camping at Yellowstone last Thanksgiving. Riding snowmobiles was awesome, but it got down to fourteen degrees one night. Thirty-seven is warm compared to that."

Ella was tougher than she looked. "No kidding. I couldn't have handled a fourteen degree campout."

"You're a wimp," she said. We laughed a little, but she still sounded sad. "We're camping because Alyssa just broke up with her boyfriend. She caught the jerk cheating. Anyway, he hates to camp. He hated to do pretty much everything she liked to do, and she wanted go camping to celebrate her freedom. Seemed like a fun idea at the time." Ella shuddered. "Who knew?"

We didn't talk again until we reached the parking lot. Alyssa drove a bright red Mazda sports car that screamed "speeding ticket." Will detached himself from Alyssa's side to help me load the trunk and back seat while the girls watched. Sounding really proud of himself, Will whispered, "Dude, this is so weird."

I glanced at Ella. She didn't seem as upset now and even smiled a little when she caught me looking. "Yeah. Weird."

We split up to make our goodbyes. Will acted all manly and strolled over to Alyssa with his chest puffed out. Too bad she was old enough to be his babysitter, because she was buying his act. Ella giggled before turning my way.

"Thank you both, very much. I wish you'd take your masks off, so we could say it face-to-face."

I wished I could, too—wouldn't that have rocked? "I can't. Trust me; it's enough that you're both safe."

I held the car door open for her. Before she got in, she brushed her lips against my wool-covered cheek. I thought I'd spontaneously combust. Secrecy sucked. With a cute smile, she settled into her seat and I closed her door.

Alyssa held her hand out to Will, saying, "Yes, thank you. Who knew a pair of eighteen-year-olds would end up saving our lives?"

We'd graduated from seventeen to eighteen. She must not have met very many tall guys to believe I was a senior like Brent, unnatural growth spurt or not. But Romeo over there had finally broken six feet in the last month and Alyssa only had eyes for Will.

Will took her hand and shook it. "Glad to help."

Again with the super-hero voice. I grunted in amusement.

Alyssa kept shaking his hand, smiling. "Oh, what the hell. It's Valentine's Day." She threw her arms around Will's neck and kissed him full on the mouth.

I cleared my throat. With an embarrassed smile, Alyssa pulled free and got into her car. We stood at the edge of the lot, waving as they backed out and drove away.

Once the taillights faded into the distance, I yanked off my mask and punched Will square in the arm. "Dude, are you kidding me?"

Will just grinned before strutting into the woods without saying a dang word.

# Chapter Twenty-One

The scratches on Ella's cheek were already healing by Monday. Her eyes still had a haunted look, but she smiled at me when she took her desk in Algebra.

"Good weekend?" she asked.

I couldn't even laugh at the irony. "It was okay. How about you? Did you have a...uh...good time with your sister?" I flushed. Was there any hope of talking to her without sounding like a dork unless I had a ski mask on?

She twisted her hands in her lap. "Not really."

I slid to the edge of my seat, holding my breath, and put a hand on her shoulder. "Anything I can do?"

Her lower lip quivered. "No, but thanks for asking."

The conversation was cut short by the bell. Mrs. Burns handed out a test on positive and negative polynomials. I couldn't concentrate and blew the exam, but it bugged me to see Ella so upset. Killing the monster for her wouldn't change the fact they existed.

When class ended, I stood before she could leave. "Let me walk you to class. You look kind of tired."

Ella blushed a deep pink, but nodded. We reached for her books at the same time and half of them slid off her desk and hit the floor. The corner of her math text landed hard on my foot. Dang thing would've broken my toe if I hadn't been wearing my hiking boots. Both of us bent to pick up the books and we bumped heads. So far, not the coolest attempt. We laughed.

"Sorry, let me get those." I said, then knelt to grab her math binder and book. The gauze covering my injured collarbone rubbed the scabs funny and I winced when I stood. "Okay, hand me the rest. I'll carry them for you."

Ella passed me her books, giving me a strange look. "Have you...been working out?"

Ha! I knew all that hard work would pay off. "Yeah, I go with Will after school a few times a week," I said, feeling proud my shirt was a little tight through the shoulders. Too bad it was too cold for short-sleeves or I could've put on a show.

She stared at my chest, blushing even more. "I, um, I can tell."

We walked to her next class together, me wearing a stupid smile the whole way. When she turned to get her books, Ella looked me up and down with a dazed expression.

"You're a lot taller, too. We used to be the same height, almost."

"Some, yeah." I stood up straight; the top of her head only came up to my chin now.

"Um, well, thanks for walking me." She patted my arm before disappearing into her classroom.

I spun on my heel and tried not to dance down the hall.

In history, she stared at me some more. I couldn't make myself pay attention to Mr. Anderson's lecture on Pearl Harbor. Ella was _staring_ at me. I kept my arms flexed to give her a better view.

When the final bell rang, she said, "Like your boots."

I'd spent the last forty minutes showing off my biceps, and she mentions my boots? What was it with girls and shoes? "Uh, thanks."

"Are they new? Usually you wear sneakers." She flashed me a little smile.

I melted inside. "I got them last week; birthday present from my mom."

She nodded thoughtfully. "They're nice."

After a little wave, she left me standing there feeling like I'd been knocked over the head. Ella had complimented me twice in one day. She'd even noticed that I wore sneakers most of the time. She _noticed_. I floated to Brent's car. He took one look at me and shook his head.

I walked Ella to second period every day after that. We'd say hi to each other at lunch, then bye at the end of the day in history. The fear in her eyes faded and she started acting like her old self. We even graduated from book-carrying to a quick hug before she went to class. I hadn't worked up the courage to ask her out again, but I felt like I was getting closer.

"Ask her to the lock-in," Will said while we ate lunch one Thursday. "I don't mind hanging with the other guys tomorrow night."

The Freshman Class overnight lock-in was a tradition at Greenhill. Held on the first Friday night of spring break, everyone turned up for it.

"She's already going with a group of girls. I missed my shot." I rested my chin on my hand, wondering if I'd get a date with Ella before I graduated high school.

"Find her tomorrow night and ask her then." Will finished off a handful of chips. "Simple."

"Weren't you the one going on and on about the 'moment' a few months ago?" I asked, pointing my pudding-covered spoon at him. "Well, I'm still waiting for my chance. And after getting shot down the last time I asked her out, don't you think I should take it slow?"

"Slow, not glacial." He leaned across the table. "Dude, sometimes you have to make your own moment."

"Kissing a twenty-year-old doesn't make you an expert on girls." When he sat up straighter in his chair and got a pissed-off look in his eye, I raised my hands. "Okay, okay. I'll ask her out at the lock-in."

I turned and caught Ella watching me from across the cafeteria. She smiled before turning back to her friends.

Maybe this wouldn't be as hard as it sounded.

* * *

The big lock-in was at the Bowl'n'Stuff party warehouse. The huge, square building contained a bowling alley with thirty lanes, a laser tag arena, video games and miniature golf. Making it all sweeter, Colonel Black had given me a pass from the sat-phone. I'd left it with Mamie, just in case someone called, but I was beyond thrilled to have a night off. I even dressed nice, in a long-sleeved blue polo. I drew the line at Axe, though, no matter what Brent said. Soap would have to do.

Mom dropped Will and me off at nine. "You two be good, okay? I'll be back at eight tomorrow morning to pick you up."

"Sure, Mom." I let her kiss my cheek.

"Wouldn't dream of misbehaving, Mrs. Archer," Will said, leaning his cheek her way. Mom laughed and gave him a peck, too.

"Suck up," I said.

We climbed out of the car to see what fun awaited. The whole place teemed with activity while a deejay made cheesy comments and played loud music. The bowling lanes were up front. A billiards room, a recessed bank of small, square lockers for jackets, and the snack bar sat directly across from the bowling alley. The arcade, golf course and laser tag room were in the back. The sounds of bowling balls rolling, games ringing, and friends yelling echoed off the walls.

In short, it rocked. And we got to stay all night.

I saw Ella playing miniature golf with a group of her friends and wandered that direction, not sure what I'd do when I got there. There must've been some kind of magnetic field leading me her way, that was the only explanation. Ella looked great, though. She was smiling and laughing, happier than I'd seen her in a while. I watched her for a minute. A strand of her hair got caught in her lip gloss when she took her turn to putt and I wished I could be the one to brush it away.

Will huffed out an impatient breath. "Seriously, we walked this far, and you're stopping _here?_ Dude, get over there!"

"Shut up and let me enjoy the view a minute," I said. Will shook his head, but didn't comment.

Ella caught me gawking and waved. My hiking boots suddenly felt cemented to the floor. Any notion I had about talking to her evaporated. Flushing, I waved back, then turned to go. Will grumbled something rude about tearing off a corner of my man card as we walked away.

"Matt, wait!" Ella called. She bounded over to me. Her girlfriends giggled and I broke into a sweat. "Do you and Will want to play golf with us?"

I checked out the five grinning girls standing behind her. "I, uh, don't want to interrupt your game. I'll...catch you later."

Cringing, I headed for the bowling lanes. An eruption of laughter followed us.

Will rolled his eyes. "Chicken."

"Bite me." I punched him in the kidney. "Seriously, why do girls giggle about everything?"

"One of those mysteries of life, dude." Will punched me back. "C'mon. Let's go find something else to do."

We teamed up with four other guys from homeroom and bowled. My accuracy had improved a bunch in the last year; I scored in the one-seventies both games.

Will shot me a look. "Guess all that weight-training and other 'stuff' helped."

"Guess so," I said, staring at the score sheet, pleased, but surprised. "What's next? Pool?"

"Yeah, that's good. I'm going for some pizza first, though. Want anything?" he asked.

"Nah, I'm okay. I'll go get the pool table set up while you're gone. Oh, ask if any of the other guys want to play a round with us," I said before heading for the billiards room.

"Midnight disco! Time for glow-bowl!" the deejay sang, sounding way too perky for twelve a.m. The overhead lights went out. Spotlights hit the disco balls and the ceiling danced with white spots. All the bowling lanes were backlit by black lights, making the fluorescent bowling balls glow in the dark. When the deejay cranked up the music, the bowlers cheered.

Pretty awesome, actually.

It was dark in the lobby outside the bowling alley, and my eyes hadn't adjusted yet. I felt my way along the wall, heading for the neon "Pool Hall" sign. As I passed the lockers, a pale hand reached out and grabbed my arm. I tensed up, wondering if Carter had been lying in wait for at the Bowl'n'Stuff.

"Matt, relax, it's me," Ella murmured.

She pulled me into the back corner of the locker bank. The forward rows hid us from the rest of the building. An emergency exit sign bathed her in red light and her hair spilled down her shoulders, glowing. She acted a little nervous, but excited, too. My heart pumped so hard I thought it would tear through my shirt.

It was finally the "moment."

"Sorry, you startled me." Dude, chill. "What's up?"

She looked down at the floor then back up at me through her eyelashes. I swear, girls must know what they're doing when they do stuff like that. "I've been hoping you'd come talk to me all night."

"You, uh, seemed busy with your friends. I didn't want to interrupt."

Ella cocked her head to one side. "We never seem to get a chance to be alone, do we?"

I flushed hot enough to melt lead. Good thing it was so dark. "So, um, we're alone now."

Not smooth. Not smooth at all.

She smiled mischievously. "Yes, we are. What should we do about that?"

"Maybe we should take advantage of the time." I tried to sound suave. Would've worked, too, if my voice hadn't cracked.

Ella smiled wider. "How?" She took a step toward me, standing mere inches away.

I thought my head might explode. "Why do you always answer questions with questions?"

"Why don't you shut up and kiss me?"

She didn't have to ask twice.

I gently pushed her back against the lockers and slid my arms around her waist. Her hair smelled like vanilla. New shampoo. I pulled her so close that I could count every freckle on her nose. Ella wound her arms around my neck. I closed my eyes.

Maybe I should've felt awkward, or nervous, but I didn't. Kissing her was easy. The words "die happy" ran through my head a few times, but mostly I blocked out everything but the feel of her mouth against mine.

Her hands drifted from around my neck and slid down to my shoulders, until she leaned her forearms against my chest. With fingertips as light as a butterfly, she reached inside the collar of my polo to trace my neck, eventually winding her way down to my collarbone. Her skin felt cool against mine and my heart raced. This thrill was like no hunt I'd ever been on.

Then I noticed she was tracing the same spot on my collarbone over and over.

The same spot the She-Bear had mauled only a few weeks before, where the scrapes had left a raised scar.

Startled, I broke off the kiss and took a step away. Ella nodded slowly. "It _was_ you."

I didn't know what to say. "Uh, I'm not sure what you're talking about?"

"You. In the woods three weeks ago." Ella put a hand over her mouth, staring into space like I wasn't there. "I knew it."

"Ella, I –"

She pointed at my collarbone. "You got hurt that night. I remember the slash marks, right there, on your chest. You winced when you picked up my books the next Monday. And your boots—you have red and black shoelaces on your boots. I recognized them. Plus, you're the exact same height and size as one of the guys in the woods. The one who pulled the wagon to the car."

Ella reached out tentatively, like she was scared I'd bolt, to trace the healing scars again. "You saved me and Alyssa. You and...Will! That was Will! I thought I recognized your voices, even when you disguised them. You fought off the monster so Will could rescue us."

There wasn't any use in lying to her now. "Yeah."

A dozen emotions crossed her face, eventually landing on wonder. "You saved my life."

"Will helped, but yes, I saved your life." Damn, that sounded awesome. "I couldn't let the monster get you. I'd try to save anyone in trouble, but you..." I brushed her hair off her face. "For you, I'd do it again, a hundred times."

Next thing I knew, Ella flung herself into my arms and kissed me hard enough to knock me back a few steps. I must've floated off to outer space, because it took me a minute to notice the lights were back on and that we had company.

"Sorry to interrupt," Will said, his pride at my success plastered all over his grinning face. "Been looking all over for you. Mamie's here. Says there's an issue; you may need to roll."

"Is this about the monsters?" Ella asked, her voice full of excitement. "Does Mamie know, too?"

Will's jaw dropped, but he clamped it shut to cover up his mistake. "What are you talking about, Ella?"

"Dude, you can stop pretending. She figured it out. My scars gave it away," I said.

Out of the blue, Ella burst into a fit of giggles. "Alyssa kissed Will!" She clutched at her sides, shaking. "My twenty-year-old sister kissed an ninth grader! Oh, my God. You're jail bait!"

With that, Ella started laughing so hard tears sprang into her eyes.

Will kicked at the floor. "Please don't tell her I'm only fifteen."

"Wouldn't dream of it. You have to know though, she has the biggest hero crush on you." Ella wiped her eyes, still grinning. "She's convinced you're eighteen and she's trying to find you."

Will squirmed even more. "Aw, Ella, c'mon. I don't want her to feel stupid or think I took advantage of her or anything. Just keep it a mystery. That's better than the truth."

"Your secrets, all of them, are safe with me." She leaned against my side. "We better go see what Mamie wants."

The three of us left the lockers, Ella holding my hand, and headed for the front. Mamie, who stood fidgeting just inside the doors, froze when she saw Ella. "Um, Matt, there's an issue, uh, at home. Nothing serious, I just need you to come with me."

"Mamie, it's okay, she knows. Give me a minute." I jerked my head at Will; he muttered something about ice cream and disappeared.

