Christine Feehan

It took a moment of time.  One heartbeat.  A split second.  Diego Campos had grown up in a cruel, unrelenting world and knew for a fact that everything you planned, everything you held dear, could be lost in that single space of time.  Despite all the plans you made, all the precautions you took, that single moment would change your life.

Those horrible life-altering moments had happened to him many times, setting him on dark paths he could never come back from.  And he was damned tired of trying.

He had come home to die.  The only thing he wanted from life now was to be cremated and have his ashes buried next to his parents and five siblings in the graveyard behind the cabin his father had built so many years ago there in the Appalachian Mountains.

He was on his way home to the old cabin now.  With the exception of his brother Rubin, most of the rest of his family were already there, interred in the rocky soil that had been their home for so many years.  It was important to him that his ashes were laid to rest beside them, and he knew, being a GhostWalker, that wouldn’t happen if he died anywhere but at the cabin where Rubin would find him.  Even grieving, Rubin would follow his wishes to the letter.

And he would grieve.

Rubin had followed others into the military and into the volunteer program of enhancement of psychic abilities.  Diego had followed Rubin.  Both scored exceptionally high and were accepted into the program.  In the end, not only had their psychic abilities been enhanced, but they had been altered genetically.  Given animal, bird and even reptile DNA.  Those traits allowed them to do extraordinary things, but it also brought out every negative trait any volunteer in the GhostWalker program had.  Diego had quite a bit of darkness in him.  That had never stopped Rubin from having intense loyalty toward Diego.

Diego had driven up to the old trail that led the way up the mountain.  He was miles from home, having to travel mostly by foot to reach the family homestead.  He pulled off the pitted, dirt road into the shelter of trees and brush.  It was one of the places Rubin would look for his vehicle.  They had often returned to the mountains and would leave supplies for one another in the truck they’d hidden in the bushes.  There was an old road leading up the mountain, but they rarely used it.  Neither liked to lead tracks.

Despite the shit show that was his life, Diego could never say he hadn’t been loved.  But Rubin would be grieving for a man who had ceased to exist years earlier—hell, a man who never truly had existed.  All the good in him had died during his brutal childhood years.

He was sorry Rubin would be the one to find him.  If there were a way to spare his brother that, he would.  But ending it at the cabin, knowing Rubin would be along in the next week or two to visit the neighbors who needed a doctor, was the only way he could think of to ensure his last wishes were carried out.

Wildflowers grew everywhere, splashes of color springing up in every direction, vying for space with ferns and various bushes.  The moment he saw the Verbesina, memories flooded of his sisters making crowns from the bright yellow flowers.  They’d been so young, laughing as they wove the strands of flowers together and placed them on each other’s heads.

His heart clenched in his chest.  Years earlier, Rubin and he had planted Verbesina and other wildflowers his sisters had loved in the family graveyard located behind the cabin.  They made a point of keeping the little family cemetery nice when they returned each year.

August was ending, and it was time for their semi-annual trek home.  Rubin hadn’t questioned that Diego wanted to go up a little early.  He knew Diego preferred being in the mountains and it was natural for Diego to go a couple of weeks early. Besides, Rubin was married now and had commitments to his wife. Diego was counting on Rubin’s love for Jonquille to get him through the next few weeks.

Rubin was ten months older than Diego.  They’d been seven years old when their father had died, leaving their mother with nine children and only the land to sustain them.  Together Rubin and Diego had dug the grave and buried their father in that small cemetery behind the cabin.

Hoping to bring in money to feed the family, their two oldest brothers, at fourteen and fifteen, had gone off looking for work but never returned.  After two months with no word, Diego realized his older brothers had to be dead, or they would have returned to aid the family, he made up his mind to protect the others.  He had gifts, dark ones perhaps, but incredible gifts he knew he could develop.  He set about doing just that every chance he had, determined to protect those he loved, but it cost him dearly.

As the next oldest male after their missing brothers, Rubin had become the de facto head of the family just days before his eighth birthday.  The expectation had been for him to run the family, to provide for them, even though he was only eight. Diego was his shadow, watching over him, honing his skills with his rifle, to better protect Rubin when they went out together in the rugged terrain during every type of weather to hunt, fish and forage for food to bring home to their mother and sisters.

