Phantom Game (GhostWalkers 18)

Jonas could see the fog moving through the trees at times. At first it stayed low to the ground, gently rolling like ocean waves on a cloudless day. Then a few fingers of mist crept through the trees toward them in an eerie display, looking like giant hands pulling an equally giant blanket through the forest until it was impossible to see through the gray vapor. Jonas glanced down at the trail they were following, but the swirling mist had thickened so much that he couldn’t see even his own boots—a strange phenomenon.

There was another component to the fog he found fascinating. A warning, or dread, that acted on their bodies. He could hear both Kyle’s and Jeff’s hearts accelerating. His own pulse rate had tried to increase, and he had instantly forced his heart under control. All three GhostWalkers slowed considerably, eventually halting altogether.

Jonas waited in silence for his eyes to adjust to the fog rolling off the ground and rising in dark tides nearly to his waist. Given time, he could see through just about anything. He was often called “Smoke” because he moved through and could disappear into places no one else could. He saw through things no one else could see through. It was only a matter of time before his vision would adjust to the strange mist hiding the trail.

“Looks as if the fog is dissipating in that direction,” Kyle said, indicating to the right with his chin.

Jeff nodded. “And our little game trail leads in that direction too, Jonas. If we’re going to find a place to camp before nightfall, we should double-time it out of this mist.”

Jonas didn’t move, studying the forest and rocks in front of him. The path had wound through the trees and rocks earlier. He had a good memory. More than a good memory. His mind mapped things out for him in grid patterns. The game trail hadn’t veered to the right. It had continued upward, straight ahead, winding around tree trunks and large rocks, but it hadn’t really swung left or right.

“Give me a minute.”

Keeping completely still, Jonas swept his gaze up and down the fog-shrouded forest floor in a grid pattern, paying special attention to the area where the game trail should have been. At first there was a strange shimmer, very reminiscent of a mirage in the desert. But Jonas persevered until the shimmer dissipated and what lay beneath became clear.

“The actual trail is straight ahead. It’s being hidden from us.”

“That’s not good,” Kyle observed. “And we’re being watched to make certain we go where we’re directed?”

“Yep.” Jonas took the first step onto the very narrow game trail to see if it would trigger an attack of some kind.

“This is some kind of crazy-ass magnetic earth thing happening, like in the Bermuda Triangle,” Jeff muttered. “We’re going to get misdirected all over the place, aren’t we?”

“Yep.”

Jonas wished the phenomenon came from a “magnetic earth thing,” but he seriously doubted it. Something was going on in the mountains above the two fortresses that GhostWalker Teams One and Two had established to keep their families safe. Weirdly, the compulsion to continue forward was still on him, but the threat was still quite hazy, as if it were very, very far away.

He had to consider going back down the mountain and telling Ryland what they’d run into. The fog was manufactured, and someone had planted a very potent danger signal in it. Not only that, but they had diverted them from the real trail. Very few could manage. He wasn’t going back. He couldn’t go back. The compulsion to continue was stronger than ever. That didn’t mean he wanted to risk Kyle and Jeff.

“You two could make it out of the danger zone if you hiked down fast for two hours and then camped.” The offer had to be made, and he did his best to sound casual. He knew there was no way either of his friends would take him up on it, but still, he had to try.

“Can’t leave you here without direction, Jonas,” Jeff said. “Especially since we all know you’re afraid of the dark; otherwise, I’d advise we just leave your stubborn, knife-wielding ass right here in Creepy Hollow.”

“Technically,” Kyle said, “a hollow is a low-lying area, not a mountainside.”

“Work with me, Kyle. ‘Creepy Mountain’ doesn’t have the same ring to it,” Jeff quipped, bringing humor to the tense situation.

The tension continued to build in spite of Jonas seeing through the fog to the trail beneath it. The dark purplish beads had a strange reddish cast to them as they swirled almost hypnotically around the men.

“Seriously, it isn’t a bad idea to let Rye know there’s something going on up here that wasn’t here before.” Jonas tried a second time.

“It’s that bad?” Jeff asked. He began walking, showing Jonas he wasn’t about to be left behind. “Now I feel like I’ve got a target painted right between my shoulder blades.”