I dragged Ella over to a corner out of Mamie's line of sight. "I don't know what's up, but they've never come to get me like this before. When I get back, you want to go to the movies? Or lunch?"

Funny how easy the question came out now.

"I'd love to." She stood on her tiptoes and gave me a peck on the cheek. "Be careful, 'kay? You need to come back in one piece. We have a date, and I want to hear all about this monster business. Especially why you're working for the military."

"I'll be careful. Promise." I paused. There was one thing I had to know before I left. "Ella...about tonight, did you kiss me because...um, I mean..."

She smiled. "Matt, I didn't ask you to kiss me because of the monsters. I asked because I wanted you to. And I have for a long time." Ella squeezed my hand and left for the bowling alley, looking back once to wave.

After that, I wanted to skip around, singing, but the colonel needed me. Love had to wait—duty called.

# Chapter Twenty-Two

When I climbed into the back seat of the waiting black SUV, Mamie took a good look at me and rolled her eyes. "You have lip gloss all over your face."

"Archer, what were you up to in there?" A low, rumbling voice asked from the driver's seat, followed by a deep chuckle.

"Lieutenant Johnson?" I leaned over the console in between the front seats, shocked to see my fighting instructor in the parking lot outside the Bowl'n'Stuff.

"In the flesh, kid," he said, shifting his huge shoulders around to flash me a wide grin. He stuck out a large, brown hand to shake mine.

"How'd you get back so fast? The major is still overseas." Not that I wasn't glad to see Johnson, but why didn't Uncle Mike get to come home? Why was _he_ stuck in Afghanistan?

"Major Tannen's investigation is still ongoing, but they needed me back here. The colonel is sending me to Peru," Johnson said, then he laughed again. "Enough changing the subject. What did we interrupt?"

Too dang proud of myself to lie, I announced, "I was making out with Ella Mitchell."

"Well, it's about time," Mamie said. "You've been following her around for ages now."

I hardly heard her. I'd spotted my backpack sitting on the floorboard. The front pocket glowed blue in the dark. "What's going on? The colonel told me I got the night off."

"You're needed. We called the sat-phone and Mamie told us where you were," Johnson answered.

Mamie huffed a little. "And told them I was coming to the briefing. I want to know what they'll be asking you to do."

I took a good look at my sister; she was dressed in mismatched sweats and still had her fuzzy slippers on. Mamie had left home in a hurry. Surprised, I asked, " _You_ snuck out of the house?"

"So what if I did, Matt? You do it all the time." She gave me a belligerent look. "One person in this family needs to know where you are and what you're doing."

I held up my hands in surrender. "Okay, okay. So what's up?"

"We're taking you to the airport," Lieutenant Johnson said. "The colonel will explain more when we get there."

* * *

"Peru? Um, wow," I said.

Mamie sat next to me on a plastic chair in the airport conference room, looking like she'd been asked to eat live tarantulas. Her scowl alone would have burned the faces off most people.

I turned back to the colonel. "I'm guessing this isn't just an overnighter. What's the cover story?"

He took a seat at the little table, folding his six-five frame into the cramped space with some difficulty. "It'll be a few days. I understand it's spring break, so we don't have to worry about school. Your mother, on the other hand..."

"No. Matt is _not_ leaving the country without our mom knowing about it. No way," Mamie growled. "If you don't tell her, I will."

Colonel Black must've heard about Mamie's kryptonite, because he leaned forward, resting his forearms on the conference table. "Miss Archer, Major Ramirez called with some shocking news about the Gators, the monsters in Peru. Over the last few weeks, they've...well, they've developed a taste for children. The Gators are specifically hunting kids. A pack slipped through the cracks last night and abducted three-year-old twins. Based on the remains, the kills were far more brutal and messy than usual. We believe it was a warning."

Mamie clamped her hand over her mouth and let out a squeak. Truth be told, I felt sick myself.

"So, you see, this is of the highest urgency," the colonel said. "Ever since the team culled their numbers down significantly, these creatures have hunted in groups of three or more, to ward off attack. Major Ramirez can't handle more than two at a time and some of the Gators escape, even with a large team in place to help corner them. We need another wielder in the field, as soon as possible."

"What about the medicine man, uh, Jorge, right?" I asked. "He has a knife." Not that I didn't want to go to Peru–that sounded awesome, and those Gators needed rounding up. But, if Mamie was going to wig on us, we had to make her understand I was the only option.

"Jorge's afield at the moment; we have no way of contacting him." The colonel tapped his fingers against the table. "The other wielders have their hands full. The Pandas and Lions have been giving us significant trouble, and we haven't even begun to address Australia's Dingo problem yet. Montana is the only location under some semblance of control. So you're up."

I touched Mamie's arm. "I need to go down there to keep the Gators from killing any more little kids. Don't you see? I have to do this."

Mamie sat very still. I could almost see her thoughts rumbling above her head. Send me into the jungle to face mortal danger and lie to Mom about it? Or let children die, torn to bits in the Amazon? Either way, her decision had consequences.

The little kids won.

"Okay. But if Matt gets hurt, I'm going to rat all of you out," Mamie said as she pulled her glasses off to wipe the lenses free of tears. She put them back on and, with her steeliest glare, snapped, "He's your highest priority. The soldiers protect _him_ no matter what, got it?"

Lieutenant Johnson looked like he'd swallowed a frog. "Yes ma'am." He glanced at me, his eyes full of amazement, and muttered, "Tough cookie, that one."

"Good, it's settled." Colonel Black turned to me. "We're in a hurry. Johnson's taking the Black Hawk back to Fort Carson with me after he drives Mamie home. We've arranged speedier transport for you."

"But won't Johnson be going to Peru, sir?" I asked, hoping I didn't sound clingy. Excited or not, the thought of going into the jungle with a group of strange Green Berets made me anxious.

"Not yet, soldier. I'm going via cargo plane early Sunday morning, bringing down some supplies. Major Ramirez needs you sooner." Johnson squeezed my shoulder. "Don't worry, he'll take good care of you."

"Mamie, Matt's going to text your mother, saying he's going home with Will after the lock-in," the colonel said. "Mr. and Mrs. Cruessan are skiing from what I understand. That will buy us time. Sometime later this afternoon, you'll tell your mother he called again and wanted to stay at Will's for a few days. I'm assuming you can convince her to say yes?"

"Probably, but she'll get worried if he doesn't call home." Mamie gave them a panicked look. "What if she calls Will's house?"

"We're sending Will instructions to make sure that Matt is never available to take her call." The flicker of a smile crossed Colonel Black's face. "He'll be in the bathroom a lot."

My sister nodded slowly. "Just bring him home safe. That's all I ask."

"We will," Johnson said. "I'll take that as my personal responsibility."

In the end, Mamie needed a few minutes of hugs and hand-wringing before she let me go. Johnson stood patiently outside the conference room, waiting to drive her home in the SUV.

"Matt, take care of yourself. Promise me," she said.

"I promise. You promise not to worry yourself sick the next few days." I handed her my cell phone, so she and Will could fool Mom. "I'll be back before you know it."

"You better be. Oh—I put some eye drops in your backpack. I know how dehydrated you get when you fly. Shoot, I should've brought you a bottle of water to drink before the flight." Mamie slapped her forehead, as if the missing water would be cause for disaster.

"Sis, chill. I'm gonna be fine," I said. "But thanks for taking good care of me."

She gave me one last bone-crunching hug. "Be careful."

I watched her walk down the hall with Johnson, wiping her re-splotched glasses on her shirt as she went. Colonel Black shut the door behind them and held up a small metal box, like a pencil case.

"All right, soldier, roll up your left sleeve."

"Why?" I asked, afraid to know.

"Shots. You're going into dense jungle—Malaria, Typhoid and Yellow Fever aren't fun. We're a little late on all this, but we can't wait for the vaccines to get to full strength. You'll have oral meds to take while you're there, too, so it'll be enough." Colonel Black removed a syringe from the box and flicked it with his finger. "Roll up that sleeve."

"Um, sir, are you qualified to do that?" I asked. I'd never gotten a shot outside the doctor's office. He'd probably strike bone or something.

Colonel Black pushed the needle through my skin. "Did I tell you I started my military career as a medic?" His voice was lispy—he had the needle cap in his mouth. He stuck me again. "All right, now for the one that goes in the hip."

So far, my trip to Peru wasn't starting off well.

After jabbing me one last time, the Colonel said, "That's it. Let's hit the road."

I followed the colonel down the hall to the outside door, rubbing my arm as I went. Colonel Black led me to a small jeep. "We're taking you to the far end of the airport."

After we climbed aboard, a crewman drove us to the very end of the terminal. This late, the airport was deserted; even the luggage trams were still, parked next to darkened gates. When we rounded the corner, my eyes widened. A gray fighter-jet sat parked next to the last gate. I'd only ever seen pictures of these kinds of aircraft. Up close, it looked sleek and fast with its bullet-shaped body, high, pointed tail and triangular wings. U.S. Air Force was painted on its side, and the canopy stood open, ready to be boarded.

I stared at the Air Force captain wearing a flight suit. "I'm going to Peru in a fighter jet?"

"An F-15D—this is a 'training exercise', Matt. You're just going along for the ride," Colonel Black said with a sly smile. "The Air Force owes me a few favors. The control tower chief here in Billings was Air Force, too, and he graciously let us sneak this little plane in."

The captain strolled over. He was a small guy, a couple inches shorter than me, with close-cut, light-brown hair and a square jaw. His eyes were really scary—they burned right through my skull like twin lasers. I had no doubt this guy could shoot a moving Volkswagen from the upper atmosphere.

"You ready to go?" he asked.

"Um, yes sir." I stuck out my hand. "I'm..."

"Wait—no names, kid. I don't know you and never saw you." He gave me a serious nod. "I'm doing coastal training flights over the Pacific right now."

Colonel Black handed me a bag and pointed to a service door on the side of the terminal building—a bathroom. "Flight suit. Go put it on so we can get you in the air."

The suit was olive drab and zipped up the front, like my hunting coveralls, but fit snugly, even if the arms and legs were a little long. The pockets didn't have any name or rank patches on them, just empty Velcro where the patches should've been. I was going incognito. Cool that I was important enough to take a covert flight to Peru. And the best part? I could tell Ella all about it.

I crammed my clothes into my backpack and checked for the knife one last time. Ready to go, I left the building feeling so full of myself in my new duds I'm sure I was strutting like a peacock. "Gentlemen, let's do this."

Colonel Black tried to hide his grin, but the pilot didn't bother and laughed out loud. "Like the confidence," he said. "Hope you haven't eaten for a while."

That didn't sound good, but really, how bad could it be. "Except for some popcorn, not for hours."

"Good," the captain said. "I'm off to start pre-flight. We leave in ten." He marched off to his plane.

Colonel Black tugged on my zipper and tightened the Velcro on my sleeves. "All set."

He put his hands on my shoulders, more serious now than I'd ever seen him. "Ramirez thinks he's down to the last pack. The team found what might be their lair yesterday morning. They hit it with explosives in the afternoon, flushing the remaining Gators out. Ramirez took out as many as he could, but a handful of them escaped. Then the twins disappeared last night."

I watched the captain walk around the jet, touching the metal here and there, maybe checking for invisible cracks. "It's time to finish the job, then."

"Agreed." He patted my shoulders hard and let me go. "Peru's government gave us permission to fly you into Iquitos—primary airport for the Amazon. It's going to take almost six hours to get you down there, even in the jet. But with the time change you should land just after six a.m., before the terminal gets too busy. A helicopter will be there to pick you up and fly you out to camp."

Six hours in a fighter jet? Awesome! "Thank you, sir." I saluted, feeling my hand shake with excitement—I was going on a real military op. "I'm ready to take out some Gators."

Colonel Black gave me a tight smile. "Godspeed, then, and be careful. I think my days would be numbered if something happened to you and your sister found out."

"Yes, sir. Mamie doesn't give people a break on much." I grinned. Who said Latin Club Princesses weren't tough?

"Right. Well, let's get you on your way. Captain said he wanted to be wheels up by oh-one-fifty," he said.

Colonel Black led me to the plane, and the captain followed me up the little metal ladder to the cockpit, saying, "Back seat, kid. I'll get you strapped in."

Strapped in, nothing. Tied down in a five-point-harness that cut off blood flow to my legs was more like it. The captain helped me with my helmet and face mask, then swung into his own seat. I gave Colonel Black a thumbs-up, ready to get going. The captain sealed the cockpit canopy and my stomach leapt as the jet engines fired.

This was going to be the most amazing ride of my life.

# Chapter Twenty-Three

Thirty minutes later, when I hurled for the second time, I had to rethink the coolness of traveling at Mach speed.

"You need another bag?" the captain yelled over the headphone's speakers. "There might be one tucked into the gap between your seat and the wall."

"No," I said. "Just try not to turn the plane upside down again."

"What, you mean like this?" The captain laughed as the cockpit rolled over. "I thought a fifteen-year-old would think this was awesome!"

I swallowed some puke, wishing I could die. "Until they rode in one, sure. Now, please turn the plane right side up, sir!"

The captain rolled us back over. "Kidding aside, you don't sound so good. In the pocket on the back of my seat there's an anti-nausea pill; dissolves on the tongue and works fast. Little white blister-pack. It'll knock you out, which is why I didn't offer it earlier, but at least you won't feel like your stomach's coming out your nose."

I found the six-pack of pills and poked one through the safety pouch. It tasted like peppermint. My head stopped spinning immediately. For a moment, I could appreciate the view. So much higher than a regular airplane, the city lights were barely pinpricks in a dark blanket. The stars above the canopy seemed closer, brighter.

They drifted closer, closer, until I thought I could grab one.

I sit on the jungle floor. Blood on my hands. Green blood. Red blood. Black dirt.

" _Blood and light, bound by name."_

I jump up and turn. Nobody there.

"Kid, wake up, we're landing," the captain said over my headphones. "You slept through the refueling...I was all set to show off."

"Sorry, sir." I rubbed my eyes and watched the ground speed up to meet us.

The plane dropped onto the runway, the engines whining as the pilot hit the brakes to slow us to taxi speed. The airport in Iquitos wasn't as small as I thought it'd be. It looked like Billings, actually, with a regular terminal and gates. The sun peeked from the edge of the horizon as the captain taxied the plane into a hangar across from the main airport building.

"Someone's going to meet you here and drive you to the helipad," the captain said. "You feeling better?"

"Yeah. The pill helped. Good to get some sleep, too." I unbuckled the harness and stretched, wondering if I'd ever get the strap marks off my shoulders.

The captain popped the canopy open. "All right, end of the line. Everybody out."

A U.S. serviceman in Army BDUs hooked a ladder against the plane's side. I unfolded my knees and stood up slowly. All my joints creaked or popped. Seriously considering kissing the ground, I climbed down the ladder then planted my feet on the hangar floor in relief.

"You're with me, kid," someone barked in a stern baritone.

The voice belonged to a master sergeant standing by a small green jeep at the front of the hanger. He was wiry, with sandy blond hair in the typical "high-and-tight" haircut. I headed his way. He gave me a long stare, wrinkling his nose as I approached. Granted, I had puked a couple of times, but I couldn't have smelled that bad.

"Hey, you forgot this," the pilot called, holding up my backpack.

I ran over and took it from him, grateful he'd seen it before leaving. "Thanks for the ride, sir."

