Alex Finch: Monster Hunter

  Dad's voice filtered up from the hole. "Come on down!"

  Unlike the famous game show, I didn't think we were going to have the chance to win a fabulous prize.

  Misty pushed past me, standing so close to Sam their noses almost touched. "This conversation is not over."

  "Misty--"

  "Not. Over." She moved to the hole. "I'm going first. I can't promise I won't punch him if we're left alone."

  I looked down at her feet. Unlike most of her friends, who always tottered around on heels tall enough to make them look like they'd topple at any second, Misty traded off between the heels and flats. I let out my breath when I saw that she chose to wear flats today. Stylish and expensive flats, but she could climb down the ladder without killing herself.

  She knelt, easing herself backward until her feet touched the rungs of the ladder, and disappeared into the darkness.

  Sam let out his breath. "That could have gone better."

  "You weren't ever going to tell her, were you?"

  "The fewer who know, the better." He looked at me, and I willed my skin not to flush. Dad knew almost everything, but he would never tell anyone else. I trusted him completely, and I didn't regret telling him. I had a feeling Sam wouldn't share my confidence. "After you, Alex."

  Swallowing, aware I narrowly dodged a bullet, I sat, stuck my flashlight in the pocket of my hoodie and scooted to the edge of the hole, bracing my feet on the ladder as I turned around, gripping the curved sides.

  Light flared below me, showing me the bottom of the ladder. Dad caught me around the waist when I was close and guided me to the ground. "Got your footing?"

  "Yeah. Thanks."

  Sam appeared in the beam of Misty's flashlight and stepped to the ground, flipping on his own light.

  "This way," Dad said. "I had a little time to do some exploring while you were--sorting things out." Misty stared at the ground, and Sam pushed hair off his face. I just grinned at Dad; he wouldn't say anything else about it. He wouldn't need to. It was his best leave-me-squirming technique, and it worked every time. "Turn your flashlights off. All of you."

  We obeyed, and I sucked in my breath.

  Gold, flickering light danced in lines down the twisting street. Old fashioned lamps stuck out from brackets next to the door of every building, hung on tall posts at the edge of a high boardwalk.

  And two more posts stood on either side of a time-blackened sign, illuminating the carved words perfectly.

  Welcome to Hyattown.

  11

  I expected rubble and broken, rotting wood--best case scenario, a path clawed into the packed dirt, leading to Jake's secret lair.

  What I didn't expect was a fully intact ghost town. Underground.

  We moved past the sign and I felt a rush of heat over my entire body, like I walked through some kind of barrier. And it wasn't just me--Misty let out a gasp, and caught my wrist.

  "Did you feel that?"

  "Yeah." I looked over at Dad. He nodded, worry clouding his eyes. Worry that wasn't there before.

  I shoved the fear to the back of my mind as we walked past buildings that looked like they belonged in a museum. The flickering light from the gas lamps danced off broken glass windows, fading store signs, and the boardwalk on each side of the street.

  Closer inspection showed the consequences of being in a damp environment. The buildings may have been standing, but they were not safe. Rot crept up from the foundation, warping and softening the old wood. Only the brick buildings looked intact, mold spreading over what was once bright red and soft beige facades.

  Moving to Dad, I slipped my hand in his, felt him squeeze my fingers. "How can this be here?"

  He pointed straight ahead. "That's how."

  Taking me with him, he headed for the end building. Now that we were on top of it, I saw the heavy wood beam. It looked like a railroad tie, with the black coating slapped on it. Probably to prevent what was happening to the wood structures.

  The ceiling was low--less than eight feet, was my guess--and these thick pillars, set up in pairs, sprouted up in regular formation, like a grove of dead trees. Each one dovetailed into one of the heavy cross beams that turned the ceiling over our heads into a checkerboard.

  This was well-planned, not a slapdash attempt. There was another freaking town over our heads. The thought that this had been under my feet all my life sent chills down my spine.

  Dad's quiet voice echoed around us. "I found the main shutoff for the gaslights in the first building. It looks like it was the public works. I honestly didn't expect them to work, but they fired right up."

  "Like someone has been maintaining them," I whispered. Dad nodded, tightening his grip on my hand.

