Matt Archer: Monster Hunter

by Kendra C. Highley

  Thank goodness for the rain. “Yeah, it was too muddy to hike,” I said. “I left my camping stuff at Mike’s to dry out.”

  Mike followed me in. “Dani, gotta sec? I need to talk to you about fall break.”

  We trooped through the entry into the living room. Mom sank onto the couch sitting closest to the fireplace. She patted the seat next to her. I took a load off and she put her arm around my shoulders. She’d laid a fire, and we listened to the logs crackle while waiting for Mike to settle down in the matching recliner. It took him a while; he always fidgeted when he was getting ready to roll out some lies.

  Like Mike had said last night, he didn’t plan to tell Mom about the monsters. He tried to justify that by explaining that dudes in special forces didn’t really lie. They had cover stories.

  Yeah, right. Tell that to the bobbing recliner and my twitchy uncle.

  Finally Uncle Mike got comfortable enough to speak. “I was thinking I could take Matt to Colorado for a big hike. He’s old enough for some serious rappelling and I’d love it.”

  My older brother appeared at the door to the kitchen, holding a peanut butter sandwich in each hand. Brent’s shoulders nearly filled the doorway. I stared thoughtfully at the hulk, getting an idea…Mike said to eat like a man. Okay, Whatever Brent ate, I would, too.

  Brent glared at us. “Hey, what about me? I like to rappel.”

  My understanding was that seventeen-year-olds aren’t supposed to whine. Brent did it anyway. He cocked his perfectly square head to one side—an amazing feat since he had almost no neck after all his weight training—and squinted suspiciously at us, like we were dissing him on purpose. Uncle Mike shot me a glance, and I saw him tense a little. We hadn’t counted on Football Hero being in the way.

  “I already took you out for your birthday,” Mike said. “To that concert in Helena, remember? This is an early birthday gift for Matt.”

  Brent put his sandwiches on the coffee table without a napkin under them, ignoring Mom’s glare, and flopped on the couch hard enough that I caught air on the wave. “I get an overnighter, and he gets a week? Nice favoritism, Unc.” Giving Mike a seriously dirty look, he said, “Why can’t I go with you guys?”

  So Mike let the shoe drop. Just not about the monsters.

  “I’m shipping out in December. Fort Carson first, then on to Afghanistan in January. I seem to remember taking you on a big hike when you were fifteen. Just in case I take a bullet or get stuck over there for two years, I thought it’d be nice to make sure Matt got his turn.”

  Mom’s gasp drowned out Brent’s stuttered apology and my sister flew around the corner from the entryway. Mamie’s face was pale; she’d caught the news, too. Mike had done a good job diverting Brent’s attention…and everyone else’s.

  Mom raked her hands across her head, spiking up her short, brown hair into a porcupine-like mess. “Upstairs, everyone. Now.”

  Whenever Mom’s voice sounded like that, we moved, and today was no exception. The three of us climbed the stairs as fast as we could. Brent slammed his bedroom door before we could say a thing, so Mamie followed me into my room.

  “Afghanistan? For a year?” she whispered.

  Mamie twirled one of her brown pigtails around her finger, her classic nervous tic, and burst into tears. I hated watching Mamie cry. Even though she wasn’t quite sixteen yet, she was the most together person in our family and seeing her upset threw off the balance of my universe. Brent teased her like crazy and I pulled silly pranks on her all the time, but the truth was either of us would jump in front of a train for her. Something about being sandwiched between two brothers ensured she’d have lifelong protection. It also meant the shy kid in her Latin class would never, ever, ever ask her out.

  Feeling like the older brother in this scenario—even though I only came up to her eyebrows—I patted her on the back. “C’mon, Mamie, don’t cry. It’ll be okay.”

  “I’m sorry, Matt. I know this is harder on you than the rest of us. You’re Mike’s favorite, and I don’t mean that in a rude way, like Brent does. I’m glad, actually, since Dad isn’t around.” She pulled off her glasses to wipe her eyes, giving me what she probably thought was a brave smile. “I’m sure it’ll be fine. We just have to keep believing that.”

  A knock on the door interrupted us. Mike stuck his head in. “Hey, Daisy May, can I talk to Matt a minute? I’m staying for dinner; we’ll have a chance to visit more then.”