Rifle skills weren’t the only thing Diego worked on.  He had a close affinity with animals.  He could understand them and they could him.  He worked hard to establish as many connections as he could with the wildlife and birds surrounding them.  That led to better hunting skills and gave them an added layer of protection.  His mother, a stern religious woman, was certain he practiced witchcraft.  Her punishments didn’t stop him, not when it was for the survival of all of them.

Diego shifted the pack carrying his favorite weapons as he came up on a stream where he’d fished for trout with Rubin and his older sister, Mary.  They’d laughed so much together, and Rubin had caught the biggest trout in his life.  Their family had eaten well that night, Diego and Mary contributing with their smaller but tasty fish.  He could not only remember his sister’s laughter, but he heard the sound of it in his mind.  He could see them all so clearly, their lips pink and stained with grease from the fish they’d fried up in Mama’s old cast iron skillet.  Even Mama had been smiling, a rare thing, but she had that day, her eyes warm as she watched her children eating and laughing.

Man, that trout had tasted so good.  That was a good day.  He stood by the stream, a half-smile on his face at the memory until he remembered the tragedy that had come a few weeks later.  Diego’s fingers flexed around the strap of his backpack, knuckles going white as his grip tightened.  That was the terrible truth that dogged his entire life.  There was never any good in his life that bad didn’t soon follow.

Rubin and Diego were nine when Mary left home to get married.  Mathew Sawyer had been a good man, but she was barely of age.  She died in childbirth nine months later, leaving behind her newborn son.  Rubin and Diego dug the grave and buried her beside their father. 

Diego had been particularly close to Mary, and he was devastated by her death.  He knew Rubin was as well.  But they were quiet about their grief, doing their best to comfort their mother and sisters.

Diego toed a large rock beside the stream and watched as several bugs crawled out from under it.  Memories continued to flood his mind and even the beetles couldn’t distract him.
The year they turned ten was a decent year.  They managed to put together a generator from old parts they found in a mine.  They came up with a way to bring gravity-fed running water to the house, the first their mother ever had. 

Diego shouldered his pack, used to the heavy weight of it, and began to follow the winding stream up toward Luther Gunthrie’s place.  Rubin and Diego had often snuck past Luther’s homestead to get to the best fishing spots.  Night-fishing for catfish or bass often saved them from starvation. 

Diego had begun to get very proficient at calling wildlife to him, but he felt guilty each time they had to kill a deer or rabbit he’d summoned.  He didn’t feel quite so guilty when he practiced on the fish in the streams.  He’d had to hide his abilities from his mother.  Although his connection with animals saved his family from starvation, she believed the devil was in him and she’d try to beat the affliction out of him.

The thought of night-fishing brought up one of his worst memories.  That next summer, Lucy, their twelve-year-old sister, had gone night-fishing with eight-year-old Jayne.  Four men hiking the Appalachian Trail had run across the two girls.  When their sisters didn’t come home, Rubin and Diego went to find them.  Lucy was dead and Jayne was nearly comatose from the brutal attack.
After carrying the girls home, they went back to track their sisters’ attackers.  Rubin and Diego caught up with the men the following night.  By morning all four men were dead.  Rubin and Diego left them where they lay for the vultures and wildlife to take care of.  They lived in a remote part of the mountains, and neither of them was worried about the bodies being discovered.
They were thirteen when the flu took Jayne and then their sister Ruby.  They buried both girls next to their father and sisters.  Their mother never spoke a word after that.  She sat in a chair, rocking, barely eating or sleeping.  Just rocking, staring straight ahead with a vacant stare.

Their fourteenth winter was brutal.  The snow fell every day and they ran out of food.  Rubin and Diego had no choice but to go hunting.  When they returned to the cabin, their mother was dead.  She had hanged herself, and Star, their last living sister, blamed herself for falling asleep.  Star snuck out that night, leaving a note that said she’d gone to join the Catholic nuns in a convent.  Alarmed, they tracked her and found her frozen body near the stream where Lucy had been murdered.  It took days to bury their mother and sister in the frozen ground alongside the rest of their family.