  "Who did this?" Misty's awed voice filtered through my growing dread.

  Sam had moved away, and was running his fingers over the closest porch post. "This might give us an answer."

  We hustled over to him. A symbol was carved into the wood. A symbol I knew I'd seen before--

  "It's a rune," Dad said. He reached past me, touched the carving. It looked like an upside down peace sign--or my elementary school attempt at drawing a tree. "This one is Algiz. It represents protection, or what could be seen as a safe refuge, a safe haven. I had a quick and dirty introduction to runes at university." He raised his eyebrows at my astonished look. "What? I can't have a past?" He smiled at Sam and Misty, who looked even more surprised than me. "I did my undergrad studies at Cambridge. You can't beat England for the glorious variety of architectural styles. I met a girl--"

  "Dad!" I clapped my hands over my ears. "I so don't want to hear this."

  He gently pried my hands away. "Who cast runes. She was a bohemian, and bashful, lumbering me thought she was the next best thing to a perfectly rendered Gothic arch." His finger traced the rune. "We parted ways pretty quickly--I do like my women with a brain." He winked at me. "But I became fascinated by the runes, and did some studying of my own. Not only are they a form of prediction, they are also a language."

  Sam's quiet voice broke the stunned silence. "You think this is some kind of haven. A meeting place."

  "Exactly. Now," he laid one hand on my shoulder. "How about we go find Jake?"

  Oh, God.

  Sam froze. I waited endless seconds for him to start yelling, and braced myself. He moved so close I could feel his breath on my cheek. "When were you going to tell me?"

  "Not until I absolutely had to."

  He shocked me by smiling. "You never fail to surprise."

  I stared up at him, my breath clogging in my lungs. I couldn't remember how they worked.

  Misty snapped the connection. "This rune is supposed to mean this place is a safe haven." Her usually bubbly voice was subdued.

  "A good theory," Dad said. He noticed the same thing I did--she kept jumping at every little sound. "If it's true--"

  "The next question is," Misty looked at me, fear in her sky blue eyes. "A safe haven for what?"

  ~

  Dad kept his arm around Misty as we searched the streets, checking for any sign of Jake. The layers of dirt on the boardwalks were untouched, and they squeaked with every step we took. I got off as soon as I could, already freaked out by the existence of the town.

  Everywhere we went, we found the same tree rune--carved into doors, under windows, on porch posts. Every building told whoever came here that this was a safe place, a place of protection. It felt empty, like no one had walked here in a long time.

  When we circled back to the town welcome sign, I noticed a larger version of the rune there, under the town name. Only this one had an angry black mark scorched across it, a warning that this haven was no longer safe.

  The sewers spiked that sense of danger.

  The closest entrance was down an alley halfway along the street. I sucked up my courage, and followed Dad down the ladder--before I froze on the third rung. Every hair stood at attention, and my primal survival instinct screamed for flight. So I listened.

&nbs
p; Misty was right behind me as I scrambled back up the ladder, and we held hands as we ran for the exit leading to open ground. I swear I didn't breathe until I saw the night sky.

  We didn't stay in McGinty's yard--too much bad mojo. Instead we kept going, running until we got back to the records office.

  Once we reached the parking lot my lungs were burning. Being a dancer, that pretty much never happened outside of class, so I knew I had been pretty well freaked out by everything. I bent over, hands braced on my thighs, taking in deep, gulping breaths. Misty dropped to the ground next to me, sucking air.

  I never wanted to do that again.

  Misty crawled over to me. "You okay?"

  I held up one hand, took in a semi-normal breath. "I could be better." Easing myself to the ground, I scratched absently at my still healing cut. She slapped my hand away. "Hey--"

  "You'll infect it."

  "Yes, Mom." I smiled over at her. She was pale, but the fear had faded from her eyes. I imagined I didn't look much better. "Do you think they found anything?"

  "I hope not." She rubbed her arms. "I can't believe that giant, hairy nightmare was Jake. What happened to him?"

  I swallowed, focused on the cuff of my hoodie. "You'll have to ask Sam."

