Toxic Game (GhostWalkers 15)

Taking a breath, he let his rage loose, the need that was living and breathing inside of him. Using every ounce of his strength, Draden slammed the sword straight up through the wood and thin cushion and right through the back of the man’s neck, severing his spine. The blade sliced through wood, straw, flesh and bone, burying itself to the hilt. Draden kept his hand on the hilt, waiting to make certain the commander was dead before he rolled to the edge of the porch, leaving the sword in place.

He slipped out of the village so he could take out the guards. There were plenty of them. They surrounded the little community from every vantage point. In each of the four corners there were two guards posted. He knew they were in communication. The modern technology and weapons, in spite of the fact that the commander had a sword—which Draden was positive had belonged to the elder—told him the MSS was well funded. Whoever had begun this movement had recruited locals who knew their way around the forest and a weapon.

Draden exterminated the forest-side guards one by one. He wanted more than one escape route. The terrorist cell was prepared for escape or defense by water. Boats were docked on the riverside. The village was inland, but only by a mile. He ran nightly, and he was fast. With his enhanced speed, he could cover that mile in well under three minutes even in the forested terrain.

He killed the two on the north corner next, leaving the bodies where they lay. He searched them for weapons and radios, taking whatever he found or destroying it. For a moment he was uneasy, feeling eyes on him. It should have been impossible to spot him, but he went to ground, going with his gut, rolling away from the bodies toward the next guard and staying as low as possible.

Once he was a distance from the two kills, he used the military crawl to make his way to the next guard. The man was watching the forest in front of him, just as he’d been told. He was careful, but the village was at his back. He thought the danger was the river and anything coming at them through the trees, so he scanned continually, never once considering that the enemy he feared was behind him, already creeping so close that if he stepped back, he’d step right into him. Draden rose up like the ghost he was, directly behind the guard, one hand covering his mouth while the other slammed the blade deep into the base of his skull, severing the spinal cord.

Two guards had been stationed at each of the four corners around the village. Between each set of corner guards were five men. Draden managed to take out two of the corners and all five of the guards between two of them. That left at least fourteen more guards. He was a machine, not feeling the grueling effects on his muscles as he made the slow crawl between targets, but the longer he was in the field, moving from kill to kill, the more he felt eyes on him.

Uneasy, he paused just as he was coming up on the third corner, the one also facing the river. The rain was steady now, falling in fine drops little more than a mist, so that a gray veil seemed to be descending over the forest. He could use that to conceal himself and hunt for whoever was shadowing him. He tried to “feel” the energy. He could always feel an enemy long before he came upon one, but this time he didn’t seem to ever be close enough to get a feel for whoever was watching.

He gained ground under cover of the darkness, coming up on the two soldiers who were clearly uneasy. They continually tried to raise the other guards, their voices reflecting their growing fear. Unlike the others, they turned, going back to back, weapons ready while they talked frantically into their radios, now raising the alarm that too many of the guards weren’t answering.

Shylah Cosmos lay in the slight depression that afforded her some cover, puzzling out the identity of the lone man ruthlessly cutting down the guards of the Milisi Separatis Sumatra. He was not just good; he was a freaking killing machine. He could have been a robot programmed to kill. There didn’t appear to be one wasted motion. He didn’t seem to need rest. He just flowed across the ground, like a dark wraith in the night, like a ghost …

She gasped and shoved her knuckles into her mouth, biting down to keep from making a sound. He had to be a GhostWalker. She was looking at a legitimate GhostWalker. The real deal. He was that good. That smooth. So quiet he couldn’t be real. He looked more a predator, more an animal flowing across the ground than a human. She blinked several times to keep her focus. She’d been following him ever since she’d caught a shadow sliding into the village and then the infirmary.

He’d gone right into the enemy stronghold without so much as a flinch. He could really have been a ghost for all the MSS members noticed him as he walked among them. No way could Shylah not have noticed him. He had a distinctive build. He seemed larger than life, but maybe it was because she was watching him do the impossible. In one night he had made at least twenty-five kills single-handedly. That was impressive. Four in the village, three of the four corners, and that was two guards each. Across the back of the village, in front and down one side, were five each. He might have made more kills had the guards not been in continual contact with one another.

She knew that the soldiers would try to raise their commander, and she knew that he was already dead. She’d seen the GhostWalker do the impossible and kill him. She knew it was a clean kill because she’d actually gotten into the house to see with her own eyes. Up close, the kill had been grisly, the sword blade slicing cleanly through the man’s throat. The dead commander was staring up at the ceiling, eyes wide open, the blade protruding. The eyes made her sick to her stomach and she’d had to turn away. Still, as deaths went, she considered it the perfect ending for a man like that, although she would have liked to have known he suffered before he went.

Shylah had seen the effects of the virus on the people of Lupa Suku and she was certain the commander had access to the virus and had infected the villagers with it. She’d been tracking the three virologists who had created the virus for some time and her search had brought her here to Sumatra. There had been five incidents that she knew of to date, all occurring right around the Banyuasin River. The first three had been small and could have been easily overlooked, but she’d been sent in as soon as the first incident had been recorded.