"Don't mention it," he said. "I mean that—don't, to anyone."

With a brisk nod, he jogged off toward the corner of the hangar. I grinned at his back. No matter what the captain said, I was telling Will and Ella. I returned to my guide—his name patch said "Murphy." He squinted down at me like I was an annoying rug-rat.

Deciding military attitude would be the best way to play him, I said, "Archer reporting for duty, Master Sergeant."

He chuckled in a sarcastic way. "Some soldier the colonel sent us. A kid." Without even looking back at me, he stomped to the jeep and climbed into the driver's seat. "Well, _Private_ , you have five minutes to do whatever you need to do before I start this vehicle and drive off. Helo's waiting."

I lit out for the bathroom, muttering, "What a jackwagon."

* * *

We flew over dense jungle for about an hour before coming up on a makeshift landing zone consisting of flat, bare ground. We'd hardly jumped clear before the pilots took off again. They were going back to Iquitos to meet Johnson and pick up supplies the team needed right away, stuff that couldn't wait to be trucked in. The air was thick and muggy, smelling of mulch and plants and, weirdly, parts of the zoo back home. A rich, earthy, animal stench...like the hippopotamus enclosure. The humidity was so bad that my flight suit stuck to my body in nine different places within a minute of landing.

"When will Lieutenant Johnson be here?" I shouted to Murphy over the sound of the beating rotors.

"Probably not until late tomorrow. The lieutenant hasn't left yet and his flight is closer to twenty hours. You got the special treatment."

The offended note in Murphy's voice carried through loud and clear. I stopped hiking behind him, the helicopter now a distant hum, drowned out by the sound of the wind in the vines and shouts from camp somewhere nearby. Adults were supposed to act more...adult. Especially Green Berets. I didn't get why he was so annoyed with me. Danger or not, I didn't leave the lock-in—and Ella—to deal with this kind of attitude.

"Master Sergeant, do you have a problem with me?"

"Yes, I have a problem. People are dying out here, and they send us the kid instead of Parker or Brandt." Murphy turned. "What are you going to do with a Gator? Even with a knife? These abominations have killed six of our men in the last year. They literally eat kids like you for breakfast. We needed another wielder, someone with more experience." His face turned red; this dude was seriously put out. Murphy reached for my arm and gave it a firm tug. "How much do you weigh? A buck-thirty? Strong wind could pick you up."

Before I could snap back, a hard voice growled, "That's enough, Master Sergeant."

Murphy hid his scowl as the man stepped forward. He was tall, muscular, with rich brown skin and very dark, close-shaved hair. An officer, too, that much I could tell. I snapped to attention, ignoring Murphy's snort. The officer's eyes cut to one side and Murphy shut it.

"Master Sergeant, this young man is exactly who we need, so quit questioning the colonel's orders. And from now on, you call him Mr. Archer, not kid," he said. "Get your sorry butt back to camp We're taking off in ten hours. Go sleep."

As the master sergeant stalked off, the man motioned for me to be at ease. I dropped my hand, saying, "Sorry about that, sir. I'm a little tired myself."

"No doubt, Archer. You look like you had a rough ride. Let's get you a bunk. I'm Major Ramirez, by the way. It's good to meet you, finally." He cast a weary look at Murphy hacking his way through the jungle ahead of us. "We've been down here too long. If we have some luck, maybe we'll finish this campaign in the next few days, finally go home. The others don't get it, what a burden the knife can be. I know for a fact that you do. Major Tannen said as much in his last email."

"Yes, sir," I said, feeling a lump in my throat at the mention of Uncle Mike. Both of us were pretty far from home. "I'll do whatever I can, Major. Just point me at some Gators."

Ramirez stopped and gave me a long look. "Hooah, Archer."

I followed Major Ramirez up a very narrow trail between dense trees, vines, flowers and every other kind of dark green plant imaginable. The zoo-like smell only intensified as the sun tracked higher into the sky, baking the dirt until it steamed. I could see why Ramirez's team was tired. This would be a tough place to live if you weren't accustomed to it.

We broke into a small camp consisting of six largish, green canvas tents, a fire pit with logs around it, and a few Humvees. Cozy. The cot in my tent was hard as a board, and only six inches off the floor, but it felt like a feather mattress to my aching body.

I yanked off my boots, then shrugged out of my flight suit. It was so humid I decided to sleep in my t-shirt and underwear. This team didn't seem like the type to mind. How strange that less than twelve hours ago, I was wearing a long-sleeved shirt, hiking boots and jeans, and still needed a jacket outside. I stretched out on the bunk with a scratchy Army blanket over my legs, conking out as soon as I was horizontal.

" _Hurry."_

The ground is black, burned. I'm covered in soot. Black ash all around me.

" _Faster. No time. Children are dying."_

The screams of little girls echo in my head.

I jumped awake. "No!"

The flap of the tent flew open and Ramirez peered in, looking worried. I pulled the blanket up a little higher.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Just a nightmare," I said, feeling really stupid for shouting.

"It happens...especially out here," Ramirez said, his face full of understanding. "Archer..." He paused, looking like he really wanted to tell me something, but didn't at the same time. "I have them, too."

"Nightmares?" I asked, wondering why he was acting so cagey. Didn't everyone have them?

He shook his head a fraction. "Someone's talking to us. Telling us to hurry. Devastation...that kind of stuff."

Shocked, I forgot to breathe for a second. "Kids dying. Blood."

"Not nightmares. Visions." Ramirez stared at the ceiling of the tent. "There are some BDUs in the trunk at the back of the tent that ought to fit you. Meet me in the command center in fifteen."

Visions. Not that my life could get any more bizarre, but still.

I dressed quickly, making sure to tuck the ends of my jungle-print pants into my hiking boots and tying the laces around them to keep bugs and water out. The clean t-shirt felt good against my hot skin. After one last, long stretch, I grabbed a camo jacket and headed to the HQ tent, trying to forget the sound of those little girls screaming.

Ramirez sat at a metal table, poring over a large map. Two laptops screens glowed on either side of him. In their light, his face had a white-blue tinge. The tent was open all along one wall, probably in an attempt to catch what little breeze there was. The jungle felt like the inside of a clothes dryer—damp and hot, just without the fan.

I stood at attention just outside the tent until the major called me at ease. He rolled the map up and beckoned for me to sit. "Tell me, what do you know about the broader mission for the knife-wielders?"

Feeling put on the spot, I said, "There's some prophecy about it all." I paused. "We're sort of at war with the devil, or something."

"Not sort of. We _are_ at war," Ramirez said, his eyes boring into mine. "With evil incarnate."

As if I wasn't freaked out enough.

Ramirez must have noticed, because he broke his stare. "Jorge says these strange dreams are visions of things that are coming. My nightmares have gotten pretty awful here recently. Yours?"

"They're getting weirder, that's for sure." The skin on my arms prickled. "The monsters are just the beginning then, aren't they?"

"That's my gut feeling."

A silence followed as I swallowed the basketball sized lump in my throat. "So, what happens after we finish off the monsters, Major? New, scarier monsters? Demons?" I laughed nervously. "Vampire bunny rabbits?"

Ramirez pressed his lips together, staring over my shoulder. "I don't know."

I thought about something Grandma Tannen always said: "Don't worry about tomorrow when today is smacking you in the face." It was such a wacky saying that it stuck in my head. Now, I understood what it meant. _And_ realized Grandma had been a badass.

"Then I'll just focus on the monsters we've got, rather than wondering about what's coming next," I said.

The major's eyes flicked back to me. "Good point, Archer. With that in mind, you ready to hunt some lizards? Colonel said you got a briefing about the Gators at Fort Carson a few months back."

"Yeah, I saw a picture. Nine or ten feet long from head to toes, and the tail adds another four feet. Kinda a cross between a crocodile and an iguana—long snout and tail, scales, talons on their feet, spikes on their head and back." I shuddered. "And their blood is green."

Ramirez nodded. "They're also sneaky and fast. It's been really hard to catch them lately. They seem to get more intelligent by the day, so you need to be on your guard at all times."

Had hunting the Bears posed enough of a challenge to prepare me for the Gators? I wasn't so sure.

"Let's spend some time on hunting techniques. We're down to the last twelve, if my count's right. If we go after the Gators hard, I think we can finish them off while you're here." Ramirez laid his knife on the table. It wasn't quite identical to mine. The blade looked the same—nine-inches and bronze-colored—but the white bone handle on his was longer, and etched with strange symbols that had been filled in with black enamel. My own knife hummed in my thigh pocket. I brought it out and laid it next to his. Both handles glowed blue, then sparks popped off the blade of my knife.

"Archer, how did you do that?" My head snapped up. Ramirez was staring at me instead of the knives.

"I didn't do anything—the knives are doing it, I think." In a blink, both blades went dark, sitting cold and still on the tabletop.

Ramirez shook his head. "I've never seen mine react when I wasn't touching it."

"You haven't? Mine does that all the time," I said. The major raised his eyebrows and my stomach flipped over. "Didn't Uncle Mike—"

"He wrote us an email. The knives don't act that way for me, Brandt or Parker. We don't know about Jorge. To be honest, I thought Tannen was pranking us. I should've known better." Ramirez frowned at his desktop for a moment before meeting my eyes. "Okay, so hunting Gators—there are some things you need to know..."

I listened, but a little part of my mind still wondered, what was up with me and my knife?

# Chapter Twenty-Four

My mind reeled all afternoon. The knife, the war—all of it had my brain humming. The only reason I didn't crawl back into my bunk and pull the blanket over my head was the hunt. Pending war with Hell aside, I still had Gators to exterminate. Murphy came for me at five o'clock for the final briefing.

"Good, Archer, let's get going," Ramirez said as soon as I came over. I relaxed a little, joining him and eight other men crowded around the large aerial map of the jungle he'd been studying earlier.

Ramirez pointed at the map. "The blue X is camp. The Gators' lair is four clicks to the northeast—red X. There's a stream down there. They'd built a den under an overhang in the bank, which floods sometimes, giving them an underwater advantage. The entrance had been camouflaged with vegetation and it took us months to find it. Kind of hard to miss now, though, because we hit the area with explosives yesterday. Scorched up that part of the rainforest. My concern is that they won't be there anymore. They know we're on the offensive and have probably taken off."

"We need to get out on the main trails tonight, search for them while they're hunting," a lieutenant roughly the size of Frankenstein said. I couldn't tell what color his hair was—he'd shaved it all off. His skin wasn't gray, though, and he didn't have bolts in his neck so I decided he was cool. He jerked his square chin at me. "Archer here gives us the opportunity to run two teams, close them in a net."

"I concur. I don't want the blood of any more kids on my hands," Ramirez said. "Let's do a land-strike tonight, while they're active. If we don't get them all, then we'll work the streams tomorrow."

A Green Beret I didn't know, a thin guy with flint-colored eyes and black hair, said, "I'll get the swim equipment prepped for tonight, sir. Just in case we need to change plans."

Swim equipment? Just what did these guys plan on doing?

"Thanks, Moreno," Ramirez said. "Red team, with me: Murphy, Toldan, Moreno, and Klimmett. Lieutenant Patterson takes blue team: Archer, Smith, McAndrew and Borden."

Lieutenant Frankenstein grinned. "You heard the man, Archer. Your butt belongs to me."

We planned out the attack for two hours then broke for dinner. Murphy tossed out "Meals-Ready-to-Eat" pouches—a complete meal for soldiers on the go, or so the label said. I stared at the flimsy excuse for a burger patty, considering going hungry. Patterson sat down next to me on the log I was using for a bench, tore open his pouch and ate half of his burger in one bite.

After a huge swallow, he said, "Gotta eat, Archer. The food's not great, but we can't have you running the jungle on an empty stomach. The main Gator trails we follow are eight miles long. Seriously, the MREs aren't as bad as they look."

He lied—it was worse. I choked down as much of the faux-food as I could. "It's funny...you guys hunt the same way Will and I do back home. Well, except for the flash-bangs and the guns. But we flush and rush the Bears, too."

Patterson threw back his head and laughed. "I knew I liked you. Most fifteen-year-olds would be peeing in their pants right about now, but you're completely cool. You remind me of your uncle, Archer. He's a great fighter. You're just like him."

I smiled, filled with pride. "Thank you, sir. Means a lot."

"Eat up, we roll in forty-five." Patterson slapped me on the back hard enough to knock me forward and went to check in with Ramirez.

The sun shimmered beyond the trees, nearing the horizon. It was almost time to go. The knife hummed in my thigh pocket. I patted it. "Yeah, me, too."

* * *

I crouched in a clump of thick bushes with waxy leaves the size of my hand. Patterson squatted behind me. McAndrew and Smith held guard at another post a mile away. Staff Sergeant Borden, our lookout, watched the ground from a tree a hundred yards in front of us. He wasn't a big guy, and he all but disappeared among the leaves and branches of his perch. Ramirez's team took the opposite end of the trails, six miles from our position. Patterson was right; the Gators' territory was huge.

"Now, remember, weak points are the neck, chest and belly. Their backs are a little harder for the Major to cut through, even with the knife." Patterson grunted. "Didn't used to be that way. Their hides are getting tougher."

Nice, just what I wanted to hear. "I remember, sir. Get me in range, and I'll go for the heart, belly or throat."

"Good, because here's your chance." He pointed at a shadow weaving in and out of thick trees, whispering, "Let's go."

We ran with our backs bent, staying low to the ground, getting smacked with leaves as we tore through the rainforest. A flash of a tail whipped behind a tree. We raced up to it.

Nothing.

"We lost it," Patterson said, panting a little. Running in the humidity was hard work. He clamped a hand on my shoulder. "That's how it's been the last three weeks. We can't catch'em. They know what all our traps look like and they're too fast to grab on foot. Let's move back to starting position, try again."

"Sir," Borden's voice crackled over the radio. "Activity fifty feet from my post. Please advise."

"Which way is it headed?" Patterson asked.

"Your direction...wait. No, I don't see it anymore. I'll keep scanning."

Patterson rolled his eyes. "See what I mean?"

We waited for half an hour, nothing but the sound of insects and the rustle of plants to break the silence of night, before we got another hit.

"There—three o'clock." The lieutenant pointed to our right.

A long, thick shadow slithered along the ground carrying a squirming bundle in its teeth. It crawled into some brush with the waddling gait of a crocodile and was still.

"Looks like it caught an animal. If it's eating, we'll have a chance to get a jump on it. Come on," Patterson said.

We crept towards it. Leaves swayed in our wake, but we heard no other sound until we got fifteen yards from its hidey-hole, then the brush rustled and the tip of a tail flicked back under cover. We had it now.

Patterson whispered, "Okay, I'll—"

His words were cut off by the most terrifying sound I'd heard in all my hunts: a baby screaming.

We thrust through the bushes and ran flat out. The baby boy, lying naked on the dirty, white blanket the Gator had used to carry it, couldn't have been more than a few months old. His high-pitched wails pierced my chest like an arrow.

As if that wasn't bad enough, the Gator stood next to a nest of dried vines, nudging something toward the squealing kid. A young Gator, only three feet long, whimpered and butted at Mama with its head. It dawned on me; a baby wasn't more than a mouthful to a grown Gator. They were stealing kids to feed their own. It even explained why the recent kills had been messy, too. The Gators were teaching the baby monster to hunt.