  "But you know--"

  "I can't, Misty. I made a promise." One I already broke, when I told Dad. I wondered what the penalty was for breach of confidentiality. And remembered the wicked weapons both Emmetts carried when they went after Jake. That image scared me almost as much as the thought of facing Jake again.

  Dad and Sam showed up soon after, wet, filthy, and smelling like, well, the sewer. Dad shook his head at me, and they both joined us on the ground.

  Dad laid one hand on Sam's arm. "I'm sorry we didn't find him. He may have left town altogether, with the number of people looking for him."

  "Thank you for trying, sir." Sam sounded exhausted, and looked worse. Dad obviously noticed when I did. He stood, hauled Sam to his feet, and headed for his truck. "What--"

  "I'm taking you home, son." Dad used his "it's useless to argue with me" tone. Sam didn't; he just lowered his head, dirty, cobwebbed hair covering his face. "Did you need a ride, Misty?"

  "I have my car here, Mr. Finch." She stood, and to my shock ran over and hugged Dad. "Thanks for taking care of us down there."

  "My pleasure, beautiful."

  She blushed--Misty Corwin, the goddess of chess geeks, favorite of teachers everywhere, actually blushed. I wished I had my phone out.

  I dragged myself up, moved next to her to watch Dad and Sam walk over to his truck. Dad had his arm around Sam's shoulders, talking to him. Knowing my dad, he was telling Sam not to blame himself, for anything. Including my involvement in this mess. I agreed; it wasn't Sam's fault that Jake decided on an afternoon snack. He just picked the wrong girl to try and sink his teeth into.

  "You okay to drive home, Alex?"

  I could have stretched out on the parking lot and slept just fine, but I nodded. "It's not far." I met Misty's eyes. "I don't have to tell you--"

  "Not to tell anyone? No." She squeezed my arm, and slid into her Porsche. Yeah, different car. Her dad owned the biggest luxury car franchise on the West coast. "Besides, who would believe me?"

  Peer ridicule--always a good reason to keep your mouth shut.

  I watched her squeal out to the street. Dad's truck rumbled to life behind me, and followed her, at a more responsible pace. I waved at them, and headed for my car.

  I didn't park under one of the few lights dotting the good sized parking lot, so I was almost on top of it before I saw the damage. The two front tires were flat.

  "Damn it--" I crouched, pulling the flashlight out of my pocket and snapping it on. My heart skipped when the beam flashed over the tires. They had been chewed on. Like a giant dog's play toy.

  I stood, putting my back to the car. This part of town rolled up its sidewalks after five p.m. I was alone, surrounded by a parking lot, and locked government buildings.

  Swallowing, I inched along the side of the car. My left hand pressed against the cool surface, and I was grateful for the solid comfort of it at my back. I glanced down when I reached the back tire. It had been chewed to rubber oblivion. My hand met empty space and I froze. My trunk was open.

  I scanned the parking lot for any movement, then risked a quick look down. The trunk was empty, the crossbow I'd stashed there gone.

  "Oh, God," I whispered. I had to get out of here.

  Turning off the flashlight I'd stupidly left on, I waited endless seconds for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. Part of me--the big, screaming part of me--didn't want to leave the safety of having the car between me and Jake. But I couldn't stay here. Jake wouldn't hesitate, not even with the potential of an audience if I made it to the more social part of downtown. He proved that the first time by going after me in broad daylight.

  I left the trunk open, since it would draw attention if anyone happened to drive by. With my heart pounding so hard it hurt my chest, I inched forward. Losing the car as a shield left me feeling exposed. My hand gripped the flashlight, its heavy duty casing my only weapon.

  The tapping of claws on cement froze me. It came from behind, and those claws sounded big. Like Jake as a hairy nightmare big.

  I started moving, faster now, and got to the sidewalk without being jumped or having the heart attack I could feel coming on. It was only half a mile to my house, but it might as well have been ten. If Jake was stalking me, he had my scent from our first encounter. He could follow me anywhere, take me down at any time. And he did enjoy playing with his food.

  I kept moving, simply because there was nothing else for me to do. If I could get in screaming distance of my neighborhood I might have a chance. That gave Jake five blocks to attack me before I could expect help.

