Matt Archer: Blade's Edge (4 page)

It buzzed, but didn’t speak. I wondered what that meant, but decided to shake it off because we’d owned those Kalis, scary-possessed Matt or not. Almost worth the four-alarm migraine.

The team cleaned up the scene, getting ready to burn the corpses to be sure the Kalis wouldn’t regenerate. Patterson uncorked the flamethrower again, making quick work of the funeral pyre. The smell was righteous, but we didn’t have much choice except to cover our mouths and noses. Then we packed up to return to the staging area for some sleep. The walking wounded—me and Johnson—didn’t have to carry anything. The arrow I’d taken had sliced a pretty good gash in my bicep.

When we got back to camp, our medic, Sergeant Klimmett, herded me into the first tent. Warm under the propane heaters, I stripped off my coveralls and unwrapped the bandages, then flung myself on a sleeping bag to get checked over.

Klimmett shined a bright LED flashlight on the wound. The blue-white light turned his brown hair a weird beige color and long shadows blurred his eyes and nose. “Well, you need some stitches, but I think you’ll live.”

He gave me a shot to kill off my headache, then another to deaden my arm, humming the theme to
The Simpsons
while he worked. I leaned back, trying to ignore him and the creepy-crawly tug of thread going in and out of my arm. Being tired helped. I drifted, barely awake, while Patterson and Uncle Mike got Johnson situated on a sleeping bag nearby. Mike swapped the lieutenant’s snow-filled bandage for a real cold-pack, then went for the colonel. Senior officer or not, Colonel Black was the best medic in camp.

“Broken nose and twelve stitches,” the colonel said after looking us over. “All in all, not a bad night, then. All right, Lieutenant, let’s see what I can do about your nose.”

As soon as Klimmett cut the thread and pressed a clean bandage over my bicep, I jumped up. “That’s my cue,” I said. “I don’t like hearing bones crack together.”

I ran out of the tent to the sound of chuckles and someone calling me chicken, but a guy had to have limits.

Chapter Four

“A
rcher,” a man said. “Wake
up.”

Since it wasn’t Mom demanding I get up for school, I ignored the voice and curled up tighter across my row of seats. The rumbling of the plane would rock me back to sleep.

Someone flicked me on the ear. Annoyed, I opened one eye to find Schmitz’s oversized beak inches from my own nose. He was leaning over the row of seats in front of mine to get close. Even with the shades drawn over the plane’s windows, I could still count his nostril hairs. Six.

I groaned. “Man, that’s an ugly sight first thing in the morning.”

“Nice. And you shouldn’t let your guard down like that. I didn’t even have to sneak up on you,” he said, leaning back to mock-glare at me. “Didn’t I teach you better than that?”

“You taught me to hide and track, not sleep with one eye open,” I grumbled. Being awake sucked.

Schmitz’s dog tags were dangling from his neck. We hit a patch of turbulence and they swung toward my eyeball, the imprinted letters of “T. Schmitz” coming at me in a blur.

“Master Sergeant, do you mind?”

“You’re such a daisy in the morning.” He tucked the tags down the collar of his green battle dress uniform. We all wore BDUs of various colors—desert, forest, jungle—when traveling. They were more comfortable than anything else, especially since we couldn’t wear sweats on ops.

I grunted. “What’s the ‘T’ stand for?”

“Too many questions,” he said.

“Oh, come on. I’ve known you a year, dude,” I said. “Isn’t it time you told me?”

“I don’t tell nobody my first name,” Schmitz said, crossing his arms. “Nobody.”

“I’ve known that jackwagon six years, and he won’t tell me either,” Johnson muttered from across the aisle. “It’s probably Teddy Bear.”

“Sir, yes, sir. Means women find me cuddly, sir,” Schmitz said. He came around his row of seats into the aisle, saluted Johnson, then prodded me in the side with his foot. The combat boot in the ribs made me scowl, and he laughed, saying, “You’ve been out like the dead for the whole flight. Time to get your lazy butt up and report for duty, soldier.”

I sat up and stretched. My neck bones felt welded together, resulting in a massive crick. The headache from the knife fight was finally gone, though. “We almost back to Kadena?”

