Lightning Game (GhostWalkers 17)

He would never have gotten as far as he had without Joe or Bellisia. The woman kept giving blood as if she had endless amounts when he knew she was very small and her little body really couldn’t possibly have that much in it. And Joe, he just kept stepping up. He was an extremely talented healer, well on his way to becoming a surgeon, whether he knew it or not. He had the gift, he just hadn’t unlocked it, probably with all the other gifts he had blocking it. He was the commander of their unit and had so many other problems weighing him down, it was little surprise that his talent was easing its way out of him rather than pouring out.

The second time Rubin staggered to his feet, Jonquille had joined them. She not only looked exhausted, but she felt it as well. He gave her the smaller jobs he’d been having Joe do and pushed Joe to help him with the intricate surgery that would hopefully put Roch back together. Rubin had no idea what he would turn out like, but Zara had come in and managed to get the computer on and the video to work so he could see what the first set of surgeons had done to the pilot and how. He had Chandler’s notes, his wish list of traits he wanted to endow Fontenot with. He also had the list of Roch’s actual strongest psychic and physical attributes.

Sorting out the DNA was impossible, although Trap was working on that as fast as he could, but Rubin had to figure out how to make everything fit together inside the body like a giant puzzle. It all not only had to fit, but it had to work smoothly and efficiently. Once he was out of there, he didn’t want it to suddenly break down, especially if he wasn’t around.

Sweat trickled down his face, and he was aware of Diego wiping it away. It was annoying to be human and weak. Twice he snapped at Joe. Once at Jonquille. Neither said anything back to him, but he felt pretty low and apologized when he could force words through his dry throat. They had to be as tired as he was. They had to be thinking of Wyatt. Of Nonny. The longer this took, the less likely Roch would pull through. He was taking too long. And if he didn’t sit down again soon, he was going to fall on the floor face-first.

Diego caught his swaying body and dragged him to the chair again. This time, he wasn’t alone. Wyatt was on the other side of him, holding him up as well, his face a mask of emotion when Wyatt normally didn’t show anything at all.

“Can’t,” Rubin muttered, but his throat was rebelling, closing on him. He couldn’t see for some strange reason. He kept wiping his eyes, and his ears were ringing. He coughed, turning his face away.

“Drink,” Diego insisted. “You don’t, you’re done and he’s dead anyway. You’re all he’s got, Rubin, so take a minute and rest your brain. You’re bleeding.”

“I am?” He brushed at his eyes again. He was. His eyes and ears. Not a good sign. He would have forced Joe or Jonquille to stop if either of them were that far gone.

“This is your last shot,” Diego said. “You don’t get it this time, we’re calling it.”

“That’s on me, brother. He’s still alive. I fight for him,” Rubin said softly. “He’s fighting, I’m fighting.” He sucked down the cold water, letting it pour down his throat. Once more he stood up over the body, this time with Diego’s support on one side and Wyatt’s on the other, and he began working again.

20

Lightning flashed across the sky, great forks streaking in every direction, a wild display of nature’s power. Thunder roared simultaneously, shaking the ground, shaking the house so the walls seemed to dance, undulating together with the white-hot veins in the heavily laden purple clouds. The wind whipped tree branches into a frenzy of movement, making the Spanish moss dance like mysterious veils. Leaves and twigs whirled free into the air, tossed about by the unpredictable squall as it burst through the woods, first in one direction and then abruptly changing to another. Jonquille slipped her hand into Rubin’s and watched as rain poured into the wide expanse of water, adding to the river and the rich ecosystem.

“You were so right about this exact location, Rubin,” she whispered in awe. “It truly is beautiful and so different from one moment to the next.”

Just an hour earlier, the weather was sunny and the snowy white egrets were out in full force. She was coming to love to sit on the shaded deck with Rubin, watching the birds as they patiently stalked bullfrogs and fish, shrimp and mice. She enjoyed their beauty as they moved with grace on their long stalk-like legs in the shallow water in the cool of the cypress forest just down from her new home.