Viper Game (GhostWalkers 11)

Wyatt drew another pressure bandage from his field kit and took a deep breath before nodding. He let it out as Draden pulled the blade from his thigh. The air rushed from his lungs. His stomach lurched. His breath exploded out of his lungs and he gasped, trying to find more air.

He forced a grin. "Guess I'm not one of those tough guys that can pound on my wounds and say I haven't been shot or stabbed. I'm feelin' it, Draden. Really feelin' it this time."

"Must be getting old," Draden observed. "Either that or now that you've got a woman, you just plain want sympathy."

"I wish I knew I had that woman all sewed up for certain," Wyatt said, "but she's like tryin' to figure out the wind. It just blows any old way it wants to."

Draden raised his eyebrow, watching as Wyatt applied the bandage over the wound. "I thought all women were like that. I duck and run for cover when women like Pepper are around. They're the kind that get you in trouble every time."

"You got that right. I don' know whether I'm comin' or goin'. And hell, Draden, look at me. I've got three daughters and never did get the night of fun. That woman owes me a mighty good time for the rest of her life. Seems like a lifetime might work that debt off." He had to keep talking, it was that or fall on his face.

"You're slurring your words a little, Wyatt," Draden observed. "Let's get you up before someone comes up the stairs and we have to fight our way out of here."

Pepper, are you out? Do you have our children?

Wyatt forced himself onto his feet. The room shifted out from under him and spun in crazy circles. More than anything he needed the sound of her voice. He needed to know that his children were free of a cold, dank cell.

Draden slipped his arm around him. "Lean on me and let's get the hell out of here, Wyatt."

I'm out. Both babies are with me and fine. We're making our way to the airboat. Ezekiel is dropping back to cover you and Draden.

I want him to go with you. Zeke, stick with Pepper and the kids. He tried to project a tone of command into his voice, but even this telepathic communication bordered on weak and slurring.

Ezekiel didn't bother to answer him, which meant the man was going to do whatever the hell he wanted to do.

Exasperated, Wyatt scowled as he limped his way to the storage closet, Draden taking a good deal of his weight. That's always been your trouble, Zeke. You're a wild card. Anarchy reigns when you're in the mix.

I have trouble with authority figures. My profile says so. There was laughter rumbling in Ezekiel's comment. No remorse or guilt.

You had that in your profile? Trap chimed in. So did I. You should see the things that psychiatrist said about me and authority.

Mine says I am the authority, Wyatt reminded.

He stared up at the hole in the ceiling. It looked a million miles away. Pepper had to have felt his second stab wound. They were too connected for her not to have had a sudden burst of agonizing pain, yet she hadn't said anything at all.

"Women are a mystery, Draden," he said. "Fickle as hell and a total mystery."

"Tell me something I don't know, Wyatt," Draden said, and stepped back to give him room.

Wyatt crouched low and sprang, using enhanced muscles as springs to propel him up onto the roof. He landed soft but it didn't matter. The air was driven from his lungs in a violent rush and pain engulfed him completely. His body rebelled, and blood soaked both bandages.

Draden leapt through the hole to land beside him. "You've gone gray, Wyatt. Can you make it down to the ground without falling?"

Wyatt didn't want to think about the climb. He might try jumping halfway, but just the landing on the roof had nearly made him pass out. He'd lost more blood than he thought, which meant his internal repairs weren't holding up as well as they should have.

"Let's just get out of here." Fast. They needed to get home where Trap could take a look at him. What kind of shape are you in, Trap?

He dragged himself, with Draden's help, to the edge of the roof. The distance stretched on endlessly.

I'm recovering, Trap answered. Shaken up. Cold. But my hands are steady and my brain is working.

Trap was quick. No one ever had to figure it out for him.

I've got two wounds. One in the thigh, and I took one in the chest. As soon as we're clear, you'll have to do some repairs. I thought I had things shored up but I'm losin' too much blood. Might have a broken rib or two.

How much blood do you have on hand?

You'll have to do a transfusion usin'... Wyatt trailed off. He couldn't remember who was his blood type. That shook him. He never forgot details, especially details that could save lives. He felt cold all over and that was bad too. He was in the swamp, and even late at night, the swamp could be warm, even hot.

