Lightning Game (GhostWalkers 17)

Even resting, it was difficult to turn his brain off. At first his mind seemed quiet, but then he felt small pulses of energy, like tiny strikes of lightning hitting right around the edges, jabbing at him. Each poke felt like a tiny laser point that came and went fast. A fiery flick, no more. He kept his eyes closed and his breathing even. Waiting. Was it real? His mind jumped fast from one subject to the next.

The body was made up of all kinds of energy. That was one of the largest experiments that raged on teleportation. How did one actually teleport without destroying the body? Some scientists said it was impossible. He knew it wasn’t, but no one knew how those that had that gift actually did it. Strides were being made in manipulating lightning. He was particularly interested in those studies. He’d contributed to them heavily.

A series of thunderstorms had been predicted in the coming weeks, another reason he’d come earlier than he’d originally planned. Thunderstorms brought lightning to the Appalachian trails, and he knew exactly where the most strikes generally occurred. He’d talked often with the major general and his team commander, Joe Spagnola, about how, inside laboratories, lightning was controlled with laser beams, but outside, they failed to work. He was certain he could figure out the reason. He was close to the answer. If he could, they could keep lightning from destroying personal property, crops, homes …

Those little strikes had faded. He didn’t move. Didn’t open his eyes. He thought about the weapon Oliver Chandler’s elite team had used to abduct Jonquille. The weapon had seemed to utilize lightning. Not ball lightning. It was another kind of weapon shot from a very small handheld device that looked like a gun. It didn’t look heavy. He hadn’t had time to examine the craters or the way the trees had exploded, leaving nothing but splinters behind. Certainly, the weapon seemed to duplicate a lightning strike, sending an energy charge that reacted like a bolt, but it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t real lightning.

The other thing he needed to consider, Rubin decided, his mind becoming even more active, was the fact that the weapon used against them earlier was laser driven for certain, but mostly, rather than going for accuracy, they had tried to keep Diego and Rubin off them so they could get Jonquille away without a firefight. Hopefully, that meant they didn’t want to chance harming her.

Those little pulses of energy returned, tiny strikes hitting around the edges of his mind, jabbing like laser points, that same fiery flick that he’d felt earlier. There was no mistake. The sensation was weak, but it was repeated, a series of quick beats. He took a breath and let it out but didn’t react in any way. There was no feel of Jonquille. No pouring of her into his mind. The familiar, intimate energy that came with her entry was entirely missing.

What had Diego said? He had interrogated the squirrel man. Five of the assassins chasing her had been given a part of what Whitney had considered “garbage.” He’d frozen Jonquille’s DNA, and Oliver Chandler had used it. Was it possible one of the squirrel men was trying to trick him into revealing his location? Was it Jonquille? Was he losing his mind?

The sensation stopped again after approximately the same amount of time as the first sequence had run. Rubin played it back in his head over and over. Each beat. Slow fast. Each strike. If it was Jonquille, he needed to know she was alive and well and what she was trying to say to him. If she was reaching out this way, it meant someone could intercept. Could hear them even if they spoke telepathically—or at least know if she was speaking telepathically. If one was sensitive to energy, one could feel it. She was extremely sensitive. Anyone like her would know immediately if she was trying to communicate with him telepathically.

Diego. You awake?

I am now.

His brother made him want to smile. He always sounded like such a grump when he didn’t get his sleep.

You’re such a baby.

You woke me up to tell me that? I might remind you I do have my favorite rifle with me.

Rubin wanted to laugh even in the middle of the mess they were in. He loved his brother. Fortunately for me, as bloodthirsty as you are, you’ll have to wait until we’ve narrowed the odds down a bit. Even you need help.

There was a little space of time, as if Diego were giving it some thought. Then a sigh in his mind. Get to the point.

This has happened twice now. Don’t know if it’s Jonquille, or someone else trying to draw me out. I think it’s her. Listen to the beats and tell me what you think she’s trying to say.