Matt Archer: Monster Hunter (Matt Archer Series, Book 1)

Chapter 9 and 10

Chapter Nine

Most of the week passed in an exhausting, non-stop whirl of early morning runs, brush-crawling, learning how to track monster prints in the dark, and equipment training. I went through four sets of sweats in the first three days, ripping holes in the knees or elbows, and I was constantly filthy, sweaty or bloody. Usually all three at once.

My favorite part of the training turned out to be hand-to-hand combat exercises. I spent two hours every morning getting my butt handed to me in a small gym with stark-white walls and a worn wooden floor. Fighting equipment, including staffs and practice swords, were on racks bolted to the walls. Serious work went on in this place. Lucky for me, thick, red mats padded the hard surfaces, otherwise I would've been sporting some broken bones.

Lieutenant Johnson, my fighting instructor, was a huge black guy with a deep voice and a lot of patience. He was well over six feet tall, and broader than a bus, so he had to stoop to square-off with me. Which didn't make me self-conscious or anything, especially since I was supposed to be trying to hit the guy.

"Archer, feint right, more weight on your back leg, so you're stable." He chuckled when I moved. "Your other right."

With a sigh, I shifted the other direction. I kept making stupid mistakes, and it was starting to wear me down. "All right, all right. Let's go, old man."

"Oh ho, talking smack? Kid, I invented smack." Before I could blink, I was upside down, hanging by my knees on Johnson forearms. The blood rushed to my head. He swung me back and forth a little, just to be a smartass. "Most officers would do worse than this for back-talk. Maybe make you clean the floor with a toothbrush. Lucky for you, I'm nice."

"Understood, sir." I squirmed, but he didn't let go.

"You want down? Say please."

Feeling like a bat at roost, I crossed my arms. "Fine, let's see how long you can hold me, sir. I bet I can outlast you."

Johnson laughed, a rumble that vibrated against the hard surfaces in the room. "You weigh, what, a hundred pounds? Archer, I can walk around all day carrying a hundred pounds."

To prove it, he walked around the gym, me dangling with my ankles over his left shoulder, his arms around my waist, and my head banging into his knees. My gray t-shirt slid downward, showing off my belly-button. Here I was, fourteen years old, being carted around like a preschooler. Johnson knew how to make a point.

Properly embarrassed, I gave up. "Fine, you win. Please put me down, sir."

He flipped me over and set me on my feet. Once my head quit whirling, I picked up my practice knife and assumed the correct stance, knees bent, knife hand down and back, left fist up.

"Ready."

And then I was hanging upside down again.

"Archer, the monsters aren't gonna give you a minute to collect your wits. Don't tell me you're ready, just be ready," Johnson said. He put me down, his expression stern. "Fighting fair doesn't count in a life or death situation. Stealth, cunning, and decisiveness–that's what matters. Make sense?"

Life or death. Like I needed that little reminder. In a way, maybe I did, though. I couldn't let myself fail. "It does, sir."

"Good."

He rushed me. I dodged and managed to duck Johnson's arm as he swung out to catch my shoulder, but I didn't get away fast enough. He grabbed my hip on the follow through, and I landed on my right side, ear first.