  I jerked as the wind picked up, rustling the trees that lined practically every street. Fantastic. That would obscure the spine-crawling sound of his claws that dogged me with every step.

  I hugged the trees, moving down the sidewalk as quickly and quietly as possible. The wind did help cover my noise--but it also blew my scent straight at my stalker.

  The more I thought, the more I panicked, the faster I moved. Jake could be deadly silent. Why he chose to let me know he stalked me was a question I wanted to survive to ask--

  A sharp crack spun me around. Something big broke a heavy branch. Just behind me. The wind shifted and I got a whiff of sewer. Of wet fur. My hand shook against the flashlight.

  I backed up against the closest tree, fought to control my breathing. Over the wind, I heard it. Nails tapping on cement. Coming from my left.

  With a silent prayer I pushed off the tree and bolted in the opposite direction.

  The inhuman scream nearly stopped my heart.

  I pushed for more speed, literally running for my life now. I heard my pursuit behind me, no longer quiet. I skidded around the corner, raced down the first street of my neighborhood. I could scream for help now--but what would happen to the person who came out to assist?

  Unable to stand not knowing how much distance I had on Jake, I risked a quick glance behind me. And almost stumbled in shock.

  Something big and black came at me. A flat yellow light pulsed in the middle of its chest and spilled on the sidewalk in front of it, lighting its way. The edge of that light was only inches from my feet. With a raw gasp I surged forward. Another scream echoed behind me.

  The last corner did me in.

  I tripped over the huge tree root buckling the sidewalk. A tree root I've hopped over without thinking about for years. Momentum threw me to the sidewalk, and I rolled, the flashlight flying out of my hand. I tried to get to my feet, letting out a hoarse cry when my left ankle caved under my weight.

  Scrambling backward, I watched the hulk rush at me. We both screamed. I reached for the white picket fence next to me, hoping I had enough time and strength to climb over and hide in the Hennessey's wild English garden--

&nbsp
; Headlights spilled over us as a car swerved around the corner. Neon green eyes flashed in the light, staring at me with such hate it lodged my breath in my throat.

  "Alex!" Dad's shout snapped my head around. I hugged the fence as he aimed his truck straight at my attacker.

  The creature shrieked, tried for one last grab at me. I ducked, feeling claws snag the shoulder of my hoodie. The roar of the truck drowned out everything as it jumped the sidewalk. I clutched the picket fence, shaking so badly my body rattled the wood.

  Dad bolted out of the truck, raising the shotgun in his hands as he tore around the hood. Wait--a shotgun? Why did my passive dad have a shotgun?

  A final scream echoed in the darkness, far enough away that I knew it was retreating.

  "Alex." Dad crouched next to me, laid the shotgun on the sidewalk. "Look at me."

  I obeyed, meeting his furious blue eyes. "Dad . . ."

  He scooped me up and carried me to the passenger side of the truck. After settling me in the seat, he ran around the front, grabbed the shotgun and slid into the driver's side, backing the truck off the sidewalk.

  Not a single person came out to investigate. My neighbors, who were nosier than any gossip rag, would have been on this like white on rice.

  We drove the short way to the house, and Dad pulled into the driveway, parking behind Mom's car. Before I could say a word he reached over and pulled me into his arms. "Alex." He whispered against my hair, and I realized he was shaking almost as much as I was. "Are you all right?"

  "Yeah." I leaned back enough to look at him. "How did you know?"

  "I was almost home when I heard the scream." He closed his eyes, swallowing before he faced me again. "It nearly stopped my heart. When I didn't see your car in front of the house, I knew."

  "You heard the scream?" He nodded, rubbing my back. Slowly, I started to calm, the rush of adrenaline fading. "Why were you the only one?"

  "Good question." He'd noticed the lack of an audience, too. "Did you see what was after you?"

  "Yeah." I huddled deeper into his arms, holding on to him. "And we have a big problem, because it wasn't Jake."

  12

  Dad talked his way around Mom's inevitable questions, telling her a story about taking me to county records for a school project. Mostly not a lie. Not that it made me feel any better--we were still leaving out some rather important facts.