He nodded. “Thirty minutes out. Major Tannen wants to talk to you before we land, so you’d best get to the head and clean up some.”

I stumbled toward the bathroom, taking care not to bump arms flung over armrests or feet sticking out in the aisle. We’d hiked down the mountain early the morning after the hunt, then caught transport on a giant Chinook twin-rotor helicopter. It had been a very bumpy ride to the nearest airport, and most of us were feeling pretty rough when we boarded our flight. Nearly everyone else was still asleep, wiped from the mission. Uncle Mike, Colonel Black and Ramirez were huddled in the front row, their heads close together while they talked. Not a good sign.

The airplane’s bathroom was the size of a refrigerator and about as comfortable. I took stock of the damage in the mirror. Not too bad. A bruised cheek, couple of scratches by my ear. The rest of the injuries were on my torso. Good, I could hide those. Luckily, by keeping my hair buzzed down at a two-blade year round, I didn’t have to deal with bed-head, either.

After I washed my face, I made my way back through the sleeping soldiers to the front of the plane, wondering what was up. Uncle Mike scooted over and motioned for me to sit next to him, across from Ramirez and the colonel.

Ramirez had bags under his eyes and his brown skin was a few shades paler than normal. Looked like I wasn’t the only one who’d had a rough post-fight recovery. He nodded at me. “How’s your head?”

“Better.” Still felt like I had cotton between my ears, though. It was taking a while for the spirit to let go. “Guess I’ll have to watch it more next time.”

Mike patted my shoulder. “Yes, you will.”

I gave them both a tight smile. I knew I’d have to be careful with the knife’s power, but if going with the flow kept us alive, then I’d do it again.

Crap, there was that “us” thing again.

The knife hummed in its sheath and a brief happiness crossed my mind. Yeah, this was a problem. I forced myself to focus on the conversation, hoping the spirit understood I needed a little space.

“Captain Tannen confirmed the reports,” the colonel was saying. “She finished pulling together all the interview data and matched it up to your research from Afghanistan, Major. Looks like we’ll need to go in.”

Afghanistan? Uncle Mike had been there six months looking into supernatural activity, but he never told me they found anything.

“Aunt Julie confirmed what reports?” I asked.

“We can’t talk about it in detail here,” Mike said, leaning closer to me. “But how do you feel about zombies?”

“Braaaaiins,” I moaned. When they all stared at me, stone-faced, I shrank down in my seat. Dang it, he was serious. “Sorry.”

“When I went over there last year, I was looking into disappearances. People just vanishing…sometimes whole villages. During the interviews, we kept hearing the strangest stories, about the walking dead,” Mike said. “Julie’s been trying to confirm those rumors for months now, and I bet she finally found a credible source. It’s all tied up with some kind of mythical overlord. We haven’t been able to sort that part out much yet, but Julie’s working on it.”

Sometimes having an aunt in Military Intelligence came in handy. Other times it resulted in too much information. Like now. And sometimes…sometimes it couldn’t help us at all.

Ramirez made a disgusted face. “Zombies, huh? This whole ‘dark war’ thing just keeps on getting better.”

You could say that again. “We go from mutated animals to Kali-demons and now mythical overlords? Does anyone else think this sounds like the war is escalating?”

“Since we don’t know who the true enemy is, I can’t say for sure,” Colonel Black said. “But it appears that way. We could be in for a heavy campaign.”

It seemed to me like dark magic was seeping out of the earth’s crust unchecked, almost like we’d accidentally opened a rift somewhere to let them in. If the attacks kept growing more frequent, how would the team keep up with me stuck in school? And if they couldn’t keep up, how would we ever have time to search for the shamans? I still believed the original locations—Peru, China, Australia and Botswana—were important somehow. We couldn’t let the search slip through the cracks because we were too busy hunting.

There was only one solution—they needed all five wielders in the field.

I took a quick breath, steeling myself for the argument. “Maybe…maybe it’s time to tell my mom about all this. That way I could come onto the team full time.”

Uncle Mike’s eyes practically bugged out of his head. “Are you trying to get me killed, Chief? Because I know my sister, and she’ll be looking to smite me for putting you in mortal danger without telling her.”

