Lightning Game (GhostWalkers 17)

Once more, Rubin stayed very still, his body blending in with the thick tree trunk of the old oak. The assassin landed in a spruce about forty feet away, causing a brief little shiver of the branches. The tree went still and stayed that way for a good three minutes. Squirrel man didn’t launch himself as expected into the next tree. He didn’t seem to be in any hurry to catch up with his partner.

Rubin focused on him now that he knew where he was. Squirrel man took a small envelope out of the tight vest he had zipped around him, slit it open with a long fingernail and emptied the contents into his mouth. He returned the envelope to the inside of the vest and zipped the vest again. Once zipped, the vest seemed to glue itself to him. The clothing was exceptional. Whitney was always working on camouflage clothing for the soldiers, wanting to ensure whatever they wore would allow them to fade completely into the background of whatever environment they were in. The clothes the squirrel men wore were very sophisticated.

The man turned to face the next large tree. There were several smaller ones in his way. Rubin wanted to see how he maneuvered through the branches of all the trees to get to the one he wanted. He realized the squirrel men didn’t fly. It wasn’t as if they could be in the air for long distances. They didn’t have air packs. They literally were jumping from tree to tree.

He watched as the assassin took two steps on the branch and threw his body into the air, arms out and then in, out again, and then in, like a diver, moving with that amazing speed, just like one of the birds flying around the branches to get to the next tree. Rubin could see he’d already chosen his course. He knew where he was going, had mapped it out in his mind and had followed that path. He’d chosen the branch he was going to land on as well as the exact spot.

Again, the assassin took his time, settling on the limb, giving himself a little break before the next leap. Why? Rubin studied him carefully. As a doctor he was quick to see the elevation in breathing. The squirrel man’s chest was heaving. He was taking deep, slow breaths to get his breathing back under control. The moment he did, he looked to the next tree—the large oak. This time the assassin didn’t waste time. Again, he took the two steps and launched himself.

Rubin could have admired the speed and precision if it weren’t for the need to move quickly to get to Gunthrie’s place ahead of the team with Jonquille. Hopefully, the old-timer was alive. The old man had even survived his still blowing up once. Fortunately, he hadn’t been around when it happened, but that just went to show you the luck the old man had. Rubin hoped his luck was still holding.

Squirrel man landed on the same branch the lead assassin had perched on. The moment his toenails dug into the branch, he must have smelled death, because he started to turn. Rubin was on him before that could happen. Once again, his tremendous strength and his own speed prevailed. He snapped the assassin’s neck without giving him time to put up a fight.

This man seemed far less able to fight, too winded. Rubin didn’t take the time to examine him, not even psychically, but he was certain if he did, he would find that this was one of the men considered “flawed” and expendable. He hoped Jonquille wasn’t considered expendable. He had to get to her as fast as possible. He did take time to check the rifle the assassin was carrying. It was loaded with darts, not bullets.

11

Luther Gunthrie’s home hadn’t changed since he’d first found old used sheets of corrugated metal and carried them, one by one, over miles of trail, walking with each sheet over his head to bring it to the chosen spot where he’d decided to build his house. He was tenacious when he wanted something, and he loved the hidden piece of paradise he called his. He built the cabin with his own two hands. He built his outhouse next and then his outdoor shower.

He developed a spring that ran all year round to meet his water needs. There was plenty of fish. He could hunt or trap. He did have a bicycle for two once he married. His bride, Lotty, had been the love of his life. The two would pedal to the grocery store on the bike. You never saw one without the other. Luther always stayed close to his Lotty. They did everything together.

The trail leading to the rugged holler that went back to his home was so overgrown a person wouldn’t recognize that it had ever been an actual path at one time. Gunthrie preferred it that way. Since his beloved Lotty had gone, he stayed more and more to himself and discouraged visitors, particularly the official kind that he believed came looking for his still.