Lightning Game (GhostWalkers 17)
Jonquille. Are you safe?
I can handle a little lightning. They’re trying to distract you both. They don’t want Diego to get any information from the one on the ground. I don’t know why, but we seem to be connected in some way. I killed the assassin the owl tore up. He was trying to get to Diego and the other one. He was mostly dead anyway. The persistence he showed told me the one Diego is questioning has important information.
Lightning crackled in the dark clouds directly over Diego’s position. Rubin knew Jonquille was very close to his brother and the downed would-be assassin. He glanced down and saw a very small figure leap up from the darker brush. She looked like a tiny fairy, a true lightning bug, dancing like a firefly might at sunset across the tops of the grasses as she raced away from Diego and the man he interrogated. Her hair glowed, a wild display of platinum blond strands standing up like a halo around her head as she threw back the hood of her jacket to attract the lead stroke from the clouds.
Rubin’s breath caught in his throat. Energy in the form of sparks circled her small waist, rib cage and outstretched arms and flashed around her legs as she ran, giving more and more the appearance of her dancing in the air. His heart sank as he felt the charging in the air increase.
Stop, Jonquille. You’re playing right into their hands. They came for you. This is all about you. They’ve pulled you away from us. Go back toward Diego. Reverse directions. I can direct the strike away from him.
He knew it was too late. Lightning forked across the sky, cloud to cloud, and then the lead stroke found its path straight to her. He sent out the intercept to direct the bolt away from Diego, but it didn’t matter. The target wasn’t his brother. The target all along had been Jonquille. The team was desperate to acquire her. Casualties didn’t matter, only getting Jonquille mattered.
The dart gun was silent, but he saw it hit her and she went down hard. Fast. One moment standing and the next dropping to the ground. Whatever they used was instantaneous. Rubin leapt from the branch he was on, although he doubted he would get there in time to stop the recovery team from taking Jonquille. He was too far away.
Kill him, Diego, and get to her. Kill as many as you can. At least we can handicap them as they’re bringing her off the mountain, he ordered.
He ordered the owl to kill the prey in the tree at all costs. He knew the female raptor would never give up. It would be a battle of life or death between predator and prey. She would keep at him until she ripped every square inch of skin off him. Once on the ground, Rubin ran full out, using every enhanced bit of animal DNA he had to aid him.
He heard the bark of Diego’s rifle twice and saw two men go down, but it seemed as if there were at least ten to fifteen men swarming around Jonquille. He counted eight lying prone in a semicircle around her, guns pointed toward Diego’s location. These weren’t rifles. They weren’t semiautomatics. They looked as if they were new-age weapons built to take half the mountainside with them when fired.
Pull back, Diego. Get out of there fast.
The men began to fire simultaneously, making it impossible to see. Great clouds of smoke and debris rose into the air. Craters appeared in the mountain and trees exploded in every direction. They could do little but hunker down until it was over.
Rubin had the presence of mind to check on the owl. She’d managed to rip the rifle from the leader’s hands, and once she’d done that, he’d tried to use a knife on her. That had been a mistake, getting him too close. The owl had killed him in much the same way she’d killed the assassin on the ground, going first for his eyes and then ripping at the soft parts of his body like the raptor she was.
The men retreated, two at a time, covering one another in pairs. Rubin raced to check on his brother. Diego had rolled through the brush just before the squirrel men had begun shooting and had found a wide crack just below the stream. He’d wedged himself in it and covered his face and ears while the guns had rained hell down on them.
“Who the hell are these people?” Rubin demanded, after giving his brother a quick inspection to make certain he wasn’t injured other than a graze or two. “What did you get out of squirrel man?”
Diego rolled back out of the crevice, lying on his back for a moment, staring up at the smoky sky, breathing hard. “They aren’t Whitney’s men, and they aren’t a terrorist cell either. They’ve been tracking her for some time.” He sat up slowly, shaking his head several times, trying to clear his ears.