“I’m not trying to get you killed.” I looked to the colonel for support. “You might need me, is all I’m saying.”

“We might, but not at this point,” Colonel Black said. “Let’s wait until we run out of other options before we cross that bridge.”

“And maybe we won’t have to tell her until you’re eighteen,” Uncle Mike added. “Then serving full-time would be your call.”

I mashed my lips together to hold in a barrage of reasons why that was a stupid position to take. “Okay.”

I just hoped the monsters didn’t have big plans for the next two years.

I crawled out of the Humvee at Kadena, reeking of sweat and tired to my bones. My body was so jet-lagged, if my watch hadn’t said three o’clock in the afternoon, I would’ve sworn it was six a.m. despite the bright sunshine.

“What day is it?” I croaked.

Schmitz jogged past me, wearing a smirk. “New Year’s Eve, Matthew-san.”

“Are you sure?” I asked. “Because it feels like half-past Tuesday to me.”

Uncle Mike appeared at my side, looking mischievous. “You know a good way to reset your body clock? A hard workout. Come on.” Without listening to me whine, my uncle took off at a trot, and I followed him, grumbling the whole way.

The base gym was serious business. No fancy circuit machines, music piped in over the PA system, or fresh towels stacked in the corners here. Instead you got a soft black floor, painted brick walls, streaked mirrors and racks of free weights mingled with pull-up bars, kickboxing bags and bench press stations. The place even smelled like hard work—sweat and Tiger Balm.

Uncle Mike pushed me hard, barking at me as I jumped rope in a dizzying blur until my breathing got ragged. When it became clear I was about to collapse, he said, “Good start. Time for sparring practice.”

“Dude, really? How about a rest?”

“Nope.” He threw me a set of chest pads and some soft gloves. “Let’s see if you can take the old man.”

Well, in that case…. I followed Uncle Mike to the sparring room, thinking I might actually win this one. Lieutenant Johnson’s crash course in hand-to-hand combat, along with some serious on-the-job training, had done wonders for my balance
and
my confidence. I felt at home—loose, comfortable.

The room was padded with red mats on the walls and floor, and the vinyl squeaked under my running shoes. Before I could get my bearings, Mike took a swipe at my head, his right hand coming out of nowhere. Good thing ducking had become second nature to me. I evaded him easily, following up with a soft jab to his ribs. He grunted and swept a leg behind my knees. I hit the floor, rolled and got to my feet. Uncle Mike had a cocky grin on his face. We’d see how long he kept it. I feinted right, then rushed straight at him and tackled him around the waist. We went down hard. He struggled to get up, but I pinned his shoulders for a three-count.

“Say ‘Uncle,’” I said, laughing.

“Bite me,” Uncle Mike said, laughing just as hard.

“No, thanks.” I sat on his ribs for a second, just to be a butthead, then pushed myself up and held out a hand.

“You’ve learned a lot,” Johnson called from the doorway.

Mike grimaced. “You saw the kid take me down?”

“Saw it nothing—I recorded it,” he said, holding up his phone. “One humiliating YouTube video, coming right up.”

That cracked me up. “Too bad we can’t let Brent see it. He’d be impressed.”

“That his not-so-little brother knocked me on my butt? Yeah, he’d probably be impressed,” Mike said. “Sorry I missed seeing him at Thanksgiving.”

“Me too,” I said softly.

We stood there, uncomfortable, because we’d mentioned the elephant in the room. Johnson muttered something about the mess hall and disappeared.

“Look, Matt,” Uncle Mike said, rubbing the shoulder he’d landed on during my takedown. “I know my being gone—”

“Don’t worry about it,” I said before he could go all “fatherly lecture” on me. What could he do anyway? Uncle Mike was back on active duty—General Richardson decided where he lived and worked, which was D.C. for the time being. The only reason Aunt Julie got stationed at the Pentagon with him was because she worked on the monster program, too. I should’ve been happy Uncle Mike had finally gotten married, and even happier that he could live with his wife.

So why did I have a lump in my throat?

Mike watched me for a minute. “You know I’m only a video chat away, right, Chief?”