After that, Diego decided that his sole purpose in life was to protect Rubin.  He knew his brother was a good man.  He didn’t have that dark place inside him that Diego did.  Diego also knew he had to be very careful that Rubin didn’t realize that his younger brother possessed the same gifts as Rubin and was using them to protect Rubin from most of their kills, even after they joined the GhostWalker program.

Until Rubin and Diego discovered the truth about Luther Gunthrie and the government experiments done on him, they believed Whitney had been the man who conceived the GhostWalker program and psychically enhanced the soldiers who tested high in psychic ability. He’d also genetically altered them without their permission, making the GhostWalkers enhanced physically as well as psychically.  They’d signed on for the psychic enhancements because they believed they would be a help to their country and fellow soldiers.  The genetic enhancements, however, they hadn’t known about and had never had agreed to.  Still, they were soldiers who had joined a top-secret military program, and they did their jobs, no matter how dangerous it was or how many times they were betrayed by factions of the government.

Each branch of the service had one GhostWalker team, consisting of ten members. The first team experimented on had a few major problems. Some needed anchors to drain away the psychic energy that adhered to them like magnets. Others had brain bleeds. Every subsequent team had fewer and fewer flaws until Whitney had achieved his goal and created his prize group, the Pararescue Team. They might have what Whitney considered fewer flaws, but they also had more genetic enhancements than any of them cared for.  Most of their talents were hidden from Whitney and never documented.

Diego might have been ten months younger than Rubin, but they may as well have been twins.  Each gift that should have been unique to one was shared.  It was just that Diego never allowed anyone to see him use some of the stronger and more valued talents his brother was known for.  Once those gifts had been enhanced by Whitney, both men’s abilities had continued to grow in strength, though Diego and even Rubin had kept the full extent of their power increase a closely guarded secret.  As for hiding most of his psychic talents entirely, well, Diego had his reasons, and he would take those to his grave.

Diego turned away from the stream to take a shortcut through the denser forest.  The trees were tall, and the canopy overhead cut out a great deal of light.  This grove of trees was at the very bottom of the mountain as it began its climb upward.  Although a long hike from their homestead, Diego had favored practicing calling birds and wildlife to him in the heart of that dense forest.  He was protected there, and the animals were diverse.  His mother’s friends or the other children couldn’t spy on him and tattle to her.  She might think she knew what he was doing, and she often punished him for disappearing all day and sometimes overnight, but he felt the punishments were worth what he was gaining.

That proved to be true when Rubin came looking for him in an effort to keep him from getting switched.  Their mother had been ranting and raving.  Rubin wanted Diego to hunt food and bring it back, so their mother would think that was what he’d been doing each time he disappeared.  Diego no longer cared if he was beaten.  His mother refused to love or want him no matter what he’d done to try to earn her affection, and he had given up.  He went his own way unless Rubin asked him to do something.  And he protected Rubin.  Was his shadow, whether his brother wanted it or not.

His first huge success at commanding animals had taken place right there in that very section of the forest.  Not only his first success, but the worst lesson possible in responsibility and consequences of meddling with nature.

The memory washed over him, and for the first time he felt weak, so much so he had to stop and crouch down in the brush, breathing deeply, reliving that moment when he’d nearly lost his brother.  When he’d been utterly responsible for the demise of a pack, animals that he loved.

It had been a bad winter with slim pickings for the wildlife, including coyotes.  They’d grown bold in places, snatching cats and even small dogs right out from under the noses of the homesteaders.  Their mournful howls could be heard throughout the mountain trails, adding to the mystique of the fog-shrouded forest.

Diego had a plan to aid them and cull some of the old, dying deer at the same time.  He worked patiently to connect with the pack occupying the thick groves close to Luther’s homestead.  If he could eventually use the coyotes as scouts, the beatings he received for disappearing over long periods would be worth it.  The pack accepted him, responding to his calls when he aided them in hunting.

