Phantom Game (GhostWalkers 18)

“Dex?” Crawley called out.

“He’s gone,” Hound said. “They got him.”

Crawley realized Mott hadn’t checked in. “Mott, you with us? Call out now.”

There was absolute silence and Crawley’s heart sank. He didn’t need the others to tell him that Mott’s body was somewhere in that disturbing fog.

“Put your weapons down.” The order came again in a low, patient tone.

Crawley swore again under his breath. The mist was thick. If they couldn’t see their enemy, it was just as likely their enemy couldn’t see them. We’re going to put the guns down, and when we do, drop to the ground and move backward in complete silence. We have to get out of these rocks.

“We’re putting our weapons down,” Crawley agreed.

He removed the strap from around his neck and dipped low to place the automatic rifle on the ground in front of him, as did the rest of his men. On his signal, they went to their bellies, allowing the fog to close over their heads and swirl around their bodies as they began to crawl as fast as they dared back toward the opening between the boulders for the open trail.

Dwayne suddenly grunted, the sound loud in the hushed fog. Lance made a similar noise, much more guttural. In front of Crawley, Hound and Bear both stopped moving abruptly.

What the hell? Keep going.

Lance isn’t moving. I shoved at him and he isn’t responding. I think he’s dead, Hound said. I think Dwayne is too.

Crawley waited a moment to see if either Lance or Dwayne would dispute Hound’s statement. Neither moved or spoke. That dread in Crawley’s gut had grown to real fear. Who the fuck were these fuckers, and how were they killing his men so damned easily? He was enhanced. His men were enhanced. None of this made any sense.

We have a better chance if we allow them to take us prisoner. As it is, we can’t tell what we’re facing. If they don’t kill us outright, we can assess what we’re up against and then hit them hard, Crawley decided. Don’t resist in any way. They’re clearly playing for keeps.

“We’re going to stand up and surrender,” Crawley said. “There are three of us left alive.” He kept bitterness from his voice.

The men had not only been his responsibility but been his friends. He wasn’t someone who chased after gold. His mind was normally clear, yet he’d been caught in some kind of hallucination fed by the fog, he was certain. Now he could think again. As he stood, he noticed the fog no longer had a lavender tinge to it. It still rolled and spun, but it appeared a normal gray and was thinning a bit.

“Walk out from the boulders and make certain you leave your weapons and all communication devices on the ground. If you’re caught with a gun or knife or any means of communication to Shaker or anyone else on you, you aren’t going to survive.”

That voice, as always, didn’t change tone. It was low, calm, patient and deliberate. Crawley knew the bastard meant every word.

“Get rid of everything you have on you,” he ordered aloud. Remember you are a weapon. They don’t know you’re enhanced or that you’ve had extensive training. He wanted to reassure his men they would be fine. He wasn’t as certain as he professed, but he was their leader and wanted to keep his men sharp, alert and confident enough to seize whatever opportunity came their way.

He dumped his weapons, watch, every device he had and observed as Bear and Hound did the same. They locked their fingers behind their heads and walked out from the boulder corridor, stepping carefully around the bodies of Lance and Dwayne. He glanced at them quickly as he moved past. They both appeared to be covered in white and brown threads of some kind.

What the fuck was that shit? He wanted to examine the weapon or whatever had killed them much closer, but the fog, although thinning, moved in between them, and he had to keep walking.

Did you see their bodies? he asked his men.

I caught a glimpse, Bear said. Looked like a fast-acting toxin of some kind. Dwayne had foam around his mouth and blisters on his skin where that plant touched him.

It had been a plant. Crawley frowned, trying to digest that. How had a venomous plant erupted from the ground and covered both of his men, killing them? There weren’t deadly plants that did that kind of thing, at least not in the Lolo National Forest.

Once clear of the boulders, Crawley found himself blinking in the early morning sunlight, free of the fog. He looked around him. The trail was a little wider than it had seemed leading to the boulders. There were more rocks than he remembered and fewer trees, the way it should have been at this altitude. Still, brush and trees, the forest beginning to emerge, meeting the rocks.