  The use of her nickname made Mamie tear up again, but she nodded and drifted off to her room. I flopped down onto my bed and played with my pillow. Mike looked serious, but I wanted to pretend everything was normal. Too bad we couldn’t.

  “Dani said I could take you to Colorado,” he said. “We’ll leave next Friday. It’s a ten-hour drive to Fort Carson so I’ll check you out of school before noon. We won’t drive back until the following Sunday to get a full week of training in.”

  I’d never been to a Fort anything, and barracks were a complete mystery. Would I be able to get network coverage there? The idea of being without my phone or an internet connection for a week made me twitchy. “What do I bring?”

  Mike winked. “Your camo, of course.”

  * * *

  Mike stayed for dinner and Mom fussed over him a lot. That didn’t stop her from nagging me about eating my asparagus, though. And she wasn’t the only one checking out what I ate.

  “Dude, your guts are gonna explode if you eat any more meatloaf,” Brent said. “Leave some for the rest of us.”

  Mamie glanced at me. “Matt, I thought you hated meatloaf.”

  I shook my head, cheeks so full of the disgusting stuff I wasn’t sure I could open my mouth without hurling. After a huge swallow and a gagging shiver, I said, “No, I like meatloaf just fine.”

  Mamie’s eyes narrowed, but Mom got to me first. “You must be growing, sweetheart. There goes my grocery bill. Two teenage boys in the house is going to bankrupt me.” She smiled. “I better start buying more peanut butter.”

  That was the rule. When Mom came home from work three years ago to find that Brent had cleaned out the fridge only two days after her last shopping trip, she’d laid down what we all called the “snack law.” If it wasn’t mealtime, we could eat all the peanut butter sandwiches we wanted. Nothing else, unless she said okay. Mom said it was a cost-saving measure, but I think she was just pissed that Brent ate all the cheese along with her hidden stash of M&Ms.

  Mamie continued to watch me. She had one eyebrow raised and that little half-smile on her face—the one that meant she was on the trail. Despite Brent saying she lived with her nose in a book, Mamie saw and heard everything around her. She was also smart enough to figure out any puzzle. I’d have to be more careful.

  After Mike left, Mom called a family conference. She settled us down around the glass-topped coffee table in the living room like she was conducting a client meeting.

  “We need to spend the next few months showing Mike how much we love him, okay? That means not putting demands on his time unless he offers,” Mom said. “I’m also going to plan a surprise party. We’ll have it right before he leaves for Fort Carson. And let’s think about ideas for care boxes to send him. We can send one a month, with pictures, snacks and notes from home. If we mail one before he leaves, he’ll get it a few days after he arrives at base.”

  We nodded and Mom started handing out assignments. “I know it’s going to be hard without him here. We’re going to have to pull together. Brent—you’ll need to be more of a big brother and less of a liege-lord, got it?”

  “Sure, Mom, whatever,” Brent said. I figured he gave in so easily because he was still embarrassed about sounding like an jerk to Uncle Mike.

  Mom turned to me next. “Matt…well, just hang in there for me, okay?”

  I smiled and saluted, and Mom laughed. “Mamie, sweetheart, can you keep an eye out for Matt if I have to work late?”

  “Mom, I don’t need a babysitter,” I said. What, did she think
I was seven? Mamie was only sixteen months older than me and was scared of crickets. How did she get appointed to be my minder?

  “I’ll watch him day and night,” Mamie said, giving me a sly glance.

  I forced myself not to cringe, for fear Mamie would take it as another clue. Seriously, could this be any worse? Mom had just guaranteed that my cover would be blown in short order.

  Chapter Four

  Sunday passed in a blur of glum faces and soggy rain. After brunch, Brent headed to his girlfriend’s and probably spent the afternoon making out, which meant he was the only one of us with a shot at a smile. Mamie hid behind a book, re-reading A Wrinkle in Time for the umpteenth time in the recliner by the living room window. While she was occupied with something other than watching me, I headed to my room.

  I felt compelled to take a look at the knife without Mike hovering behind me, wearing his troubled frown. He doubted I’d need to use it until I’d been through some training, but we both felt it should be closer to its wielder.

