Phantom Game (GhostWalkers 18)

Camellia pushed off the boulder as Angel went crashing to the soil. She leapt to the opposite side of the rock as leaves, twigs and even branches were thrown up into the air around the big man as the fibrous ropes took him to the ground. He continued to fire his weapon at her, the bullets skimming along the boulder just above her head and to either side of it, kicking up dirt and debris and shaving off splinters of rock.

Gray came out of the fog, a ferocious fury without mercy, claws a dark brown, tipped in black, razor-sharp, slashing first at Angel’s eyes and then stabbing into the back of his head to puncture deep. Before Angel could raise his arm to shove the gun into the growling bird, Blue was on him, tearing the weapon from his hand and then raking at his eyes.

Camellia did her best to drown out the sound of Angel screaming in agony. She’d given him his chance.

“Angel?” Shaker yelled. “Camellia, I’m going to fuckin’ kill you.”

She ignored his threat. She wasn’t supposed to defend herself? Just let Angel shoot her? These men were insane to think they could just kill people and no one would try to fight back.

She couldn’t think about Shaker and his threats, or Jonas and who might be after him. Kyle was in immediate danger. The moment Angel had attacked her, it must have been on Shaker’s orders. They no longer had the bats to give away locations in the dense fog, but Shaker’s men knew they were there.

At Camellia’s warning, Kyle rolled, the only thing that saved his life. Gorman pulled a spear from the sheath at his back, stabbing down at him viciously. Instead of going straight through his throat, it went through his shoulder and pinned him like an insect to the soil. Wisps of purplish-gray fog curled between Kyle and Gorman as blood spurted around the wound, blossoming on Kyle’s jacket and then seeping to the ground beneath him.

Kyle went still as Gorman very slowly lowered himself into a crouch beside him. “You’re not going anywhere, GhostWalker. I’m going to slice open your belly and see if your guts are as yellow as I think they are.” From his boot, Gorman withdrew a knife and held it up for Kyle to see. “Wish your good friend Ryland was here to witness this. Maybe I should take a video and send it to him.”

“Yeah, maybe you should,” Kyle said. “You’re such an upstanding guy.” He couldn’t move with the spear shoved through his shoulder, holding him in place.

Jeff put a rifle to his shoulder and squeezed the trigger, attempting to kill Gorman before he could finish Kyle off. Jeff was struck hard from behind, knocked from the branch and dropped thirty feet to the forest floor. He landed in a crouch, turning to face Lewis, who stood just a few feet from him, grinning like an ape.

Kyle, turn your head away, close your mouth and hold your breath. Camellia gave the order. Don’t take a breath until I say otherwise. You’ll die if you do.

I want to look him right in the eyes when he kills me.

He isn’t going to kill you if you do what I say right now. You can’t get any powder in your eyes, nose or mouth. Now, Kyle.

Do it, Kyle. Jonas snapped the command.

With visible reluctance, Kyle closed his eyes and turned away from Gorman. The moment he did, white fibers erupted from the ground to wrap around his head, covering his eyes, nose and mouth. Simultaneously, black cones erupted from the soil, rocketing straight at Gorman’s face. The missiles struck their targets precisely, each eye, his nose, his mouth. The cones exploded, bursting open. A cloud of fine powder went everywhere, covering Gorman’s face so that he had a mask of black powder completely coating his skin and scalp.

Gorman opened his mouth wider to yell, but the powder penetrated deeper and clogged more, preventing air from moving in either direction. Foam bubbled up around his lips as they turned a dark blue under the powder. There was no cough, no sound, other than a muffled choke, and then he slumped to the ground, the knife still gripped in his hand. His entire body went rigid. The powder began to dissolve in the wet mist as if it had never been.

Need to breathe soon, Camellia, Kyle said. What the hell is going on?

Already, the fibrous strands were falling away from Kyle’s face. Need to remove this fucking spear.

“Gorman!” Shaker shouted. “Lewis, what’s going on with Gorman?”

“I don’t know, I can’t see him,” Lewis answered.

Shaker called out to Gorman a second time and then swore steadily.

The fog rolled and churned as the breeze turned into gusts of wind. Each time the bursts of air pushed through the mist, the dark purple drops spun, producing a low, swelling roar like the wave in an ocean that retreated and returned with each gust.