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.
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