  I’d hidden it in the pocket of an old backpack stowed in the depths of my closet. When I retrieved it and laid it on my bed it hummed, almost happily, when I touched it. The white bone handle was a little smaller than a carving knife’s, and worn smooth, without markings of any kind. The brown leather sheath had been stitched with thick twine and fit the knife snugly, allowing a wielder to draw the knife fast without the fear of the blade falling out on its own. The blade itself wasn’t shiny—the metal had a bronze tint to it—and it measured nine inches from where it joined the handle to its razor-sharp tip. Clearly the knife had been designed with one purpose, as a weapon. And a badass weapon at that.

  A little shudder ran down my spine. If I was going to wield this blade, I had work to do.

  Mike had given me a list of exercises to start on, and I needed Brent’s weight set, so I sneaked across the hall. His weights were on a stand in the corner of his room, but how he used them was beyond me. There wasn’t a single spot on the floor, except for a trail from the door to the bed, that didn’t have clothes, cleats or other junk dumped on it. I picked my way through the mine field and grabbed a pair of twenty-pound dumbbells, thinking I’d just take them to my room since I kept my floor somewhat clean.

  Mistake. My arms dropped to the ground and my knuckles dragged like a gorilla’s. Maybe the twenty pounders were too much for the first day.

  I exchanged the twenties for the ten-pound weights. I could carry the tens without drooping, so I shuffled back to my room. Even with my last growth spurt, I was only five-four and a hundred and seven pounds; twenty pounds was nearly a fifth of my weight. I felt proud of myself until I noticed the dumbbells had dust on them. Brent hadn’t used these little ones for a long time.

  DNA was a weird thing–all of us had the same smallish nose as Mom, and dark “Archer blue” eyes from our deadbeat dad. But our builds were completely different. Mamie was thin, like Mom, and a little taller than her friends. I was on the small side, hitting below the fiftieth percentile on the stupid growth charts they use at the doctor’s office. Brent was the hulk of the family, a good ten inches taller than me and double my weight, all of it muscle and bone. For the nineteenth time, I wondered why the knife picked me.

  Thirty minutes of weight training was harder than it sounded, and it had sounded pretty hard in the first place. I worked out my biceps, my triceps, my delts and a whole bunch of other muscles I didn’t realize I had. When I was done, my legs and arms felt like gummy worms. Exhausted, I curled up on my bed huffing and puffing.

  “Hey! Who’s been in my room?” Brent yelled.

  I bolted upright and regretted it when my head spun. The weights were by my closet door, six feet from my bed, but I didn’t think I could crawl across the room to hide them.

  Brent flung my bedroom door open without knocking. “I know you were in there. What did you take this time?”

  “Just your weights.” I pointed at the dumbbells, too tired to lie. “Uncle Mike said I needed to do some weight training, you know, put on some muscle.”

  Brent paused in his attack, looking surprised. “Really?” He smirked. “I guess wimps have to start somewhere. Besides, a little muscle wouldn’t kill you.”

  He turned to leave and bumped right into Mamie. “Hey, Latin Club Princess, you’re liable to get run over if you don’t watch traffic.”

  “Being an all-state strong, uh, safely doesn’t mean you can tackle people at home,” Mamie said, crossing her arms. “Have some manners, you Neanderthal.”

  I’m not sure Brent understood what “Neanderthal” meant but he could tell she was insulting him. “It’s strong safety, genius.”

  They glared at each other. Finally, Brent snorted and went to his room, slamming the door like usual.

  “Ugh, he’s loud,” Mamie said. “Why did Uncle Mike tell you to do some weight training?”

  Crap, Sherlock had a clue. “He wants me to build up some muscle for the rappelling trip.”

  Her forehead wrinkled, making her glasses slip down her nose. “Is that why you’ve been eating so much? I know you hate meatloaf; I could tell you were lying last night. And you ate about forty pancakes at brunch today. Are you trying to gain weight?”

  “Um, yeah,” I said. Not original, but that’s all I could think of.

  “Matt, a week’s not enough time to gain much muscle.” Mamie got her mother-hen voice on. “Is someone bullying you at school? If they are, I’ll ask Mom to talk to Mrs. Stevens.” That was her solution for everything. You have a problem? Tell an adult.

  “No—school’s fine.” I said. “Uncle Mike told me it’s a good idea, that’s all.”