Little Gator waddled over the wall of the nest, watching the baby with wide eyes. A few quick, playful snaps of its jaw, then it tottered toward its meal. Appalled, I was ready to launch myself out of the shadows when yellow eyes flicked our direction. Mama-Gator rose onto her back feet, towering over both of us.

Patterson swung the butt of his rifle into the Gator's mid-section. She glanced down at her belly, then back up at us, merely annoyed by the blow. Quick as lightning, the beast grabbed Patterson by the throat and lifted him from the ground. His legs flailed about, and his face darkened in the dim moonlight. I ducked under Patterson's legs, getting kicked in the back, to stab her in the foot. Snarling, she dropped Patterson. When she lunged for me, I stabbed at her chest, but she moved too fast, and I got her in the forearm. She rammed me hard enough to knock me flat on my back. Mama raised a taloned hand, looking ready to smash my skull, but Patterson sprang up between us.

She swiped her talons at Patterson's head. He danced out of the way and I rolled behind them. On my knees now, I sliced one of her back legs, then climbed to my feet to try for another blow. Hissing and spitting, the Gator swept her tail under our feet, tossing both of us to the ground again. I got the wind knocked right out of me. The little Gator whined for Mama while I gasped for breath.

The monster dropped on all fours, but didn't come after us. Instead, she dashed toward the baby Gator and the still screaming infant. As I struggled to sit up, the Gator wrapped the human kid in the blanket like he was a sandwich, getting ready to take her meal to-go. She croaked to the young Gator and gave it a hard shove to get it moving. Baby Gator whined again, but toddled along ahead of her.

Not missing a beat, Patterson rolled to his knees. Surging forward, he grabbed the monster's tail, leaned back and gave her a jerk. The Gator dropped the baby hard. The little boy was silent for one horrifying second, then screamed louder than ever. The young Gator started for him, its teeth bared.

"Kill this thing! Hurry!" Patterson yelled.

The baby kicked free of the blanket. The sight of his chubby legs wriggling on the jungle floor did something to me—this was way worse than seeing Ella cornered.

My brain went nuclear. In a fit of rage that ran white-hot, I stabbed the Gator in the back of the neck, yanking the knife through her leathery hide. The powerful blade slid through the flesh, hide and bone like it was made of warm wax.

Patterson snatched the baby away from the young Gator. It shook its head angrily, croaking at us in shrill tones. I knew I had to finish it off. It ate kids; I couldn't let it live. But it was so little, reminding me of the rubber crocodile pool-raft my mom had given me when I was six. How could I kill Mr. Swimmy?

That hesitation cost us. With a wild howl, the young monster began to swell. Its scales popped as its torso lengthened and broadened, followed by its head, legs and tail. I couldn't believe my eyes—it was like time-capture photography, except in real-life. Chest heaving, the now adult-sized Gator stood on its hind-legs and growled at me.

"Run, sir!" I jumped in front of the beast, waving the knife. "Get the baby out of here!"

Patterson took off. I heard him screaming into his radio as he ran. Borden would be here soon. Of course, I'd probably be torn to bits by then. I'd killed this thing's mama. It wasn't going to roll over and play dead.

It flexed its claws, clicking them together, as if to tell me it planned to kill me inch by mutilated inch. I knew if I ran, though, it'd chase me down. Better to face it here. The knife hummed in agreement.

The Gator and I circled each other. We brushed against the close-growing plants as we moved. Its yellow eyes never left mine. I took a shaky breath and raised the knife.

Before I could blink, it rushed me and threw me back six feet. Something popped when I hit the dirt, then my left leg went numb. Unable to sit up, I lay helpless as it dropped on all fours, snapping with its piano-key-sized teeth. I tried rolling away, but it hurried alongside, corralling me the other direction. I struggled to my knees, ribs killing me, my leg tingling, and started to crawl. The Gator stood in my way. Every move I made, it countered without attacking. Like it was tiring me out so it could chew me in half at its convenience. Bored with the game and needing a way to strike its belly, chest or neck, I flopped back to the ground with my eyes just barely slit open. It crawled over and straddled my body with its too-long legs.

"Ahora," it snarled.

It spoke Spanish! Not mangled words, like the bears, but real, live, human-level Spanish. I even understood the word—"now." I knew better than to react, since I was supposedly unconscious, but holy guacamole!

Something thrashed through the bushes; it sounded like a man, running. The Gator paused half a second to see what was coming. That was enough. I'd hesitated once. This time I didn't. I slashed its belly. The thing gurgled then flopped onto one side, showering me with green blood.

Borden flew into the clearing, took in the scene and heaved the monster's body away from me. "Archer, you okay?"

"Yeah, think so." I crawled to my feet. "Where's the lieutenant?"

"This way."

We hurried down the trail toward camp, finally catching up with Patterson as he jogged along holding the baby. Now that the little guy was wrapped up in Patterson's huge arms, he had quieted down. He shoved two fingers in mouth and sucked on them while the lieutenant rocked him back and forth.

"Will he be okay?" I asked. Given that he wasn't crying, I figured he would, but what did I know about newborns?

"Should be," the lieutenant said. "He'll be hungry soon, though. Not much we can do about that, so we need to hurry back to base and find his mom." Patterson jumped, then snorted. "And we need to figure out a diaper. Then the team needs to get our happy butts back out here and kill as many of these things we can find over the next few days."

"Amen to that, sir." I cleaned my blade on the bushes before following Patterson down the trail. I didn't bother to sheathe the knife, planning to kill anything that got in our way.

Borden took point, so Patterson and the baby were between us. "I heard that kid scream from my post, sir. Ran as fast as I could. Nice save." He ran his hand over his sweat-coated brown hair. "You, too, Archer."

When we got back to camp, we were greeted by applause. Ramirez clapped me on the back. "Good work." He grinned at Patterson's wet BDUs. "Lieutenant, hand me the baby so you can change."

It took three hours on the radio with the Peruvian Civil Guard to find out where the baby belonged—a village ten miles away. His name was Miguel. Seeing as how we didn't have anything a baby needed, we dressed him in an olive-drab t-shirt. Patterson also made a diaper out of underwear and a sock, then tucked him into a cardboard box lined with an old blanket. As McAndrew and Smith got ready to drive Miguel home, I checked on him one last time.

"'Bye Miguel. You watch out for monsters, okay?" I tickled him under the chin. He grabbed my finger and tried to put it in his mouth. "Dude, don't think you want to do that. I washed my hands, but no telling what those Gators left behind." I pulled my finger loose then helped the guys load him up.

I stood in the middle of camp, hands in my pockets, wearing a cheesy grin as they drove away.

Best hunt of my life.

# Chapter Twenty-Five

Ramirez called for me to join him in HQ for breakfast. The French toast MREs weren't quite as horrible as the burgers were, and I was starving. I crammed the whole meal down in about three minutes.

"Goodness, Archer. You did eat yesterday, didn't you?" I nodded and he laughed. "Tannen told me you've been sprouting up pretty fast. Guess it takes a lot of fuel to grow and hunt like you do."

"Yeah. I eat all the time, but I'm still always hungry." I gulped down my last bite. "Sir, can I ask you a question?"

"As long as it's not where that baby Gator came from," he said. "That's the first one we've seen. I'm hoping it's the last, or we're in trouble."

"Yeah, my doors were kinda blown off by that, too. Maybe if we exterminate them before they have any more we'll be safe." I paused. "What I wanted to ask...all these visions got me thinking. What about the prophecy? The one about the knife?" My knife hummed in my thigh pocket, like it was happy to be part of the conversation.

"'Born of the ground, tied to the heavens, the blades of redemption will meet their brothers in unearthly combat to fight for men's souls.' That prophecy, right?" Ramirez asked. "Well, what Jorge told me is centuries ago some pre-Incan holy man had a vision of Armageddon. The world was on the brink of destruction by evil spirits. All hope rested with magic knives in the hands of powerful soldiers. Something like that."

My knife shuddered again. I put my hand over my pocket. "Is there more to it?"

He shrugged. "Maybe, but if so, Jorge hasn't told us yet. We've been a little busy killing nine-foot-tall lizards. Not much time to swap stories around a campfire."

I really wanted to meet Jorge. "You said he was on a scouting trip. Why did he leave while the attacks are still happening?"

"More Gators," he said. "The biggest infestation was here, but we received reports of another nest somewhere deeper in the rainforest. He asked us to keep up our end of the hunt while he checked it out. Since he's not back, I bet he found some, which means my count of a dozen here may be a little high. Be good if he took down a few elsewhere."

"Let's hope," I muttered.

The major stood. "All right. Enough chit-chat. We've got an attack to plan."

He punched me in the shoulder and left the tent, already shouting orders.

Hooah.

* * *

Based on the morning's scout reports, the major thought one last op would finish the Gators off. His briefing to the team in the command tent was short and sweet.

"The tracks are concentrated in one area." Ramirez pointed at a spot two miles from camp on the big map. "One of the tributaries for the Amazon flows through there. Moreno and Smith found another underwater cave that had some camouflage on its entrance. They didn't run into any activity, but we think that's where the Gators set up shop after we blew a hole in their last lair. If we push hard, force them out, maybe we can get them all tonight. They know we're coming, so let's go in hot."

"Regulators–saddle up!" Patterson yelled. Men dispersed in all directions.

McAndrew, a pale guy with straw-blond hair and a Minnesota accent, rolled his eyes. "Ya' know, the lieutenant watches too many Westerns."

Grinning, I tucked the knife into my thigh pocket. "Yippee-Ki-Yay."

"Archer," Moreno called. "Time to suit up, man. I need to brief you on gear."

The grin slid off my face. "I have on my BDUs..."

His eyes crinkled up as he laughed. "Your underwater combat gear. We're going for a swim tonight. You don't want to do that in your BDUs."

They had to be kidding.

I followed Moreno into the tent next to HQ. Murphy was pulling rubber suits out of a trunk. He gave us a smirk and left, carrying his equipment. Moreno flipped a few other trunk lids open. He grabbed a rubber suit that would cover a person's whole body, down to the wrists and ankles. It even had a hood. Flippers, gloves and the weirdest looking goggles I'd ever seen completed the outfit.

"So, guess they didn't tell you some of us were part of the combat-diving detachment?" Moreno asked.

"Wait—the what?" I stared at the gear in bewilderment.

"Every company has an underwater combat team. Nearly all of us have been through the training, but a few of us, like me, specialize in underwater incursions." He turned from the bins to look at me. "Please tell me you swim."

"I...I swim," I said. "I don't SCUBA though."

"Don't need to SCUBA. Snorkel's enough. The streams rarely get more than ten feet deep," Moreno said, looking concerned now. "You ever been snorkeling?"

I nodded fast. "Yeah. Hawaii last summer. My mom took us there for vacation." Thank God for family trips.

"Okay, then. Let's get you kitted out."

Putting on the dry-suit, the rubber thing, was like trying to snake myself into a sausage casing. It took me ten minutes to shimmy into it. The gloves and flippers were easy compared to that. The goggles, though...those were truly awesome. The diving mask had a black night-vision scope mounted where the lenses would have been.

"They're Israeli-made," Moreno said. "Those guys know their combat gear. Basically, they're monocular—single scope—night vision goggles that can operate underwater. The base is a standard diving mask, but the rest works like regular night vision scopes."

I pulled it over my head. "It's heavy. Wow."

"Yeah, but underwater you won't care, because they float." Moreno went around checking zippers and straps. "Good to go. Now take it all off. We'll change at the staging area."

I groaned. "You mean I have to put this back on _again?_ "

Amphibious monsters sucked.

* * *

After nightfall, the ten of us made the four-mile trek to the staging area, marching single file along a narrow path edged by vegetation. Ramirez was second in line and I was eighth, to cover both ends of the team. The other men kept rifles and automatics at the ready, for what, I didn't know. Everyone scanned the dense jungle for Gators. We encountered nothing. That bothered me, but I didn't say so. These guys had been out here for months. If there was cause to worry, they'd tell me.

At the staging area, a clearing about twenty feet wide that glowed an eerie green under a quarter-moon, we suited up for underwater combat. I could hear the stream bubbling nearby. Moreno had told me it was low this time of year, and the current was gentle. Good thing, because I didn't want to drown in Peru. Mom would never forgive me.

Patterson guided me to the edge of the bank. We wore thick soled water shoes and carried our flippers and goggles. The stream, murky-green and about twelve feet across, flowed a foot below the bank.

"Okay, kid," the lieutenant said, "stick to me like Velcro on carpet, got it? The water's muddy, so it's hard to see sometimes."

"Major, McAndrew and I are going in for a check," Moreno called.

Ramirez nodded and Moreno splashed into the water about twenty feet upstream. McAndrew gave me a quick grin, then followed him. I watched the surface, thinking there'd be a little ripple as they swam by, but the water churned wildly, then bloomed with red.

"Lieutenant, what's—"

Patterson hauled me back from the edge, swearing. Moments later, an arm floated up, followed by a pair of goggles and a flipper. I turned my back on the muddy-red water, wanting to scream.

"Ambush!" Ramirez shouted. "Everyone pull back."

Torn to shreds. Right in front of me. My head swam. Three hours ago, Moreno had been teaching me how to use my equipment and McAndrew had been ribbing Patterson. Now they were gone. In all this time, I'd never seen a monster kill a human. It was worse than I imagined. I squeezed my eyes shut, feeling like I might cry and knowing I couldn't. Not in front of the other men.

The team gathered together at the staging area. "What do we do, sir?" I asked Patterson. My voice sounded shrill with panic. "What now?"

He squared his huge shoulders and turned to Major Ramirez. "Well, the Gators are probably busy eating right now. Major? Send me into the stream to check it out. If the enemy's occupied, I'll wave you in."

My jaw dropped—the enemy was eating _Moreno_. Not a fish, or something. "Are you suicidal?"

"Archer, better to risk us than babies like Miguel." Ramirez gave me a cold stare. "But we—"

Before he could say more, we heard splashes, loud ones, by the bank. Hissing in the trees behind us. Shadows too big to be animals crept all around.

"Um, major," I whispered, "I don't think we're alone."

"Fan out!" Ramirez barked. "Patterson, take Archer to the stream. If they're coming after us on land, use the time to find the lair and set charges. Archer can take out any Gators still down there."

"Yes, sir," we answered before running for the water.

Patterson jumped into the stream as soon as we reached the bank. "If I don't come up in two minutes, try to get back to the major." He fastened his goggles and dove down. Thirty excruciating seconds later, he resurfaced. "Nothing."

A boom and a flash went off in the trees. Frantic shouts, then one long, blood-curdling scream. Patterson yanked me into the water. I put on my mask in case we needed to move fast.

Borden crashed through the vegetation, hurrying backward. He sprayed the plants with rifle-fire in a panicked blast. A Gator leapt out after him. It landed on top of Borden and they slammed to the muddy ground. I couldn't see what happened next, but I heard a series of pops. Like bones breaking.

I sucked in a deep breath, about to cry out, but Patterson clamped a hand over my mouth. "Hush," he hissed. "It'll come for us. Too late to do anything now but hunt it down."

We ducked low behind the bank as the Gator hauled Borden toward the tributary. The sergeant hung limp, one leg caught in the monster's powerful jaws, with his head lolling back and forth. The Gator slipped over the bank, pulling Borden with it.

They were picking us off.