A fisherman on the Banyuasin River had found three men dead, their bodies bloated and ravaged by some horrible disease, but each in a different dwelling. The three men had makeshift camps they’d used as a base to hunt and fish. They hadn’t been together, nor did they seem to have had any contact with one another when she’d traced their movements, yet all three men had died the same way.

The fisherman who’d found the bodies had called the authorities and they’d made a report. Dr. Whitney immediately had been notified that an unknown virus appearing to be hemorrhagic had killed three random people, men who made their living on the river. Unfortunately, Whitney suspected his three missing virologists had created the virus and she’d been sent in to confirm. More, Whitney was certain the three were testing the virus, or showing buyers what it could do. He feared the virus had been offered for sale to the MSS and they had used it on the unsuspecting forgotten tribe.

She’d been angry when she saw the ravaged remains of a once peaceful and thriving community. The people of Lupa Suku had been passive and had lived in accord with the forest and the animals there. They were self-sufficient and loyal to one another. They didn’t deserve to die the way they had, callously thrown away for someone’s gain. Whatever the agenda of the MSS, it shouldn’t have mattered more than those people.

She had to admit she was still angry—angry enough that she felt satisfaction when she spotted that shadow of death flowing through the village taking no prisoners. She’d followed him, very careful to make sure that he hadn’t spotted her and turned that bloodthirsty knife on her. Now she lay in the dirt and rotting vegetation, with ants and spiders crawling around her and over her, watching him. Every muscle in her body was in knots.

She had a bad feeling and wanted to shout at him to get out of there, to run away. Or dissolve in the way of ghosts. He’d taken too many lives and he didn’t seem to want to stop. The al

arm had gone out and now the rest of the group would be actively looking for him, especially once they tried to rouse their commander and found him dead. That would happen at any moment.

The GhostWalker had to know he was blown. He had to. She wasn’t supposed to make her presence known. She had a job to do and she couldn’t do it if anyone knew about her. She was supposed to stay off the radar. She couldn’t be seen backing the man who had killed so many members of the MSS.

He was not going to stop. She could only watch in silence as the shadow rose up almost at the two guards’ feet. His thirsty knife slashed across one throat and then the other. It happened so fast neither man probably ever saw him. Neither had turned his head toward him before the second throat had been cut and the shadow had gone to ground.

Watching the two MSS realize they were dead, that the life was draining from them as blood poured onto the ground, was something out of a horror movie. She couldn’t look away. She was wholly mesmerized by the way they stared at each other in silent terror, and then slowly crumpled to the ground like empty gunnysacks.

Gunfire erupted, pulling her attention back to the assassin. She couldn’t see him, just the blaze of orange and blue muzzle blasts as several guards opened fire around the station where their two fallen comrades had gone down. She thought they were firing blindly, but then she saw him. He was running along a deer trail that led straight toward her—and the river.

He took her breath away. He was solid, all muscle and she could see, even with the veil of gray rain, that his muscles rippled deliciously as he ran. His tee was plastered on him, so that he might as well not have been wearing one. She could see his body moving effortlessly, even when he leapt over fallen tree trunks and smaller brush.

He didn’t carry anything with him, so if he had a war bag, he’d stashed it somewhere. Did that mean he’d come to the encampment armed with only a knife? He was heading for the river and a small army of very angry MSS soldiers chased after him. He was fast though, like that machine she’d named him before.

Shylah scooted back as he came close, but there was no way to move as he veered away from a particularly large tree trunk and headed straight for the depression where she was secreted. Bullets thunked into the bark, sending splinters flying into the air, but she could only watch in fascination as the man loomed over her.

Holy cow, he was the hottest man she’d ever seen in her life. The thing of fantasies, movie star quality. Or a rock star. Someone a woman could spend hours just staring at. She had all of three seconds because he never broke stride, vaulting over her easily. There wasn’t even the sound of heavy breathing and he was sprinting full out. Her heart beat way too fast and it wasn’t because half the MSS army was chasing him. In real life, men like that didn’t exist.

He disappeared around a bend in the trail, and she rolled down and away from the guards trailing him. They were still a little farther out, and she had every confidence that she could get away without being seen. He had seen her. For one moment, their eyes locked. His were blue, but that was far too mundane to describe them. Almost a pure dark blue, a true navy. She’d seen them for a second, but it didn’t matter with her enhanced vision. She would dream about those eyes for the rest of her life.

She scrambled on all fours down to the little tunnel small animals had made in the brush and crawled inside. She was fast, sliding almost on the bare ground along the worn, very narrow path that led to the river. This was a game trail, one smaller animals used when they were nervous, which was all the time. It was the fastest way to the river and the safest for her. She went fast, hearing the guards running, still firing their guns, although she doubted if they could even see the GhostWalker.

She burst out from the tunnel just before the bank of the river, coming to an upright position, still moving. Boats were tied up and several of the MSS were rushing up the embankment, firing steadily, over and over at the running GhostWalker. It was his poor luck that other members of the MSS had returned at such an unexpected hour.

