Lightning Game (GhostWalkers 17)

Rubin waited for his brother’s assessment. If he was right, they could use the sequence to write short messages to Jonquille. Clearly, she didn’t feel any communication longer than that specific sequence was safe, even using code. Someone had to be able to monitor her telepathically.

I think you’re right, Rubin. I think that’s exactly what she’s using, Diego agreed.

Why are you baiting Luther?

So he doesn’t notice that you look like crap. Not that it’s working. Diego sounded rueful. And he likes it.

“We’re coming up on the tunnel leading to the spring where those soldiers are camping. The entrance to the caves is much closer to their campsite than I’d like.” Luther had dropped his voice to a whisper. “The opening there is a natural one. That’s how I first discovered the caves.” He stopped altogether and turned to face them. “Their campsite is almost below the entrance by about twenty yards. It’s a slope with rocks and grass. They only went to the top to try to get better views, but they didn’t do much in the way of exploring, not that they would have seen the entrance, at least I don’t think they would have.”

“I’ll go out first,” Diego said. “Can you give me a good layout of their camp?”

Luther nodded. “I spent some time studying it before I decided to take them on. Might have left them alone, but they decided to hunt me. On my own land too.”

“Probably heard about your reputation,” Diego said. “Didn’t want you coming after them.”

“You said they were there to tear up my meadow? The minute they started that, I would have declared war,” Luther said decisively. Never once did he forget to whisper. “I like your woman’s name, Rubin. Easter lily. Or daffodil. Your ma would have liked her name.”

Rubin nodded. “She would have liked her. She’s a good woman. Lotty would have approved of her too.”

“When you first go out of the cave, you have to be careful. The camp is right below. They aren’t great in the woods, but they are watchful. They’re nervous. I noticed that right away. They have one good man, the boss. You’re going to have to take him out as fast as possible. He’s not only the brains, but he’s got eyes and ears.”

“The ones coming with Jonquille are like him. Maybe even better,” Rubin supplied. “They’re fast in the trees. Like flying squirrels. Never saw anything like it, Luther.”

Luther was silent for a long moment and then he sighed. “I served my country in several wars. Men go to their graves carrying secrets they swore to keep, and I’m no different, but I don’t think you’re going to be too surprised when I tell you that experiments began years ago, far before you were ever born, to make men different. Better. Stronger. At least that was the hope.”

What is he saying, Rubin? Diego asked, shock in his mind.

Rubin considered all the times Luther had managed feats of strength and endurance others far younger could never have done. All the times he survived when he shouldn’t have. Why had he served his country in multiple wars? How had he managed to move his still on his own at his age? To dig out the tunnel to the caves?

How come it had been so easy for Luther to accept Diego’s blood and so difficult for Rubin to put the pieces of his body back together again? Rubin had spent a long time trying to put together muscle and bone that should have matched up easily but instead, had been weirdly different. Working on Luther had really taken a toll on him—the kind of cost to him that happened when he made an exchange not only with a gravely ill patient but with an enhanced GhostWalker.

He should have recognized that Luther was different. Everything about him was slightly different, from his blood cells to his muscle mass and the density of his bones. Looking back over the years, from the time he was a child to the times he had returned, there had always been whispers about the goings-on in the woods surrounding Gunthrie’s property.

There were always stories. Rumors. Old tales of sightings of ghosts, and some even said Gunthrie’s woods were home to the “Hornet Man,” only because several teens trying to sneak up on Luther’s still had reported seeing red eyes and flying creatures landing in the meadow from time to time. The giant bodies were shaped like hornets, and they swore old man Gunthrie went out to the meadow and petted one of them, ducking his head to avoid getting it bitten off. There were weird lights that flashed. Strobes? Helicopters coming in at night? So many years earlier, late at night, when boys were scared and possibly drinking, they might make that mistake. Others were dared to go, and the stories grew. Luther would feed those rumors.