# Chapter Twenty-Six

Just like that. Borden was dead. Moreno and McAndrew were, too. What was I doing here?

The knife, stowed in a diver's sheath tied to my thigh, burned so hot it seared my flesh through the rubber suit, telling me it was time to avenge the fallen. Its rage filled me, and I took off swimming, my brain an electric mess of shorted-out wiring.

Patterson shouted for me to wait, but I ignored him and flicked on my night vision scope. That thing killed Borden. It wasn't getting away. The water turned gray-green on my scope's screen, and something brighter green swam in front of me—something with a long tail. I surged after it, sucking down air through my snorkel. The Gator moved fast, but it was pulling Borden's body and that slowed it down.

I paddled hard to catch up and managed to stay right behind it. The monster led me to a vine-covered rock jutting out from the bank. But it wasn't a solid rock; the Gator struggled through the vines with Borden's body and they floated back into place over the mouth of a cave. They'd been weighted down with large pebbles to keep them from floating in the current. It was camouflage.

I'd found the Gators' den.

The entry was submerged. I detached my snorkel and dove down. My chin scraped bottom, but I continued to follow the monster. I broke surface about four feet up, arriving in a low-ceilinged cave, and poked my head up cautiously. Tunnels had been dug into the dirt of the bank on either side of the cave. That was how they were getting around without being seen. They weren't ghosts; they tunneled. And they were very good at it. Support beams rimmed the entrances to the tunnels, and they looked too smooth to be hand-dug. Scary how intelligent these things were. Seeing a Gator pop out of a hole in the middle of a village like an unpleasant Jack-in-a-box had to be about the worst thing I could imagine.

The beast was busy dragging Borden deeper into the cavern, so I climbed the rock ramp, knife in hand. Pebbles slid loose under my feet and fell into the water with a plop.

The Gator turned at the sound. "El niño."

I froze. My Spanish wasn't great, but I was pretty sure it hadn't said "a boy." It'd said " _The_ boy." Did it know who I was?

Without pause, it dropped Borden on the floor and darted toward me. I slid back into the water, pushing off the rock-ramp with my feet. Once out of the cave, I surfaced and got one good breath before it snared me. The Gator wrapped me up in its long legs and rolled me over and over. My mask slipped off. Choking, half-blind, the blurred image of massive jaws snapped by my head. My back pressed into the bottom of the stream. I couldn't go any deeper to escape. The Gator gave me a squeeze and I gulped down a mouthful of muddy water.

Somehow I got my knees under it and pushed it back, then kicked its jaw. It let go long enough for me to wrestle the knife free of its sheath. Stabbing up, I slashed through its chest with my blade. Dark smears flooded the water around me and its hold released.

The knife flashed; its contentment rolled over me, then was gone. I shoved the Gator's body away, letting the current take it. Wet and shaking, I paddled to the bank. I'd floated far enough downstream that the sounds of battle were lost. No Gators around either. I was alone in the dark. I climbed out of the stream and sat on the bank, coughing up what seemed like a gallon of dirty water.

The Gator knew me. They knew who I was. My teeth chattered and I put my head between my knees. How did it know who I was?

A nearby splash startled me. Patterson pulled himself out of the water and threw my lost goggles down on the bank. "You scared the crap out of me, Archer. When you got that head start, I couldn't see you through the mud. Don't lose me again, understand? Knife-wielder or not, you stick close, or else."

He had a point. The buddy system seemed like a really good idea after my near miss. "Okay."

Patterson shined his flashlight on my hands. "Kid, you hurt?"

Dark mud was smeared all over my palms. Blood, too. Some from a scratch on my arm that I hadn't noticed getting. Some from the slaughtered Gator.

Red and green and black.

The dream I'd had in the jet ran through my mind. Visions, Ramirez had called them. Had I seen the future? The world slanted sideways and I had to put my head between my knees again.

"Hang tight, Archer," Patterson said. "We need to get you back to base."

"Wait," I gasped. "I know where the den is. It's empty. Do you have any charges?"

That earned me a grim smirk. "I could blow up half a city block with what I'm carrying. Think you're up to taking me there?"

I put on my mask. "Yeah. But...Borden's body is in the cave. Let me pull him out first, okay?"

"We'd never leave a man behind," Patterson said softly. "Let's go."

Tired but determined, we headed back to where we'd entered the stream. Patterson had hidden his equipment bag and radio behind a large rock there. He retrieved the charges, then I led the lieutenant along the bank, taking him to where I thought the lair might be. We searched underwater until we found the vines, and I moved up the rock ramp with caution. Still no activity. Borden lay in a heap, like a piece of trash, in the corner. The guy who'd helped me save the baby was gone. I still had a hard time believing it.

The roof was too low for us to stand, so Patterson crawled to the body. He picked Borden up and, shuffling on his knees, brought his body to me. Borden's head hung at unnatural angle—broken neck. He had bite marks on his shoulder and thigh, but was otherwise unharmed. I had a sickening thought. The Gators had just eaten Moreno and McAndrew. Was Borden leftovers for tomorrow? I breathed in through my nose and out my mouth to calm my stomach. Every time I thought the situation couldn't get worse, it did.

Patterson finished attaching charges. "They remote detonate, radio trigger. We'll need to go upstream a ways to be safe."

We swam, carrying Borden between us, and made it back to the surface. After heaving the body onto the bank, we climbed out of the water. Patterson picked Borden up again. We hiked about a hundred yards upstream, then the lieutenant tucked Borden behind a boulder at the water's edge. He pulled me behind another one. With an almost crazy smile, he held out a black box.

"Fire in the hole!"

He smashed a button. There was a weird, gurgling rumble, then a mighty whoosh. Water plumed upward, spraying in all directions. Mist rained down on us. As we peered from behind our rock, the bank crumbled and chunks of dirt and rock fell into the water. Two long troughs, six-inches deep, headed out from the bank for at least forty feet. The tunnels had caved in, wiping out the Gators' underground advantage.

"Yeah!" I shouted, forgetting we were in the middle of a war zone. We scored one for Borden. Now it was time take out more Gators for Moreno and Smith.

"Glad you liked the fireworks show. Let's get out of here before the lizards come storming after us," Patterson said. "We also need help taking Borden to base."

We ran to the edge of the tree-line, closer to the team. Things were strangely quiet. Patterson ducked behind a large palm, then pulled out a map to check our position with his flashlight. He cupped his hand around the beam to hide the light.

"Where's the team? We gotta be close." He clicked his radio. "Mission accomplished, red team. Please advise location."

Static. We stared at each other. My heart pounded. We couldn't be alone, we just couldn't. They weren't all dead, were they?

"Come in, red team," Patterson said. "Mission accomplished. Advise location."

More static.

Then, "Good work, blue team. Return; staging area two. The remainder of the enemy has fled. Planning pursuit."

With a relieved nod, Patterson stood, pulling me up with him. "Let's—"

It happened so fast.

A taloned hand whipped from a tree branch over our heads and slashed Patterson across the chest. His face was drawn with surprise as blood spurted out of his dry-suit. He fell to his knees, then crumpled to the ground. His flashlight, still on, dropped next to his head, revealing pale skin growing whiter by the second.

I went into overdrive, stabbing wildly at the claws with my knife. The Gator howled in the shadows as I cut two of its three fingers off. It slithered down the tree trunk with a snarl, its long snout open, snapping its jagged, uneven teeth. I swung at its head, but missed. The monster pressed forward, crawling on all fours like a croc, and it moved much faster than I would have expected with a wounded hand. I scrambled away, but backed right into something hard and scaly.

Terrified, I turned around and looked up.

Another, much larger Gator leaned over me, standing on its hind legs. Its long, spiked tail whipped back and forth as it let out a rattling growl. I stabbed at its chest, but it caught my wrist, twisted my arm behind my back. Somehow, I hung on to the knife, or maybe it clung to me. Everything was confused—snarls, shouts, pain in my shoulder. Patterson bleeding out.

While the big one held me still, the smaller Gator rushed forward to smack me on the side of the head with its good hand. I fell hard and something sliced my right side. The pain took my breath away–I couldn't even yell for help. I craned my head to see what had happened. Blood seeped through my suit along the side of my rib cage. The knife twinged my hand. I lifted it.

Red blood shone on the blade in the glow of Patterson's fallen flashlight.

I'd stabbed myself.

Patterson lay panting on the ground. He gestured at his radio. "Help's coming..." Foamy, pink bubbles stained his mouth and his eyes rolled back in his head as he lost consciousness.

Men thrashed through the trees to our right, shouting our names. I tried to scream, get the team's attention, but the sound wouldn't come. I stared up at the nightmare around me. The big Gator gave a long, low, gravelly-sounding call and two other Gators glided through the trees to join us.

"Vamanos," the leader croaked. "Rápidamente. Debemos llevarlo a una tierra sagrada. Entonces vamos a sacrificarlo en el maestro."

I didn't understand them, but "sacrificarlo" sounded a lot like sacrifice.

One of the new Gators reached down, grabbed my left ankle in its taloned fingers and dragged me deeper into the jungle. The rest of the pack followed. Too late for help, now. I shoved the knife into its sheath, out of sight. Maybe I'd get one last chance to use it.

A twig scraped me as we started to move. I grabbed it and broke off the end. Holding it in my fist, I dug a trench in the damp ground as the monster dragged me along. The team could probably follow the blood trail with their night-scopes, but this would help. Then Ramirez could find my body. Take me home to Mom. The thought made me sick, for what this would do to her.

The Gators whispered together as they pulled me through vines and trees and past strange flowers I didn't have names for. The flowers shimmered in a diamond haze in the weak moonlight. Everything did, even the Gators. Their scales changed patterns before my eyes. Rocks cut into my back. My head bumped along the ground and got slapped by my captor's tail. I wasn't able to hold it up, and I didn't feel like trying anymore. All I could do was drag my stick and hope it would all be over soon.

Images zoomed through my head. Mom cooking dinner. Brent texting at the kitchen table. Mamie crying in the airport conference room. Will's grin as he gave me a fist bump over our lunch table. Uncle Mike, his hair covered in icing, laughing his head off.

Ella.

A hundred pictures of her. Smiling, crying, laughing, angry, about to kiss me....her hands behind her back, two fingers pointed up, three down...

My heart pumped hard. I still had the knife in my pocket; the handle vibrated, as if it was begging me to keep going. So tired, though. Cold, too. A rock scraped against my wound and I moaned, but it was like someone else did, like the sound came from far away. One of the monsters wheezed out a laugh.

We stopped in a tiny clearing surrounded by tall trees dripping with water, everything smelling of mulch and reptiles. Dampness from the ground soaked into my hair and I shivered despite the heat. The Gator finally dropped my foot. I lay limp, grateful to be still, pulling in shallow breaths, each one piercing my side with fire. Blood stained my side, my hand, the ground; my life seeped away with each throb of my pulse.

The halo of shimmering light around the monsters grew wavier, until the spikes on their heads moved like grass in the wind. Another Gator arrived, carrying a fallen beast in its arms.

The one I'd killed in the stream.

Growls and hisses and snarls. All five of them closed in on me. The big one squatted over me, teeth bared, talons out.

My eyes wanted to close, not to look, to sleep before it happened. The knife hummed urgently, but my fingers were too numb to pull it free.

"Ten cuidado," a soft Gator voice croaked. Snorts of agreement. "El muchacho es muy peligroso."

I couldn't look away. I wanted to, so badly, but I couldn't, even if a monster was the last thing I'd see. The big Gator flexed its hand and raised its claws over my chest. God in heaven, let it be over quick.

The Gator chuckled. My body relaxed—time was up. Fast...please...

A strong voice cried out words I didn't understand. Not Spanish. Not anything I knew. A flash of lightning, then all the Gators backed away. The knife shot a current through my thigh as the blur of a small man ran into view. The monsters scattered into the jungle, but not before the strange man jumped on one's back.

Shouts, machine-gun fire. The team had found me.

Chaos reigned. Boots stomped all around. Ramirez stormed by with his knife clutched in his right hand. It glowed green.

Murphy dropped to his knees next to me. "We gotta stop the bleeding. This is gonna hurt."

He pressed a bandage to my side. Black shadows of pain clouded my vision. Barely able to draw breath, I whispered, "It's too late, Murphy."

Just before the darkness took me, I saw it. The big Gator stood in the trees, watching us.

It was laughing.

# Chapter Twenty-Seven

"Matt, stay with us, kid."

Voices faded in and out, not letting me rest.

"...so much blood, sir, I don't..."

"Murphy...patch job. Gotta get him out of..."

"Sir, movement, eight o'clock..."

I floated on a bed of incandescent pain. Flames seared my side, my lungs, my heart.

"...with me. I may be able to heal..."

"...carry him?"

Someone picked me up. Hurt. Bad.

"Go, go, go..."

Finally, sleep.

* * *

When I came to, I was lying on a pallet on the dirt floor of a straw hut, covered with an Army blanket. The cut-up remains of my dry suit had been tossed into one corner. A man, maybe forty with brown skin and crazy-scary eyes, peered intently at my face. He was small, with short, black hair and ropy muscles on his arms. He wore a rough white tunic and khaki field pants, with a bunch of necklaces made out of rocks and bones, and had a knife sheathed in a rope belt at his side. His feet were bare.

"Are you the medicine man?" I whispered.

He smiled. "Yes, I'm Jorge. You need rest; we will talk later."

* * *

Johnson's voice shook. "His temp is one-oh-three. I told you we should've medevacked him with Patterson and Toldan. Three KIAs are bad enough. We have to call his mother, get him to the States."

Patterson wasn't dead? Good news, but I couldn't seem to make my eyes open. My body felt like it weighed double and I was freezing.

"Fever is good. Fights off infection," the medicine man said. "It's the perfect biological defense mechanism."

Mike hadn't been kidding. Jorge sounded like he'd been born and raised in the northeast—slightly nasal, clipped. And formal, like someone on a yacht somewhere. The accent didn't match the guy at all. He also talked like a doctor or some other egghead.

Then again, I might've been hallucinating the whole conversation.

Cool hands probed my side. I groaned, forgetting about everything but the pain that burned my ribcage. It hurt so much, tears leaked from the corners of my eyes.

"The wound is closing much faster than I expected," Jorge said. "Quite miraculous, to be sure."

"He needs to go home, Jorge. A fifteen-year-old with a slashed up body needs his mama," Johnson growled.

An amused snort from Jorge. "Give me one more night. Tomorrow it will look better. You will see."

"Johnson, he's right. His medicine is better for this kind of wound," Ramirez said.

"Mpfth." Darn it, that was supposed to be "Listen to Ramirez." My tongue wouldn't move anymore, though, so I just laid there like a pile of jelly.

Johnson blew out a long breath. "Tomorrow morning. Then we call his mother and medevac him to the States for treatment." A pause. "I promised his sister that I'd be personally responsible for keeping him safe."

Johnson's shadow left me as he stomped away.

"He is safe, lieutenant," Jorge whispered, pressing a wet cloth to my forehead. I felt the vibration of my knife through the pallet. It must have been close by and it agreed with Jorge.

Continuing to hum, the blade lulled me to sleep.

* * *

"I'll see if he's awake," Johnson said.

I managed to open my eyes. A little sunlight streamed in through the cracks in the walls and the straw roof. When I tried to sit up, my entire body rattled with a chill. I flopped back down.