  “I promised Mom I’d keep an eye on you. Remember that.” She gave me another long stare, then marched off to her room. She didn’t slam the door.

  The next morning, I rolled out of bed, sore all over. That must’ve been why Mike said to stretch after working out. A hot shower helped some. After I threw on a semi-clean pair of jeans and a t-shirt, I stumbled down to breakfast ready to get this week over with so I could go to Colorado with Mike. Mamie sat at the kitchen table, reading the paper, still in her robe. She was always up as early as Mom. I didn’t know another girl who got up early to read the news, from an honest-to-God newspaper, no less. Mamie was sick that way.

  “Mom, listen to this.” Mamie pushed her glasses higher up on her nose. “‘The remains of newlyweds John and Marcia Carroll were discovered by Park Rangers on Sunday. While authorities aren’t providing many details, an unnamed source says they believe it to be a bear attack due to the nature of the injuries the couple sustained.’” Mamie turned to me. “Matt, the attack happened in the same park where you and Mike were camping. Good thing you came home early!”

  Mom took the paper from Mamie. “Oh my gosh. I’ll need to tell Mike. I don’t want you camping near any crazy grizzlies.”

  Up to this point, I’d been shoveling eggs into my mouth and drinking my milk as fast as I could. When Mom and Mamie both looked at me, freaked out, I had a hard time gulping down my last bite.

  I had a hunch it wasn’t animals, which meant the creature I stabbed wasn’t the only one roaming the woods. Just knowing something was out there killing hikers made me realize how important it was that I did everything Mike told me for the next few months.

  And that included not letting Mom or Mamie know there were monsters in Montana.

  * * *

  “Archer, what are you looking at?”

  Carter Jacobs had everything I didn’t: awesome basketball skills, a dad who spent time with him and Ella Mitchell, the Goddess of Greenhill High School. He played center for the varsity team and towered over nearly everyone but the seniors. I only came up to his chin. It was a real pity his locker was five down from mine, and Ella’s was seven. I didn’t have a prayer of checking her out without being busted.

  Carter’s blond hair fell into his eyes as he leaned over me, fists clenched. This was the closest to a fight I’d been in two years. I
kind of deserved it, though. Ella had caught me looking—and had smiled back. After that, I didn’t really care if Carter killed me, because I could take that smile from Ella to my grave.

  “Pick on someone your own size, Jacobs,” a voice behind me said.

  I stood up a little taller. Will always showed up right on time. Carter frowned as my best friend stared him down. Already five-eleven, and with black hair and square shoulders, Will intimidated pretty much everyone, especially since he was fast and moved better than you’d expect for a big guy. Most people didn’t know he was a gentle giant. He’d creamed too many quarterbacks for anyone to believe that—so many, in fact, the JV football team called him Crusher. It was a play on his last name, Cruessan, and it gave him a hallway cred that kept me from getting too banged up by guys like Carter. That should’ve been Brent’s job, but he was too cool to care what happened to his kid brother.

  “So,” Will growled, “you gonna let me hand your butt to you, or are you gonna turn around and forget this happened?”

  Carter swore under his breath. “Whatever.” He pointed a finger at my chest. “You keep your eyes to yourself, got it?” He spun on his heel and strutted off, straightening his letter jacket in a really obvious way, as if there was a single person left in the school who didn’t know he was a basketball star.

  Will watched him go. “You know, he’s the reason I don’t bother wearing my jacket. He gives the rest of us a bad name.”

  “Thanks for stopping by, dude,” I said. Will was such a good friend, it didn’t hurt my pride too much when he had to bail me out. “You know how he is about Ella. ‘Mine—back off.’ I don’t know why she puts up with it.” Girls were really strange sometimes.

  “Some women like the caveman type,” Will said. “Or maybe it’s the older man thing. Having a sophomore for a boyfriend might be a thrill or something. I wouldn’t have thought Ella would be part of the Carter fan club, but all the girls think he’s cute. I guess they don’t care that he’s an asshat.”

  We walked to homeroom. In our eight years of friendship, this was the first class we’d had together since we were six. We must have cut up enough in first grade to get that little red sticker on our files that said “don’t put Archer with Cruessan.” Luckily, that warning hadn’t trickled upward to high school.