Lightning Game (GhostWalkers 17)

As far as Rubin could see, they could have already built a landing strip for the pilot. He set the plane down, turned it in a long circle and pointed it back in the direction he’d come, setting up to take off.

“He’s got skills,” Rubin acknowledged to Sean.

“Yeah, he does. Swamp Man taught him and then that son of a bitch betrayed him.” Sean was very clear about that. “You were the one to tell me he was well aware Chandler had taken Swamp prisoner and was most likely torturing him to find out why they wanted this ‘package’ where they were taking her. The lieutenant didn’t seem to mind.”

That much was the truth again. Rubin sighed. Sometimes the psychological testing done for the GhostWalker program failed to weed out the ones that shouldn’t be enhanced. If they had no empathy for others, being jacked up so much could turn them into beings who believed they were so superior to others they would torture and kill without a qualm. They had no morals. No code. They didn’t belong in a program like the GhostWalkers.

Sean, with Abel and Hudson on either side of him, walked toward the plane. Diego, with Rubin and Andrew, stayed in the shadows to cover them. The other squirrel men went up into the trees as a precaution. Sean walked with confidence, acting as if he didn’t think anything was wrong. Jonquille was seated in sight, at the edge of the meadow with two men on either side of her. She had only to roll into the woods and lie flat to disappear. Diego and Rubin were right there, close to her. Luther was somewhere close. Hidden.

The door to the plane opened and the pilot stepped out smiling, giving Sean a brief salute. He started forward and then suddenly veered to the side and dove under the plane.

“Down!” Diego yelled. He fired shot after shot, moving forward at an angle, dropping the first two men coming out of the plane.

The squirrel men fired, trying to keep a spray of bullets all over the plane to give Sean, Hudson and Abel time to move back to cover. The three men ran in a crouch toward the nearest brush as a third man burst from the plane spraying bullets everywhere. Diego shot at the third man as the pilot lifted his gun, aiming squarely at Diego.

Rubin came out of nowhere, throwing his body in front of his brother, his gun spouting death even as he took the bullet meant for Diego.

Jonquille saw the exact trajectory, knew where it went and heard herself screaming in her mind. Diego, get him, take him to the cave. Luther. We need you now. Fast. We’ll lose him. Take him now. Go. Go. Nearest entrance, Luther. Fast. Life or death.

She was already up and running, meeting them as she ran to thrust her hands into the wound, a shirt from somewhere in her hands to put pressure as they went to the nearest entrance directed by Luther. Heartbeat thundering in her ears, she matched her steps to Diego’s and wouldn’t let her mind think about anything but Rubin living.

16

Diego dragged his brother into the woods toward the entrance to the cave, Jonquille running beside him, her mind completely consumed with Rubin’s internal body. She hadn’t hesitated to place her hands over the damage to him to see where the bullet’s path had torn through him and the destruction it had caused. The moment they were in the shelter of the cave, Diego had Rubin down and his shirt open. He tried to stem the tide of blood pouring out, but it was useless.

“Get the med kit. Get a line into him,” Jonquille snapped. “His veins are going to collapse. I can only hold his artery so long.”

Luther was already rushing back with the medical supplies, dropping to his knees beside Rubin and finding a vein quickly.

“I’m compatible with him,” Jonquille said.

“We need you to save him,” Diego said. “You save him.”

She didn’t look at Diego. She didn’t dare take her vision from the inside of Rubin’s body. Never in her life had she performed the kind of surgery she was attempting. Never. She’d studied it, but that was with instruments, not with her mind. Not with healing energy, with white-hot energy that could kill as easily as it could heal. If she made one mistake, she could kill him as surely as the bullet. If she did nothing he would die. The map she needed was there in his mind, which meant it was in hers. He’d laid it out for her because … well … he was Rubin and he was extraordinary.

“Give him my blood,” she said, almost growling. “You don’t, we lose him.”

She was already envisioning the repair, moving on to his heart, going over the arterial bleeding and how she had to reroute everything to get to the mess that used to be a major artery. Then there was nothing but the work in front of her. She blocked out her surroundings and became only energy, using her mind to move Rubin’s insides as delicately as possible, as if she were a surgeon and he were on her table.