"Don't move so much, Matt. You're better, but let's not rush things." Johnson rested a satellite phone on the dirt floor and knelt next to my pallet. He tried to smile, but worry lined his dark eyes. He pulled my blanket back over my chest.

"Good idea," I whispered, still shaking.

"Think you can talk to Mamie?" he asked. "She's worried sick."

"Does she know...that I'm hurt?" My throat scratched when I talked.

"Yeah, she knows. When you didn't check in with her on time, she called Colonel Black every hour for nineteen straight hours." Johnson chuckled. "Takes a lot to wear that man down, but your sister did it in less than a day."

That made me smile, and it felt good. Strength flooded through my arms and legs. I wiggled my fingers and toes. Everything was still in working order. My side ached, but not as bad as I would have thought, so I propped myself on my elbows. This time it didn't wear me out as much. Someone had covered my stab wound, a long gash just under my right ribcage, with gauze and some kind of smelly paste.

"Give me the phone. I'll see if I can calm her down some." He handed it to me. I cleared my throat and tried to sound cheerful. "Mamie, what's up?"

"You...you idiot!" That's all I got before she burst into noisy sobs.

"I'm fine. I just got a little scratched up."

"Scratched up? Matt!" she wailed. "I can't do this anymore. We need to tell Mom!"

"So Mom still doesn't know?" How on earth had we gotten away with that? I'd been gone for days. Mom would never let me hang at Will's that long.

"Not yet. No thanks to the military's flimsy cover story, though. Will and I had to improvise so she wouldn't get suspicious," she said with a sniffle.

Improvise? "Where does Mom think I am?"

"Aspen. I texted Mom on your phone, begging to go skiing with Will. Then he hacked Mrs. Cruessan's email to send Mom a message saying it was okay for you to join them. Once she said yes, I took your ski bibs to Will's, and he's been hiding out at his place ever since to make sure he doesn't run into anybody since he's supposedly out of town. I send Mom texts from your phone every night, telling her about the trip, and I've been posting bogus pictures on your Facebook page."

"Is that how we're going to explain the injuries? The ski trip?" I asked, impressed with her sneakiness.

"Exactly. You're supposed to be home from Aspen on Saturday, having taken a tumble down the mountain on Friday. Now, get better or I'll kill you myself!" She sniffed once then hung up.

"One tough cookie," Johnson said. "Um hmm, wouldn't want her on my case."

"No joke. How long have I been out?" I asked.

"It's Tuesday evening."

Two days? No wonder I needed to pee. "Please help me up, sir. I need to use the latrine. After that, I'd appreciate someone telling me what happened."

* * *

Jorge insisted that we eat before we got down to business. As much as I wanted information, I almost cheered. Stab wound or not, I could've eaten raw Gator.

I felt a ton better after eating. I was even able to get up and walk around on my own, as long as I didn't go far. During my trip to la-la land, the team had moved to Jorge's; the tents looked out of place around his hut. The hut itself was made of light-colored wood and straw, and was roundish, with a pointed roof. Jorge's house was barely bigger than my bedroom, but the view made up for the lack of space.

He lived on a cliff overlooking a swift stream running in the gorge below. Trees grew thick all around us, to the edge of the cliff, and tropical birds flew overhead in droves. The sunset, deep orange and pink, glowed through the vines, turning the whole sky rose-colored. Too bad Gators lived here—I'd consider moving, otherwise. It'd be nice to live someplace where I didn't need a snow-blower.

Jorge came to stand next to me. "Lovely, isn't it?"

I still couldn't get used to the way he talked—like an ivy-league college professor. "Your English is better than mine."

"Hmm," he said. "You are fifteen?"

"Yeah."

"So young... I came home from the States before you were born, so I have been speaking English longer than you have, native tongue or not."

He put a finger on my cheek, turning my face this way and that. Jorge was so short, he had to reach up to do it. I had no clue what he was looking for, and he didn't tell me.

"We should talk," was all he said before leaving me to stand alone.

When it got dark, we gathered around a fire. Ramirez and Johnson sat to my left, Jorge to my right, with the rest of the team spread out in little groups around us. It was like being at camp. Except for the guns. I smothered a laugh when I remembered Ramirez saying they didn't have time for fireside chats.

"Before we get started," Johnson said, his voice thick and more rumbling than usual, "I'd like to propose a moment of silence for the fallen, God rest their souls."

Heads bowed all around the campfire and tears stung my eyes. Borden didn't deserved to die the way he had. Neither did Moreno or McAndrew. No one did. Anger started to burn through my veins. I'd hold onto the anger. It'd keep me focused, give me strength.

Ramirez cleared his throat. "Jorge, you find some Gators out there?"

"Yes—three. And I finished them," Jorge said, with a hard smile. "The creatures that got away Sunday night are the last."

Did that mean the big Gator was still out there? I drew my knees to my chest with a shudder. "What happened after I got captured?"

"Well, we saw a flash of light and ran your direction," Ramirez said. "Jorge had slit one of the Gators' throats. The rest were fleeing."

I stared at the little man. While Jorge couldn't have been more than five-two, there wasn't a more powerful person around. Not even Johnson. I could just tell. Something about the glint in his dark eyes, maybe. The intelligence mixed with magical powers...good thing this guy was on our side.

"We bagged one more. Based on the kill count this week, we have three on the run," Ramirez added.

Three left. Who wanted to bet the big Gator was one of them? I tuned Ramirez out for a second, wondering if it was hunting for me. It's laugh had haunted my nightmares while I was unconscious. Was it still laughing?

When I came back to earth, Ramirez was talking about me.

"...as much damage to your side as we originally thought—tore into the muscle layer, but didn't puncture any organs. It was bad enough, though." Ramirez rubbed his eyes. "Murphy had a hard time getting you stable. You'd lost a lot of blood by then."

"What about Patterson and Toldan. Will they be okay?" I asked, the image of Patterson's bleeding chest seared onto my brain.

"Yeah, man, they'll be okay," Johnson said. "Patterson needed about eighty stitches and three units of O positive, but he'll make it just fine." He paused, darting a look at Ramirez. "Toldan lost an eye."

"So three KIA, two others wounded, and you got slashed open," Ramirez added. "Gators did a lot of damage."

"Gators? No, I stabbed myself when I fell." I pulled my clean t-shirt away from the sticky paste that had worked past the gauze. The goo smelled like rotten plums. Might have been, for all I knew. "Pretty dumb, huh?"

"The knife?" Ramirez sounded surprised. "We thought a Gator wounded you."

"Matt, you probably just don't remember right...if you'd fallen on your knife, it would have laid you open like a gutted fish," Johnson said, his voice soothing, as if I was still out of it.

Jorge chuckled. "No, I'm sure he remembers right."

Like they'd planned it, the entire team turned in unison to stare at me.

"What...what are you talking about?" My knife, sheathed and sitting on the dirt in front of me, hummed in response.

"The knives protect us when they can. I accidentally slid my finger along the blades a few times when forging them, and never cut or burned myself." Jorge scooted closer to me, a strange smile on his face. "But yours reacts when you aren't touching it. I've not seen that before."

"You haven't?" I squeaked.

"No," Jorge said, looking me over like I was an interesting lab specimen. "Of the five knives, yours is the only one that reacts to its wielder without physical contact. Your spirit-bond with your blade is unique. Impressive."

"Wait, spirit-bond?" I blurted out. Ramirez and I exchanged freaked glances.

"Yes, it's time you knew exactly what all of you have been chosen for," Jorge answered. "The knives are alive."

# Chapter Twenty-Eight

"What do you mean, alive?" I asked, trying to keep the panic I felt out of my voice. I didn't want to look like a pansy in front of the Green Berets.

Ramirez nodded fast. "Yeah, what do you mean? Magic, sure. But this is the first I'm hearing about spirits."

Jorge laughed. "I had a hard enough time convincing your Army that you needed the knives in the first place. Do you honestly think a group of soldiers would have trusted a weapon that could think for itself?"

"Man has a point," Johnson muttered.

"My ancestors have been trying to forge these blades for centuries, based on the vision one of our elders saw of the coming dark war. The elder saw the knives as well, as the weapons necessary to our survival, so my people set out to create them." Jorge said, settling cross-legged closer to the fire. "From father to son, my family has been trying to make these blades since that time."

"It's taken this long?" I asked. Talk about being patient.

"It has," he answered. "We knew how to craft them in the ancient way, with gold and copper and special spells. But there was always something missing; the metal would not hold power. Not until I discovered how to bind the spirits of light to the blades. University education goes a long way." He grunted out a laugh. "Chemistry and the occult, you see? Old and new...science and the mystical. Fusion, yes? That's what was missing."

"So you went to Yale...to make your magic better?" Johnson asked, looking at Jorge in disbelief. "Don't know that I've ever heard that one before."

Jorge laughed outright at that. "Indeed. And it worked. Of course, I did blow out half the windows in the lab the night I solved the problem. The result was a bit more explosive than I imagined. But it still worked."

I stared at my knife. Yeah, it had definitely worked. Dozens of dead monsters agreed. "Is that when you came home?"

"Yes," Jorge said. "My family has served these people for generations, and now I had the right tools. This is where I'm needed. The light told me as much, and I trust its counsel most of the time."

"So, the spirits...they talk to you?" Ramirez asked.

"Of course. They talk to you, too, Major. You just haven't learned to listen," Jorge said. "They are a part of each of us."

I shivered. I'd been carrying a spirit around in my backpack. One that talked to me. A lot of puzzle pieces were falling into place now.

Jorge went on. "That's why the knife didn't kill Matt when he fell on the blade. The spirits protected him. Dulled the edge, maybe."

"I always wondered why I never had to sharpen my knife. The spirits must be maintaining the blades," Ramirez said.

"Wait—maybe that explains something else then, too," Johnson said, pointing at me. "Matt looks like he got stretched by a taffy machine since I saw him last fall. Major Tannen said the kid shot up half a foot in just a few months. Can the spirits change people?"

Jorge looked thoughtful. "It's possible. In fact, in the boy's case, I'd say it's likely."

I controlled the urge to chuckle in hysteria, because I'd figured that out weeks ago.

"I'm a wielder and they haven't changed me physically," Ramirez said, giving me a strange look. "Why would they mess with Archer?"

"My guess?" Jorge said. "The spirits saw a need to push him to adult fighting strength as quickly as possible to level the playing field for all five wielders. I don't think they are pushing him beyond the natural order—making him taller than he would have been, for example—but are simply speeding up his normal growth."

"I still don't get why they picked me in the first place. Wouldn't it have been easier to stick with my Uncle Mike?" I asked.

"Did you notice the Gators seemed to recognize you?" Jorge asked, raising an eyebrow. "When I came to save you the other night, I overheard them talking. They knew who you were."

Ramirez's jaw dropped. "They _what?"_

"Oh, yes, Major," he said. "The Gators are quite afraid of Matt. One told the others to be careful because 'El muchacho es muy peligroso'—the boy's dangerous."

Icy sludge filled my gut. It was true then; the Gators knew me. "But how did they find out about me? I've only been here a few days."

"We're talking about supernatural beings, Matt. The regular communication channels don't exactly apply." Jorge's smile was kind and amused. "But you do appear very closely bound to your blade's spirit. It gives you an edge, if you'll pardon the pun."

"You're also one hell of a fighter," Johnson added.

"Yes, you are," Jorge said. "The spirits compliment your natural abilities, turning you into a skilled weapon. I imagine this is why they chose you. If that is true, then you are _very_ dangerous to the other side. And the dark spirits know it."

The icy sludge formed into a ball and my gut ached. "But what's so special about me? If the spirits can change people, why not pick someone stronger and faster to begin with and turn him into Superman or something?"

"You're marked by blood," Jorge said. "All five of the wielders are. Our forefathers possessed great strength and courage. The knives recognized that strength in us." He stood, pacing about the fire. "But, in your case, I believe there's more. You are marked by name as well."

A sharp zap, like a shock, hit my heart as I got what he meant. Archer. Except for blue eyes, my last name was the only thing my dad had ever given me. Archer was a soldier's name. A hunter's name.

"Your knife was the last I made. The best," Jorge said. "I thought it would choose to stay with me, but it didn't. It left with your uncle, then found you." He knelt next to me. "You're destined to fight, Mr. Archer. What else all this means, I cannot say. I simply don't know, not yet. But you are one of the wielders. A warrior against dark spirits."

None of this information did much to cheer me up, because if what Jorge said was true, I had no future. Only a mission. To save humankind from demons, terrors, and evil creatures bent on our destruction. Armed only with a knife.

"Blood and light," I said, feeling numb.

Jorge sucked in a surprised breath. "Yes. Your blood. The spirit's light."

The knife's handle flashed blue, as if to tell me I'd finally worked out a secret it had been trying to share. I picked it up. Like always, something about the blade's weight steadied my nerves. An entire team of Green Berets had my back. Will and Mamie were with me, and now Ella was, too. With that kind of help, maybe I could tackle this quest thing.

"Yeah," I murmured to my knife, "you and I have work to do."

* * *

Jorge gave me some tea that tasted like stewed tree bark. It made me sleepy, and I went to bed early. I dreamed about normal things. Ella in a pink bikini. An otter riding a unicycle. No monsters. I woke up feeling more rested than I had for a long time.

When I staggered out of the tent, looking for breakfast, I found Jorge standing at the edge of his cliff, watching the sun come up over the trees. Murphy had guard duty. He walked the perimeter of camp, his automatic at the ready. Everyone else was crashed out.

"Buenos Diaz," Jorge said. "Sleep well?"

I nodded. "No clue what was in that tea, but I slept great."

"I imagine you did," Jorge said, smiling. "Strong stuff, but I wanted you feeling rested. We hunt tonight."

Hunt? I'd been stabbed and dragged through the jungle a few days ago, and he wanted me to hunt? I leaned against a tree trunk, rubbing the sore spot on my rib cage. "You think I'm well enough?"

"I don't know." Jorge sighed. "The fact that you're so young grieves me. It's quite a burden, being a wielder."

That comment caught me off-guard after all of his "you've been chosen" crap the night before. He sounded like Mike did early on, and I was tired of people saying I was just a kid.

"I can handle it," I said.

"Then you've answered your own question, haven't you?" Jorge gave me a sidelong glance and his eyes crinkled up at the corners.

Oh, yeah, I'd walked right into that one. Reverse psychology...hard to believe I fell for it.

"Guess I did."

"But," Jorge said, serious now, "it doesn't matter if you are ready or not. The knives choose our path—not us."

The truth could be a kick in the pants sometimes. Because Jorge was right; the job couldn't wait, not this time. I didn't have the luxury of healing up first. Maybe I never would again.

"I'm ready just the same," I said.

"I know," Jorge said. When he looked at me, I could see that he meant it. "We didn't finish part of our conversation last night. About why I came home, despite the culture shock."

"You said you were needed in Peru—that your family had always served here," I said.

"True, but I could have ignored the need. I made a life in the States. I became used to modern conveniences and it was hard to give that up. But I did." Jorge stared at the valley below us and we watched a flock of birds take flight against the brightness of the rising sun. "I came back because I have a duty. And duty isn't a choice for those of us who seek to be good men. Remember that."

Jorge was just full of sunshine this morning. Still, what he said stuck in my head. I didn't want to be like my dad. I wouldn't run out on my responsibilities because it was easier.