She saw the GhostWalker’s head jerk back and then his body was in the water. The guards continued to shoot at him as he went under. Shylah didn’t hesitate but kept on running so that she went right to the edge and dove. She was nowhere near as good in the water as her friend Bellisia, whom she had known and trained with her entire life. Still, she was a strong swimmer and could stay underwater for long periods of time. She wasn’t without her own enhancements.

She swam to the spot where she saw him go under. Bullets streaked through the water, raining down as more soldiers from the village joined those who had come from the river. The streaks looked silver in the murky, dark water. She went deeper, grateful for her enhanced vision but still unable to see very far in front of her. Her foot kicked him, and she grabbed. He was a dead weight and her heart sank. There was no time to examine him, she had to get him—and herself—away from the rapidly firing guards.

Shylah knew they couldn’t see her, but they were so angry, they kept shooting blindly into the water. She struck out strongly for the other side of the river. It wasn’t terribly wide, well within her range, even toting dead weight with one hand. There was a slight bend in the river and she went with the current, letting it help her sweep around that bend as she continued to pull for the bank.

To her dismay, it was much steeper on that side. She rolled the GhostWalker over so he was faceup and kept swimming, trying to find a place to drag him even partially onto land. Time slowed down, and a part of her wanted to panic. Then it was there, an embankment that stretched to the very edge of the river. She made for it, redoubling her efforts at speed.

The moment she had him half in, half out of the water, she rolled him to his side to try to clear his lungs and then listened for breathing and heartbeat. There appeared to be neither. She began CPR immediately, fitting her mouth over his, blowing air into his lungs and then doing chest compressions.

Come on, ghost man. You want this. You want to live. I know you do. Breathe for me. Take a breath. She wasn’t about to lose him. She listened a second time, checked his pulse, breathed for him. For both of them. All the while she listened for sounds of the MSS, just in case they had leapt into their boats and tried to sweep both sides of the river for his body.

There was a wound on his temple. She had given it a cursory examination. The bullet had shaved skin off his head, probably knocked him unconscious, or when he dove, he’d hit a rock. Either way, he’d lost consciousness in the river and his lungs were full of water. She wasn’t letting him drown. When she brushed the blood from the side of his temple, more welled up and her heart leapt. Beneath her hand he stirred. Coughed. Water bubbled up. She turned him onto his side and he coughed again, more water draining from his lungs.

She turned her head toward the river, listening for the sound of the angry terrorists hunting them. Without warning, a giant hand wrapped around her throat and she was slammed down into the dirt. The GhostWalker rose above her, his face a mask of fury.

“What the fuck did you just do?”

Her heart accelerated to the point where she thought it might explode. He was so strong there was no breaking his hold. She caught at his wrist, but it felt like she wrapped her fingers around steel. There was no talking. No way words could escape from that grip. He turned his head away and coughed more. He spat water and looked toward the river, clearly listening for the enemy.

He’d been dead. Well, he would have been dead had she not given him CPR, yet he had come out of it fully cognizant. Completely aware.

He turned his head back toward her and those dark, navy-colored eyes bore down into hers. She stayed very still, trying to keep her body relaxed. If she didn’t tense up, it was possible he would relax his grip and she’d be able to break free. She wasn’t certain that would do much good; she’d seen him run and he was the fastest she’d ever seen.

“Did you give me CPR?” It was a demand.

She tried to nod. His lashes swept down for a brief moment, and she s

aw despair etched deeply into his face. Her heart ceased to beat and then began to pound as sudden knowledge filled her. She knew he was infected. She didn’t know how, but it was that look on his face. The way his hold on her throat gentled. He shook his head and moved back away from her.

“We have to get out of here.” His voice was a mere whisper of sound.

“You’ve been exposed to the virus, haven’t you?” Now her heart was wild. Out of control. She was terrified. She’d seen the horrific way the men and women had died. She knew, but she still needed his confirmation.

He caught her hand and rose, pulling her with him. Her arms and legs suddenly felt like spaghetti. There was a strange roaring in her head. Chaos reigned in her brain. She began to hyperventilate. The virus. He was infected with the virus and she’d put her mouth over his and breathed into his lungs. Her fingers had wiped at the blood on his temple. She had his blood on her at that very moment.

His fingers tightened around her upper arm. “We have to move. Right now.”

The urgency in his voice caught at her. She was an elite, highly trained soldier. It didn’t matter if the worst had happened; she would deal with it later. She straightened her spine, looked into those eyes of his and nodded.

Her reward was instant. His expression softened, and he gave her a quick nod of approval and then began to jog, still holding her arm, forcing her to go with him down the embankment.

What are you doing? They’re going to be on the river in boats. Without thinking she went to telepathy because the women she’d trained with all could speak mind to mind.

They’ll be expecting us on this side. We’re going back in and crossing to the other side. There was a place where the forest came right down to the edge of the water. We’ll cross there so they won’t be able to track us.