The pack was hungry.  Starving, just like his family.  The more time he spent trying to connect with the animals, the more he felt part of their pack.  The first time he was able to help them bring down an aging doe, a huge sacrifice when his family was hungry.  He had felt intense guilt for not packing the meat home, but, at the same time, the hunger of the pack had been overwhelming.
It had never occurred to him the pack would hunt a human being.  He’d never seen evidence of it.  He’d never heard of coyotes doing such a thing, but that particular day, the pack that he’d been helping to feed, surrounded Rubin when his brother came to find him.  They darted in, trying to knock him to the ground.  Rubin shot two of them, and Diego had no choice but to dispatch the others until all six were lying dead. 
           
After much thought and soul-searching, Diego had to admit to himself that he had been responsible for the change in behavior of the coyote pack.  Until he had helped them pull down bigger game, they had survived on small animals like rabbits and mice.  They ate carrion and plants.  But once they learned they could pull down a larger animal and consume it, humans appeared as prey to them.  Diego had to accept that responsibility.  That particular lesson had been heart-wrenching, and it took him years to get over it.
           
Now he no longer had to ensure Rubin remained alive and well in the world.  Rubin had met and married Jonquille, a perfect match for him.  He was happy and healthy and in a good place.  Their GhostWalker unit would protect him.  Rubin was a psychic surgeon, a very rare and sought after talent.  That alone would ensure he was guarded.  It was the kind of talent every unit wished they had, but Rubin and Diego’s unit kept it very quiet.  No one outside their close-knit division could know.  If Whitney—or the government—found out, Rubin would be taken and studied.  Most likely they would take his brain apart in an attempt to make others like him.
           
Diego had a very persuasive voice.  At times he could use compelling energy to get others to do what he wanted.  He wanted Rubin safe, and time and again, he ensured every member of their unit wanted the same thing.  Diego was considered an amazing sniper, but there were others in his unit who could shoot as well or better.  At least so it appeared to everyone observing them.  He made certain he was never considered the best.  He kept his talents in the shadows, even while he played the front man doing paperwork and setting up whatever Rubin needed.  He always appeared quiet but approachable.  He was very, very careful not to draw undo attention.  Ever. 
           
Luther Gunthrie’s property was situated at the base of the mountain and ran upwards into the heavy forest.  Diego happened to know there was network of caves the old man didn’t reveal to anyone.  He’d even hidden his moonshine still there.  Rubin and Diego had discovered one of the secret entrances when they were tracking him, knowing he’d been severely injured.
           
Diego decided visiting with Luther Gunthrie on the way up to his cabin was a practical idea.  Luther was getting up there in age and never went to a doctor.  He made moonshine, and since his beloved wife had died, he kept to himself.  The trail leading to the rugged holler that took one back to his home was so overgrown one couldn’t recognize that it had ever been an actual path at one time.  Gunthrie had planted wildflowers along the trails and paths until it was impossible to know a road had ever been there.

Since his beloved Lotty was gone, Luther discouraged visitors, particularly the official kind that he believed came looking for his still—or were government men determined to bring him back to their labs.  Over the years he’d built up a mystique with his neighbors.  Although families lived miles from one another, they knew each other—or thought they did.

Most people had no idea that Luther was an original GhostWalker, the ones who’d existed long before Whitney began his experiments.  In the Vietnam era, there were a small number of recruits who had volunteered to be enhanced physically.  The hope had been to produce super-soldiers.  In retrospect, it made sense that Whitney wasn’t the first to come up with the idea.  Whitney was ambitious, narcissistic and a monster.  He was quite brilliant, there was no doubt about that, but he built everything he did on someone else’s research.

Throughout the intervening years, Luther had been ‘worked’ on more than once.  Despite his age, after serving his country in Vietnam, he was sent to Iraq and Afghanistan.  Like Diego and Rubin, he had been sent out on countless missions, all of which he had completed.  Each time he returned to his home in the Appalachian Mountains, he hoped he would be left alone.
Luther’s one wish was to be buried beside his beloved wife, Lotty.  The man had expressed to Diego and Rubin that he knew the government would come for his body.  They would never allow him to fall into the hands of the enemy.  Diego knew it would be the same for him.  It was the reason he had come home to the Appalachian Mountains.  He knew Rubin would find him and ensure he was cremated and his ashes buried in the family cemetery.

