Matt Archer: Monster Summer Page 3
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“What happened to you?” Uncle Mike was camped out in the command tent, but he came around the map-covered table, eyes narrowed, as soon as I showed up. “Schmitz said you ran into a ‘little problem.’ I’m assuming that was an understatement.”
I dropped into a chair, wishing I had some kind of magic to erase the giant kink in my lower back. “We got jumped by five Dingoes. We took out two, but three got away.”
As I relayed the story, Uncle Mike’s face turned purple and a vein popped out on his forehead. “I never should’ve sent you out there.”
I crossed my arms and glared at him. “Yes, you should have. End of story.”
We stared at each other for a good minute before Mike relaxed. “So three got away?”
I nodded. “Captain Hunter find anything?”
“I haven’t heard from her yet.” Uncle Mike sighed. “Besides, we have a bigger issue. Why do the monsters always show up where you are, even if they’re supposed to be elsewhere?”
“No idea.” That was the million dollar question, and I didn’t have an answer, not yet. Maybe it had something to do with my close connection to my knife. Or maybe the monsters thought I was the weakest link because I was the youngest wielder. Yeah, like that theory held water. “So we have five left to hunt down, right?”
Uncle Mike returned to his seat. “If the other team hasn’t found the one still on the loose, then yes, five more.”
I left Uncle Mike, wondering if Aunt Julie had found anything. I checked my watch. It was six-thirty. Maybe that’s why Uncle Mike looked so stressed out; his fiancée was running around the Outback, looking for trouble. On purpose.
As uncomfortable as Julie made me sometimes, she was kind of a badass. Besides, if I was honest with myself, I felt a little guilty for the things I’d said—and thought—this morning. Sure, I wanted to spend one-on-one time with Mike, but not because his fiancée had been captured by monsters. Hopefully the team was late for some stupid reason, like a flat tire or dead battery. Never mind that Humvees were practically indestructible. That wouldn’t explain the lack of communications, either.
By the time I made it back to our tent, Will had already passed out on his bunk, and Schmitz had reduced his pistol down to parts on his cot, cleaning each piece with painstaking attention.
Schmitz paused in his housekeeping. “The advance team report back yet?”
I shook my head. “It’s weird. The major says he hasn’t heard from them, but they have a satellite phone in addition to radios.”
“I’m wondering if the major will send out a search party if they aren’t back by tomorrow morning,” Schmitz said. I must’ve flinched, because he hurried to add, “It’s probably just technical difficulties. Don’t get too worked up—you need to sleep while we have the chance.”
After the trap the Dingoes had sprung on us this afternoon, I had a bad feeling about all this, and a strange hum teased the back of mind. Was the knife warning me again? I wasn’t sure, but chills puckered the skin on my arms; almost always a bad sign. Telling my uncle wasn’t a good idea, though. He already worried too much about the burden I carried since being chosen as a wielder. Asking him to spin up a search party now, based on a weird hunch and supernatural voices in my head, would only freak him out more.
Instead, I kicked off my boots and lay down on my cot. A breeze blew against the canvas walls, bringing the scent of campfire smoke with it. Soldiers joked and talked outside, sounding strange without Julie’s higher-pitched voice among them. Where was the advance team?
I rolled onto my side, gasping when a cramp seized up my back. Wherever they were, I wasn’t in much shape to help. Hopefully everything was fine, and by the time I woke up they’d be here.
Part Two