The Last Hunter - Ascent (Book 3 of the Antarktos Saga) by Jeremy Robinson Page B

If the same thing happened when the Earth’s crust shifted, it’s possible that the world slipped by beneath the airborne birds and they found themselves transported to a new continent. I know my theory is sound when the distinct red, blue and yellow plumage of a macaw flaps past overhead. The bird is a native of Brazil. It must feel right at home in this new rainforest.
    Advancing carefully and quietly, I move down the grade, deeper into the forest, where the trees grow to impossible heights that could easily conceal an army of Nephilim. When I’ve covered the precise distance between the cave exit and Clark Station 2, I stop. There’s a tree where the metal hanger-like station should be.
    I creep forward. Maybe the land has changed? Maybe it was pulled away by ice as it flowed out to sea. It seems unlikely, because ice melted by the sun would melt from the top down and the buried structure would have been freed from it slowly and gently.
    Whump-bump.
    The ground beneath my feet bubbles down under my weight and springs back up when I step off. I’ve stepped on something. Falling to my knees, I quickly brush away a layer of detritus and several inches of soil. When I’m done, I stare at my discovery. It’s a metal panel, ridged like the surface of Clark Station 2. Was it buried again? I wonder. But I quickly find the outer edges and lift the rusted metal from the ground.
    A quick search of the surrounding area reveals more of the same. Clark Station 2 has been destroyed. There’s nothing left.
    Sadness grips me. I’m not sure what I expected to find here. Maybe comfort in the familiar, or…the note. I’d forgotten about Mira’s note, but some part of me must have hoped to find it. But it’s long gone now, like Mira herself.
    My thoughts turn to Clark Station 1. It’s just five miles from here. Not only is it the place of my birth, but it was also home to Luca, Em and Tobias for a time. If there are any clues to their location to be found, they’ll be there.
    Moving fast, I begin a reckless charge through the jungle that will get me to Clark Station 1 in thirty minutes. I’m noisy and leaving a path that is easy to follow. Like I said, reckless. I already knew there are cresties hunting nearby. What I didn’t know was that a different sort of hunter now stalked the jungle—one equally as deadly as the ancient dinosaurs.
     
     
     
     
    16
     
    The man is as surprised by me, as I am by him. He spins around with wide eyes, like a child caught stealing cookies. His complexion and facial features look Arab, and his clothing is modern military—fatigues, boots and weapons. He’s got some kind of automatic weapon slung over his back and a handgun on his hip.
    I didn’t see the man crouched by a tree and nearly bowled right into him. But my reflexes are fast and I lunge to the side, avoiding a collision that would have been painful. I roll back to my feet and spin toward the man with open hands—what I hope is still universal for “I mean you no harm.”
    Unfortunately, he’s not of the same mind. When his hand comes up, it’s holding a handgun. He aims it at my chest, but doesn’t pull the trigger. He’s no doubt confused by the half-naked teenager standing before him. In all my time below ground, I never felt self-conscious about my scant clothing. Everyone underground dressed like this. Survival depended on it. But under this man’s bewildered gaze, I’m feeling wholly underdressed.
    His eyes linger on the sharp blade and spiked mace attached to either side of my waist where Whipsnap is clipped.
    “I’m not going to hurt you,” I say.
    Something about my words enrages the man. I can only understand one word of his reply. “American.” And it sounds more like an accusation than a question. What has happened in the world that the first person I come across wants to kill me because I’m an American?
    Rather than tempting fate, I shake my head, no, and say, “Antarctican.”
    He seems to understand