"I'll remember," I said.

He clamped a hand on my shoulder and gave it a squeeze. "Spend the day resting. We'll meet just before dusk."

# Chapter Twenty-Nine

Sitting in the middle of Jorge's hut, getting painted with mud by the light of a camping lantern, wasn't how I thought the hunting party would start.

"Um, Jorge, are you sure this is gonna work?" I asked.

He put the finishing touches on a symbol on my right shoulder in the thick, gloppy mud. "These symbols offer protection against evil. Considering how well the knives work, maybe you ought to trust me. What do you have to lose?"

"Our self-respect," Ramirez muttered. He shifted uncomfortably, his chest and face decorated with mud-birds, whorls and lines. "Just make sure the troops don't see me like this."

"Put your camo on if it bothers you, Major. The symbols still work even if you cover them up." Jorge said, dabbing five random splotches onto my back.

"What's up with the dots?" I asked. The paintbrush tickled and the drying mud had started to itch right between my shoulder blades.

"Paying tribute to the four elements and the spirits who govern them," Jorge said. He drew a line of mud under each of my eyes, like a football player would before a game. "There, that should do it. All right, I set the trap this afternoon. Everyone understands the plan?"

We nodded.

He sprang to his feet then knotted his rope belt around the waistband of his khaki pants, knife sheathed at his side. When he smiled, the dried mud on his face cracked a little and dust drifted onto his bare, painted chest. "Gentlemen, shall we?"

Just like we were going for a stroll. This dude was insane. A genius, maybe, but insane. Ramirez quirked an eyebrow and pulled his t-shirt on.

We walked into the jungle under a clouded sky, unarmed except for our knives. I went without my t-shirt, just like Jorge. Wearing only camo pants, boots, mud and bug spray, I followed the two men through the dense plants. The night was pitch-dark around us, so Ramirez and I turned on our night-vision goggles. Jorge moved on silent feet without any light to guide his way. He led us to a small trail running through the dead center of the Gator hunting grounds.

"Stop here," Jorge whispered. He backed me against a tree. "Stay quiet. I will call them."

He lined Ramirez up against a tree directly across from mine. Once we were set, he melted into the shadows against a third tree, putting the three of us in a forty-yard wide triangle around the trail. The leaves rustled. Muggy heat sat on me like a blanket. Crickets, frogs, cicada bugs and birds twittered and chirped the night away.

Over the natural jungle sounds, I heard a raspy voice speaking Spanish in guttural tones. Jorge was calling the Gators. Soon they'd come. The last three. And the big Gator would come for me. Sweat trickled down my back, probably taking mud with it. The knife hummed in a soothing way. Words like mist formed in my head.

Your strength is mine.

My eyelids grew heavy, closing on their own. Armies of dark shadows, indistinct and impenetrable, swarmed across an endless plain of sand burned white in the strong light of day. A small group raced toward the black mass in seven Humvees; soldiers wearing desert camo. At the head of the caravan, a young, dark-haired man leaned out the passenger window of the lead truck, holding my knife in his right hand. A tiny pentagram was tattooed onto his wrist. He turned his head. A flash of blue eyes, darkened with fury...

I jerked against the tree. The knife buzzed my fingers again and I stood up straight because in that moment I knew.

I had a long road to travel and it didn't end in the jungle.

Everything started falling silent. The birds stopped singing first. Then the frogs quieted down. Finally, the bugs hushed. A large shape crept along the trail between our trees, followed by two others.

"¿Dónde estás?" a Gator croaked.

"Me has encontrado. Bueno," another croaking voice answered. Jorge's imitation of a lost Gator was eerily good as he thanked them for finding him.

The three Gators huddled together. "¿Estás herido? ¿Era el chico?"

"No estoy herido," Jorge croaked in reply. "But the boy _is_ here. Now, Matt!"

I clicked a lighter and lit the fuse Jorge had laid earlier in the day. The flame ignited a slow burning powder, ringing the beasts in a circle of fire. I stepped into the light, blade drawn. Ramirez and Jorge appeared, materializing out of the shadows, and drew their blades, too.

The Gators separated, like gladiators who knew they had no escape save victory. The big one pointed at the knife in my hand. "Cuchillos! Matar o morir, amigos."

The sound of its voice sent me spiraling back to the night I almost died. I could feel its breath on my face, hear the rasp of its chuckle as it held its claws over my chest. My entire body started to shake and my grip on the knife's handle loosened. I hesitated just outside the fire ring, unsure if I could do this. I failed before. Would I fail again?

_Do you trust in the blade?_ Jorge's voice seemed to bubble up from nowhere. _Do you trust yourself with its power?_

That's what it came down to, wasn't it? How much did I believe? Would I accept this power and allow it to shape me as it saw fit? And if I did, what would happen to me? Would I be able to finish this fight?

So many questions, and the Gators wouldn't wait for me to decide. I was balanced on the edge of my knife; one slip, and I'd fall the wrong direction.

Flashes of the last six months ran through my mind; of me getting stronger, faster, better. Some of that was the knife. But some of it was me. I wasn't a monster-killing machine only because of the knife. Not entirely. Part of that power came from the blade-spirit, but also because I augmented its power. Because I allowed us to be two parts of one whole.

And I wanted to be whole.

Strength surged up my arm, into my chest, into my soul. Right then, I understood I'd passed a final test. My connection to the spirit solidified into something permanent and, with its help, I would become a weapon. I didn't need to be afraid in the dark. Not tonight.

Filled with strength and righteous rage, I forgot about the other wielders and jumped through the fire ring first. Ramirez called out for me to wait, to stop. But I wouldn't. This fight was mine. I'd show that big Gator I wasn't weak.

All my thoughts focused on a single objective: kill the big Gator and end this thing. No obstacle would stand in my way. Not even the other two Gators. They leapt at me, snarling, claws out. Ramirez screamed something and ran my direction, but he didn't make it in time.

In the blink of an eye, my arm swung out, slashing one through the chest, cutting the other's throat. They dropped to the ground and Ramirez skidded to a halt, staring at the bodies, then at me, his eyes wide with astonishment.

I ignored him and turned to the big Gator. "You ready for me?"

With a rasping, derisive chuckle, the Gator rasped, "Matar o morir, chico!"

Kill or die.

I raised the blade over my head. "You might want to rethink that because I'm not planning on losing this fight. Not this time."

The Gator froze, staring at me with what could've been surprise. Then it turned and fled the fire ring at top speed.

I took off after it, slashing at the vines and plants blocking my path. The Gator was having an easier time making its way. It had dropped on all fours and slithered through the jungle up ahead like a snake in a field of tall grass. I'd never outrun it, not in its own hunting grounds. My only chance would be to corner it somewhere, but I didn't know the terrain well enough, so I kept running. Filled with grim purpose, I knew I'd find that Gator if I had to run forever.

The monster was almost out of sight when a series of blue sparks exploded across the jungle to my right. For a moment, the Gator popped up on two feet, then dodged left.

The sparks could only have come from one person. Jorge was herding it somewhere.

I changed course and followed the big Gator. Every time it pulled away, sparks would flare up and it would turn away from the light, allowing me a little time to catch up. It wasn't quite enough, though; even with Jorge's help, I was wearing out. A stitch pinched my rib cage, I wheezed like I had emphysema and my steps slowed more and more the farther we ran. I wouldn't be able to keep up much longer. Only sheer will kept me on my feet.

Just when I thought I'd collapse from exhaustion, the Gator stopped short and turned to make a stand. I barreled ahead, thinking it was about time to finish this fight, not seeing the danger. I didn't register the black ribbon yawning through the earth behind the Gator until I'd almost run out of ground; it had stopped right at the edge of a gorge cut deep into the jungle floor. A gorge that seemed to have the intention of swallowing me whole.

I pulled up, skidding, praying I'd slow enough, but it was no use—the ground sloped down sharply and gravity dragged me along. There was nothing for it; I was going over the edge.

The big Gator flung its arms wide and laughed its terrible laugh. "Morir!"

The knife buzzed urgently, reminding me, demanding I find a way to change my fate.

I had a long road. And it didn't end in the jungle.

I sprang upward and whipped the knife over my head, catching the blade on vines hanging from the trees growing at the edge of the cliff. Grabbing one in my left hand, I swung out. It felt like I was flying in slow motion and my next move became crystal clear in a split second.

As the vine was beginning its upswing, I had just enough momentum to kick the Gator in the midsection with both feet. With a shriek, it wrapped a hand around my thigh, digging in with one of its talons. Blood coursed through my BDUs and my hand slipped down the vine, muscles cramping under the monster's pull even as it flailed with its free arm to keep its feet on the ground.

It didn't end here, my brain insisted. Not in the jungle. The knife's handle flashed in agreement. _Don't let go._

I shuddered at the sound of that alien whisper. No, don't think about where the voice came from. Deal with that later. Just don't let go. Make the _Gator_ let go.

I slashed down, cutting the Gator's hand off at the wrist before I lost my grip on the vine. I reached the peak of my swing and the monster's body was flung out over the gorge. The beast didn't make a sound, glaring at me with hate-filled eyes as it fell to its death.

I swung back to the edge of the cliff and let go of the vine. My left leg buckled under me; I fell on my ass with a graceless thump and blood trickled down my thigh where the monster's talon was still embedded. After working the severed hand loose, I threw it into the gorge, then lay on my back to catch my breath. The Tarzan moment couldn't have taken more than six seconds, but it felt like hours had passed. Lightheaded from blood loss, I tugged off one of my boots and tied my sock around my thigh to staunch the bleeding. I needed help, that much was for sure; tired or not, I couldn't just lay here. I stood slowly, then started limping back toward camp.

Not even two minutes later, Jorge appeared on the trail, Ramirez following behind. Jorge glanced at my leg, then met my eyes. "You finish the job?"

Not bothering to wonder at Jorge's preternatural ability for knowing exactly where I was at all times, I sat down on the ground and let out a long breath. "Yeah. Yeah, I finished the job."

* * *

Friday morning brought the helicopter, and it was time for me to go if we wanted to keep Mom in the dark. In a hurry to make my good-byes, I caught up with Ramirez as he walked on guard duty.

"Archer, it was good to meet you." Ramirez answered my salute, then pulled me into a bear-hug. "Thanks to you and Jorge, we get to leave Peru in a few weeks. Colonel Black agreed to give us a month's leave before he sends us to Australia." He clapped me on the back hard and let me go.

I flushed. "Thanks, sir."

"Hey, I want to show you something." He grabbed my arm and steered me toward camp.

The team was moving back to its original position closer to the helipad. Johnson barked orders this way and that as the soldiers worked to crate up gear and tear down the tents. Ramirez led me to Jorge's hut.

"Take a look," he said.

I knocked on the wall next to the door opening, then pushed the curtain aside. The hut was empty, nothing left but a small lump sitting in the exact center of the dirt floor. I whirled around to Ramirez.

"He's gone! He was here last night when we all went to bed."

"No one on watch saw him leave, either." The major pointed at the lump on the floor. "I think he left that for you, though."

A scrap of fabric covered something hard, half-buried in the dirt. I dug it free and brought it out into the sunlight to see it better. An arrowhead. It was made of gray stone, rough-hewn and shaped into a sharp point.

Ramirez looked at it over my shoulder. "Nice."

I turned the arrowhead over in my hand. "W" was etched onto its middle section...or maybe it was an "M." It depended on which end was up. But I knew, whichever way I turned it, Jorge had left it for me.

Matt Archer, the warrior.

# Chapter Thirty

I landed in Billings on Friday afternoon. No fighter jet this time—I flew in the passenger seating area of a cargo jet from Iquitos to Colorado. After a debrief with Colonel Black at Fort Carson, I flew commercial from Colorado Springs to Billings on Saturday morning. The sergeant sent to be my escort walked me to my gate, then I was on my own. I spent the flight watching the clouds float by. That was easier than trying to sort through everything that had happened in the last week. I'd rest up first, then I'd deal with the questions about my future...and the unfamiliar voice that had started quietly whispering in my head every so often. Yeah, I'd face that later.

When the seatbelt sign turned off after I arrived home, I gathered up my backpack and the knife. The Army had cut a deal somewhere, getting me a permit to bring the knife on the plane. Sure, it rested in a six-by-six-by-fourteen lockbox sealed with red safety tape, but at least my friendly ancient spirit didn't have to ride in the luggage compartment.

It felt weird to leave the airplane by myself. I'd never flown alone, so I followed the adults as the crowd worked its way through the doors to baggage claim. When I exited the terminal, my shoulders relaxed. Mamie, Will and Ella were waiting. All of them started my way, but Mamie took off running, beating everyone to the punch. She threw her arms around my neck, nearly suffocating me with her quilted pea-coat.

"You had me scared out of my mind!" she cried. "Thank God you're home!"

I raised my eyebrows at Will over Mamie's shoulder. He crossed his arms and glared at me, like he was aggravated that I'd worried her. "Sorry, Mamie. I really am."

Mamie pulled away and wiped her eyes. "It wasn't your fault, Matt."

Will squeezed her shoulder and she stepped aside. "Dude, next time? Make sure you bring me. I'm a better wingman than those Green Berets. I could've kept you out of trouble with just my flashlight."

He smiled, but I knew he was serious. And seriously pissed that I'd gotten hurt so badly. "Yeah, I'll keep that in mind."

Ella hung back, watching our little reunion. She was an amazing sight in a short, plaid skirt, tights and cardigan. I hoped I wasn't drooling while I checked her out.

Mamie broke into my daydream, saying, "You know, I think I'll go get the car. Matt doesn't need to walk so far in the cold." She nodded at Will. "I don't know how to work all those buttons on your Mom's Mercedes. Why don't you come with me?"

"Oh, uh, yeah. Sure," he said. With his back to Ella, he mouthed, "have fun," and gave me a thumbs up before following Mamie.

Ella and I drifted away from the luggage belt to sit on the plastic chairs bolted to the floor near the windows. I knew Mamie would drag out finding the car, so we had some time to catch up.

"Some spring break, huh?" Ella reached for my hand and ran her thumb across the greenish bruises that hadn't faded from my knuckles. "You're a brave guy, Matt."

Here I was, a country-hopping, world-saving monster hunter, and those five words made my head spin. "I kind of have to be. Long story, but maybe we can have lunch tomorrow, so I can tell you all about it."

But how would I explain I had to fight dark spirits and save the human race without sounding all melodramatic? My new job might be the kind of thing that made a girlfriend run. A new thought occurred to me then; would being a wielder mean I'd have to isolate myself from the people I cared about? Would it mean I'd have to be alone?

A thread of a voice, coming from somewhere deep in my mind, answered. _You will never be alone. I am here. Always._

I drew a sharp breath. Always?

Ella must've seen the concern on my face because she squeezed my hand. "Mamie told us some of it already, about what happened in Peru. Whatever I can do to help, count me in." She laughed. "Except for Bear hunting. I draw the line at coming anywhere close to one of those things again."

I shook off the knife's response and smiled at Ella. " _I_ draw the line at you coming anywhere close to one of those things again, too. They're just about finished off, anyway. Will and I killed twelve, so there's probably only one left. One last hunt ought to do it." I kissed her forehead. "All this stuff is a little hard to wrap my brain around. Guess I'll figure it out as I go."

"You will. I knew you were special. I've known that for a long time." Ella brushed her cheek against mine and my face flushed hot. "That's why I chased you down at the lock-in. I'm not usually that...aggressive."

