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

Chapters 1 and 2

Chapter One

When I was fourteen years old, I was forced to make my first kill. Now I'm fifteen and I bagged two more just last week.

My name is Matt Archer. And I hunt monsters.

* * *

Four Months Ago

"Matt! Uncle Mike's here. Get a move on!"

Mom was always in a hurry. Her job as a lawyer kept food on the table, as she liked to remind us. But it also kept her in motion, saying stuff like "time is money." My question was, if time was money, then why weren't we all rich? Smartass comments like that got me grounded though, so I kept my mouth shut and ran down the stairs.

After dumping my backpack and sleeping bag by the front door, I rounded the corner to the living room to greet Uncle Mike.

He rose from the sofa, towering over me, and stretched. The muscles on his arms, neck and shoulders flexed like a pro-wrestler's. Uncle Mike was a Green Beret, and it showed. "Hey, soldier, what's up?"

"Nothing, Major."

"Like I've never heard that one before," Mike said when I laughed at my own joke. "Ready to deploy?"

"Yeah. I decided to wear my camo this time, go in stealth mode."

Uncle Mike looked down at his own clothes. He was wearing old jeans, a bright red flannel shirt, and a Colorado Rockies cap crammed down over his light-brown hair. "Nice idea," he said, "but I'm not sure the bears and deer will care much about your camo. Let's move out."

The evening sky was streaked with gold and pink, but still light enough for us to make it to the campgrounds before nightfall. One of the advantages of living in Montana—good camping was only thirty minutes from anywhere. I piled my gear into the back of Mike's Jeep. The car smelled awesome: cigars and gasoline. Mom nagged him to quit with the cigars, but I thought it was cool. Just like Wolverine.

"Hey, can we have the top down?" I asked.

Mike shrugged. "If you don't mind that the wind chill will be forty degrees, doesn't bother me."

We pulled the soft cover off the Jeep and packed it over the camping equipment in the back. The air was scented with pine; our trees were getting their "fall coats," as Mom put it, and the needles smelled like Christmas. This was my favorite time of year, before winter set in like an unwanted houseguest.

"Hard to believe it's October. We'll have to brace for a big snow soon." Mike put the Jeep in gear and backed out. "Means this is the last jaunt of the year, Chief."

I nodded, hoping the ache I felt in my chest didn't show on my face. Camping with Mike was the only special thing I had that my older sibs didn't. My sister, Mamie-the-brain, was too much of a bookworm to go with us and my brother, Brent-the-football-hero, had his "social engagements." What it really meant was that I was neither a brainiac, nor popular enough to have other plans on the weekends, so Mike took me camping. Honestly, I loved it, even if it branded me a dweeb with no social life.

Mike glanced at me, a sad smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. "Heard from your Dad?"

He tried to keep the anger out of his voice, but I still heard it, like sandpaper rubbing an old scab. "Brent got a birthday card when he turned seventeen."