Wyatt, get off that roof right now. That was Ezekiel. Climb down. If you can't climb, Draden will haul you out on his back, but get moving now.

The command in Ezekiel's voice spurred him to action. Something wasn't right, and his team needed him now. Wyatt forced pain out of his mind and swung over the side, the action jarring him far more than he was prepared for. Even his laser focus couldn't stop the agony rushing through him. His stomach lurched. Hell of a good soldier he was going to be for his men in his condition.

But he climbed down. Sweat beaded on his body and he shivered and trembled with every movement, but he kept going. He wasn't about to let the others down. Somewhere, far off, he heard Ezekiel talking to him, encouraging him, giving him the distance in small increments. He didn't know if he could have made it without that. He just concentrated on Zeke's numbers and went from one point to the next until his feet touched down.

Ezekiel was there. Solid. A rock. His face grimmer than Wyatt had ever seen it. He slipped his arm around Wyatt on one side. Draden took the other and they ran for the fence. Wyatt's movements were mechanical and automatic rather than deliberate. He barely registered his surroundings. Only Ezekiel's voice giving him commands.

"You can do this, Wyatt. You have to jump that fence. We're going to be trapped here, all three of us, if you don't make it over that fence."

The fence looked insurmountable, but Wyatt crouched low, took a breath and sprang. He cleared the roll of razor wire and came down on the other side, landing on the balls of his feet. The landing jarred him, wrenching every bone in his body. The ground shifted and then rose up to meet his face. He felt helpless, unable to do anything to break his fall. He just watched as the thick vegetation came at him in slow motion.

Ezekiel came up in front of him, blocking his fall. Wyatt grinned at him as he hit Ezekiel squarely in the chest with his solid weight. Ezekiel didn't so much as rock backward. He dipped his shoulder and caught Wyatt up, and then turned and sprinted through the swamp, back toward the airboat. Behind him, Draden brought up the rear, his weapon out and ready.

We'll need to stop the blood and get a vein fast, Malichai, Ezekiel said. Be ready with the equipment. Trap, whatever you have to do to get in shape, do it fast. We need blood. Probably lots of it. I'm his type, so is Malichai.

What is it? I'll give him blood.

That was Pepper, Wyatt recognized through a fog. It would be interesting to get her blood. Would her immunity to snakebites be passed on to him? He tried to rouse himself enough to ask Trap to let her donate if possible, but then his mind was too fuzzy and garbled to get through to his team.

He wants my blood if possible, Trap, Pepper interpreted. He thinks it would be an interesting experiment.

He could feel her, all feminine, pouring into the lonely places, the parts of him always held away from the rest of the world. Those places of doubt and fear he never showed to others.

He reached out to her. She wasn't as far as the others. She was in him. Feeling what he was feeling. He felt her fingers run down his arm to thread to his.

"He's very cold. He's never cold like this."

There was fear in her voice. In her. He didn't want her to ever be afraid again. She'd had enough of that in Whitney's lab

oratories.

"Open your eyes, Wyatt." That was Trap. He sounded tough and mean, just like Trap usually sounded.

"Damn it, Wyatt, open your eyes." That was Ezekiel. You didn't ignore Ezekiel. Wyatt made the effort. He was a little shocked to be lying flat on his back on the airboat. Draden and Malichai were crouched low and armed with semiautomatics, facing out toward the swamp. That confused him more than ever. He clearly was in a combat situation, but he couldn't remember.

"Am I hit, Trap?" he asked.

Trap was working on him, his face grim, his movements steady, but very fast. "I'm putting a line in your arm, Wyatt. We need to give you blood and we don't want your veins collapsing on us before I get this line in. As soon as we're home I'll do the repairs, but you don't pass out on me, you hear? We need you alert."

Wyatt tried to keep his eyes open. He drifted in a sea of pain and guilt. The last thing he wanted to do was be a burden to his team. He was aware of them all around him, kneeling beside him, their faces grim, their voices low as they worked on him. Ezekiel was on one side of him while they tried to push blood into him.

"We've got to go now," Trap determined. "Get us back home fast, Malichai."