I laughed and felt a little bit of the burden I carried lift from my shoulders. "Given that you've seen me face off with an eight-foot-tall Sasquatch, you should know aggressive doesn't bother me. Really, feel free to be 'aggressive' any time you want." I grinned down at her, thrilled to see those green eyes staring back at me. "Now would be good."

We got in a good five minutes of kissing before Mamie pulled up. I wasn't quite ready to let Ella go, but I owed my sister too much to keep her waiting. Ella stood and tugged me to my feet. We headed outside to the passenger loading lane. The cool wind, after all my days in the jungle, felt like a sock in the jaw. Mamie rolled down her window when she saw us coming.

"Nice wheels." I asked. Brent's Toyota was a piece of junk next to Mrs. Cruessan's S-class Mercedes.

"Well, we wanted to drive you home in style." Mamie adjusted the rearview mirror and clamped her hands to the steering wheel. "We'll drop Ella off on the way. Then you'll need to call home from Will's, acting like you just got back from Aspen. Mom thinks you have bruised ribs, by the way, from ramming into a tree while hot-dogging on a black diamond course. Best plan we could make to keep up the scam."

"Mamie, for someone so sweet and honest, you're better at this cover story stuff than I am," I said. "Thanks. For everything."

Will leaned forward and winked. "I called shotgun."

I held the car door open for Ella, grinning at him over the top of her head. Will made a good wingman.

"Shouldn't I be helping _you_ into the car since you got stabbed a few days ago?" Ella asked.

"Nah, I'm good." I climbed in and showed her my new scar, which had healed into a thin, white line. "See, just a scratch."

Ella ran her fingers along my side, whispering, "Girls like battle scars...you know that, right?"

I took a chance we weren't being watched and kissed her. "I was counting on it."

That night, I ate dinner at home. Mom served meatloaf while arguing with Brent about cleaning up his room. Mamie asked when she'd be getting her own car. Mom wanted all the details about my "ski trip." Brent talked about the Washington State football training camp he'd go to over the summer. I listened to every word, soaking it all in. I'd never really appreciated how wonderfully normal my life was.

Time to pay more attention.

* * *

Just before school let out for summer break, Colonel Black called to ask if Mamie could drive me to the airport early the following Saturday morning.

"General Richardson, the senior officer for the entire monster program, wants to meet you. He's coming to Fort Carson this weekend. Think you can sneak away for the day?"

"Of course," I said.

I knew I should enjoy the slow times. Who knew when I'd get the next timeout in this game of chicken with the forces of evil? The monsters might be gone, but the war wasn't over, not by a long-shot. Now that Will and I had taken out the last Bear, though, I was antsy for a little action, even if it was only meeting a General. So I flew to Colorado aboard a Black Hawk, laughing when I realized I was bored halfway through the flight. Kind of weird the things I took for granted now.

After I arrived at Fort Carson, Colonel Black brought me into the office General Richardson was borrowing from the base commander. It had dark wood paneling and smelled like forty-year-old cigarette smoke. The general sat behind a huge, green metal desk, chewing on an unlit cigar which added its own aroma to the stale tobacco smell.

I wasn't sure if I was supposed to salute indoors so I just stuck out my hand as he stood up to greet us. General Richardson wasn't very tall, but his presence more than made up for it. So did his head—it was way too big for his body. He had a big voice, too, and he used it. He pumped my hand harder than necessary, booming out, "Matt Archer! Darn good to meet you, darn good. Have a seat, young man."

I rubbed my ears, which were ringing from all the bellowing. "Thank you, sir."

The colonel and I plopped down into dark-red leather chairs with wooden arms that were filled in with matching leather panels, like the ones you see in fancy restaurants. The colonel crossed his legs. I copied him. If I was talking to the brass, I should do things right.

"So, you ever been to the Australian Outback?" General Richardson asked.

My pulse sped up. "No, sir, but I've always wanted to go."

"Thought that might be the case," the general said. "We need your help. Your mother is going to get a visit next week. One of my people will come meet with her, claiming you've been selected for a gifted-and-talented program through the school district, and that you've won an all-expense-paid trip to Sydney. Don't worry, we'll make it look legit—website, references, the whole bit. We're pretty good at these things, you know, and the man I'm sending to speak with her can play the part well. I think you know him—Specialist Davis?"

I tried to swallow a laugh and made myself cough. Colonel Black whacked me on the back. "Archer knows Davis, sir. He conducted Archer's equipment training last fall, and he's the right man for the job. Thoroughly believable as a straight-laced educator."

"Complete with the stick up his butt," I whispered. The colonel gave me a sideways glance and I canned it.

"Anyway, you'll ship out in July," General Richardson continued. "We're planning on a month-long op. The Australian Army will provide some military support, but Major Ramirez's team will deploy with you, along with Lieutenant Johnson and Master Sergeant Schmitz."

"And Cruessan," I said, thinking fast. "Will comes this time. I'm sure Specialist Davis can convince his parents, too."

He'd earned this trip as much as I had. I figured asking if Ella could come along, sharing my tent of course, would be pushing it. But Will? Will was going, or I wasn't.

Colonel Black jumped in. "Cruessan has been a very effective assistant to Archer. If we want to finish the Dingoes off fast, then we need everyone." He glanced at me and raised his eyebrows once. "These boys are a part of my team, sir. Cruessan should go. Besides, it would give us a chance to put him through some formal training, like we did for Archer."

The general steepled his fingers together and rocked back and forth in his big chair. "All right, I'll see what I can do."

I sat up straighter, trying not to whoop and holler. Will and me, in Australia? Hell, yeah! Maybe we could smuggle back a kangaroo. His parents would never notice it hopping around their backyard.

"Thank you, sir."

The general nodded, bobbing his big head. "Least I can do. In all seriousness, good job out there, son. I'd like to talk about a bonus of some kind. We've been holding your pay in an interest-bearing account, but..."

"Wait, my _pay_?" I asked. What pay? I was a knife wielder; I had a duty. Just like Jorge said.

"Matt, you and Cruessan are military contractors," Colonel Black said with a hint of amusement. "You'll be compensated for your time. The problem is your age."

When I gave them both confused looks, General Richardson said, "You're fifteen, son...we're violating a whole host of child-labor laws. We could find ways around that and the tax issues, but we'd rather avoid a congressional audit if we can help it. When you turn sixteen, we'll turn control of the account over to you."

I had money in a secret account somewhere? Wow. "Thank you, sir."

"No, Archer, thank you," the general said. "But even if we can't give you the money yet, I think you deserve a bonus for Montana and Peru. I'm close to the President; I'm sure we can work out a gift of some kind. All you have to do is ask."

Wild visions raced through my head—Ella and the tent at the top of the list. "Anything?"

"Well, don't ask to visit the International Space Station. That's not even within the President's reach." The general guffawed at his own joke. "But maybe a ride along in a fighter jet during a training flight, or we could let you drive a tank, an Abrams, and shoot the guns. Or an Apache attack chopper. That's a pretty sweet ride."

I shrugged. "I've ridden in a helicopter bunches of times and I've already been in a fighter jet. Not sure I want to do that again anytime soon."

"And you'll get some Humvee time in the Outback," the colonel added. "We can let you and Cruessan both take the wheel some. Not much to crash into out there and those things are practically indestructible for regular driving. Safest Driver's Ed course you'll ever have."

The general looked crestfallen, like Colonel Black had stolen his thunder. "Well, surely there's something we can do for you. The nation owes you a debt, Mr. Archer."

Colonel Black smiled and gave me a tiny nod. "We do. Whatever you want."

My heart skipped a beat or two as I caught on to what he was saying. I could ask for that? "Well, General, there is one thing...."

# Epilogue

June

"Matt, stop fidgeting. Pacing won't make this go any faster," Mom said. She was as nervous as I was, and she took it out on me by nagging. I flung myself down in a chair next to her.

The airport was quiet this late. The flight from Chicago had been delayed to Billings due to thunderstorms, so we twiddled our thumbs at baggage claim. Only a few other people waited with us. One set was an older couple who had the look of grandparents awaiting the grandkids. The other was an unbelievably hot woman who kept glancing at her watch. She had long dark hair and big brown eyes, and she wore a skirt that showed off great legs. Brent and I took turns checking her out on the sly.

"Would you two stop gawking at that poor lady?" Mamie said.

Mom's mouth twitched, like she was trying not to laugh. "Mamie's right. Quit staring; it's impolite. Besides, the plane's here."

Passengers from the Chicago flight came pouring out the doors to baggage claim, looking tired and a little airsick. We jumped to our feet and Mamie held her sign up. She'd made it out of a bright-green poster board with "Welcome Home Uncle Mike" painted on it in glitter and sparkles.

"Think he'll like it?" she asked.

"Just what a returning war hero needs—glitter and sparkles." I said, then ducked as she tried to smack me upside the head with the poster board.

"I see him," Brent said, interrupting the ruckus.

Mamie waved her sign like crazy and Mom stood, a grin spreading across her face. My stomach soared. I'd waited for this day for six months. It was even better that I hadn't had to wait a year. It had taken General Richardson several weeks to come through on his promise, but here we were. Finally.

Mike pushed through the door. His muscles were bigger than ever and he was darkly tanned, his skin brown against the sand-colored BDUs he wore. He set his duffel bag down and gave us all a long look. He laughed when he saw me.

"Chief, you weren't lying about getting tall."

I nodded, not sure how to answer him. Kind of awkward, but what do you do or say after being separated for six months? None of us seemed to know. Mike shifted from foot-to-foot, glancing around baggage claim, as if reminding himself what home was like. Then his eyes fixed on something and he gasped. Before we could ask what was up, he walked away without another word.

All of us turned around, jaws dropped, wondering where in the world he was going. The lady Brent and I had been checking out jumped to her feet, a huge smile on her face. Mike threw his arms around her, leaned her backward and gave her a big kiss.

Mom squeaked out a hysterical giggle.

"Oh, my God, he's gone crazy," Mamie whispered. "What's he thinking, kissing a strange woman in the airport?"

"Mamie, don't be stupid," Brent said. He called out to Mike, "Yo, Unc, where did you find a woman in _Afghanistan_?"

Mike let the lady go. She laughed and cried while trying to wipe lipstick off his mouth. "Um, this is Julie, everyone, Julie Hunter. My fiancée." He kissed Julie again. "I can't believe you're here!"

Mom staggered their direction, us in tow, and said, "You mean there's a woman on God's green earth brave enough to marry you, Mike?"

"Yeah, finally." He wrapped his arms around Julie, looking all gooey. Brent made a gagging noise behind me. I tended to agree. Adult PDA was gross.

Mom wasn't done scolding yet. Looking a little hurt, she said, "And you didn't tell us? _Michael_!"

"I just asked her two weeks ago. By then I was on my way home, so I thought I'd tell you in person," he said. "I didn't know she'd be here to welcome me back. Honest."

Mom gave him "the stare," then held out her hand to Julie. "I'm Dani, this idiot's older sister."

Julie shook her hand. "Nice to meet you."

Then we all stood there, staring at each other, until Brent said, "Well, that's enough family togetherness for me for one night. Nice to meet you, too, Aunt Julie. I'm going out to the car." That made everyone laugh and Brent waved at us as he left the building, phone already out to text his girlfriend.

While Mom grilled Julie about her life history, Uncle Mike pulled me aside. "Thanks for bringing me home, Chief. I mean that. I was shocked when General Richardson's office called."

"Well, if I'd known _she_ was waiting for you, I would've asked sooner." I gave Mike the stink-eye. "But Brent's right. Where'd you find her? If you tell me a dating website, I'm gonna hurl."

"Hardly. I met her on tour. You know that web conference I had with you and Mamie? Julie's the one who interrupted us." He leaned in close and we both stared at his fiancée. She was so hot, it was kind of hard not to. "I was late for a briefing, so she came to get me."

"Ah, now the flirting makes sense. I wondered about that," I said. "But what was she doing over there with you?"

He smiled. "She's Military Intelligence. Desertflower424—remember? The Twitter accounts were her idea."

"M.I?" I said. "Her? She looks like a supermodel, man."

"Yeah, but she could also kill both of us with just her thumbs," Mike said with obvious pride.

I stole another glance at my soon-to-be aunt. She waggled a thumb at me behind Mom's back, and winked. I got lightheaded. Whether from the idea that Julie could kill me with her bare hands or from her smile, I didn't know.

"She couldn't have heard us, could she?"

"She reads lips, Matt. Most spies do."

"Wait...you're telling me that you came home to a lip-reading, mutant-thumbed, supermodel spy?"

"Yep," he said. "I've met my match, I'll tell you that right now."

"No doubt." A smile spread across my face. Badass Aunt Julie had a nice ring to it. "Hey, you finally did what I said."

Mike laughed. "Yeah. I found a wife."

# Acknowledgements

Preparing to publish a novel doesn't happen in a vacuum, and I've been very fortunate to have significant assistance, encouragement and support from a large group of people while bringing Matt Archer to life. I owe my most humble thanks to:

My editor, Cassandra Marshall, for her swift turnaround and keen eye.

My cover, webpage and interior layout designer, Glendon Haddix and the Streetlight Graphics team, for amazing artwork and technical support.

The best group of critique partners a girl could have: J.R. Hochman, Lindsay Buroker, Crash Froelich, Elizabeth Hull, Jeanne Haskin, Liz Coley, Ladonna Watkins, Stefanie DuBois, and Kristen Pham. Y'all read this book, from beginning to end, more than once. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for your help, insight and humor.

The Online Writers' Workshop for Science Fiction, Fantasy and Horror and the great readers I met there, including, but not limited to: Gio, Erin, Lisa, Michael, Laura, Brit, Bobbie, Corie, and the wonderful Lorraine McKay, my first workshop friend, who taught me the ropes for navigating OWW as well as how to critique.

My beta readers: Ryan Highley, Arthur Stewart and Kristi McAndrew.

My tween/teen beta readers, who taught me a lot about my target audience: Simon, Eric, Rachel—y'all rock! And Tanner, thanks for being Matt's number one fan.

My father, for teaching me to love books before I could even read and for helping me bring Matt Archer into the world.

My mother, who we lost much too soon, but not before telling me at the tender age of fifteen that I should write a book. It may've taken twenty years, Mom, but the idea stuck.

My sister, Kristi (aka my fiercest supporter), who even asked her book club to read for me.

My children, Tanner and Alexandra, for being so patient and good-natured about seeing their mom roam around the house talking to herself before dashing off to her laptop. Your love and enthusiasm means the world to me. So does your willingness to scrounge for clean socks when I get behind in the laundry.

Finally, my husband, Ryan, who made my dream happen. This book is as much yours as mine.

# About the Author

Kendra C. Highley lives in north Texas with her husband and two children. She also serves as staff to two self-important and high-powered cats. This, according to the cats, is her most important job. She believes chocolate is a basic human right, running a 10k is harder than it sounds, and that everyone should learn to drive a stick-shift. She loves monsters, vacations, baking and listening to bad electronica.

More information about the Matt Archer universe, works in progress and the nature of the Higgs Boson* can be found at www.kendrachighley.com

(*Yeah...not really. We'll let the scientists handle that part.)

Twitter: www.twitter.com/kendrahighley

Facebook: www.facebook.com/kchighley