The persistent cry of a red-tailed hawk alerted him to possible danger.  The bird uncharacteristically darted through the trees, flying low to keep his attention, banked and then flew back toward the road giving him the impression of three vehicles covered with branches and vines tucked into the outer border of the tree-line.

Diego’s heart dropped when he came onto the three trucks.  There were no identifying plates, but he knew immediately they were military.  He’d seen vehicles like that before when men had come for Jonquille months earlier.  He opened each hood, prepared to disable the vehicle, but just like before, when Jonquille had been in trouble, someone had been there before him.  He guessed Luther.  Little got past Luther when someone was on his land.

He picked up the pace.  To get to Luther’s home, one had to trek a long way from the main trail to find the entrance to the holler.  It was another mile or so before the cabin came into view.  The land belonged to Luther and he had a lot of acreage.  He knew every inch of his property.  Diego was the same way about his family’s land. 

As a young boy he had explored continuously, and he did so each time he returned.  He was very familiar with the wildlife, flora and fauna, on the vast acreage Rubin and he owned together.  Each time a property bordering on their land came up for sale, they bought it with the idea of better protecting the old homestead.

Luther’s cabin was nearly hidden amongst the trees and overgrown grasses and brush.  Diego knew that just another forty feet to the west of the cabin was the most magnificent clearing surrounded by forest.  Luther had worked at transplanting every kind of wildflower growing in the woods to that meadow because Lotty loved them so.  Luther had built a fence to protect Lotty’s vegetable garden from deer.  Whatever his wife wanted, Luther made it happen.  In return, she spoiled her man, patching every hole in his clothing and mending his socks.  He always had a warm meal waiting no matter when he returned.  She lavished attention on him and turned the cabin into a warm, welcoming peaceful home for him.

Diego was halfway to the cabin, making his way through the profusion of wildflowers covering the trail when he heard it—the moment that would change the course of his life once again.  The sound of gunfire was distinctive.  And the shooters weren’t firing off one or two shots, like hunters might.  No, this was a volley. 

These were no hunters illegally poaching on Luther Gunthrie’s land.  And those were no hunting rifles being fired.  Diego had spent most of his adult life in the military.  He knew an M4 when he heard one.  He was hearing more than one. 

Whoever these men were, they hadn’t taken their time to get to know their adversary.  Like many before them, they made the mistake of taking Luther at face value.  He was at least eighty, although he appeared ageless, but despite his age, Luther Gunthrie was a man who could handle weapons and any kind of combat.  Any kind.  In fact, the crusty old wolf welcomed combat.  Not only could he out-hunt and out-shoot men a quarter his age, his property was riddled with bolt holes and depressions in the ground Luther could fit into, as well as countless weapons caches secreted away.  At any time of the day, he was more prepared for war than most militaries.

Diego normally didn’t travel with quite as many weapons as Luther had stashed around his property, but on this trip, he had brought a small arsenal with him.  From the first moment he had planned his exit from life, he’d intended to leave everything he valued for his brother, Rubin, including his guns.  As a result, he was carrying his favorite sniper rifle, as well as his hunting rifle, a Glock, a Sig Sauer and plenty of ammo for each.  He was also armed to the teeth with his favorite knives.  

His weapons weren’t the only advantage Diego had on his side.  He glanced up at the trees, spotting a red-tailed hawk perched on the branch of a large oak tree not far away.  Diego could sense another two hawks within a mile radius of his current position.

Ever since he could remember, Diego had always had a special affinity with birds.  It was one of his many abilities that all the psychic and genetic manipulations of the GhostWalker program had enhanced.  Prior to entering the program, he had already developed a rapport with the birds in this area, using them to hunt or scout for him.

With a thought, he sent the three hawks into the air to pinpoint the shooters. 

He could connect with each hawk separately and view the enemy from the bird’s perspective.  When he did that, however, it took so much energy it often left him feeling weak.  He couldn’t afford that until he knew what he was facing.  Instead, he instructed the hawks to scout and return to him.  Almost immediately, he received the impression of men dropping from the sky to land in the trees above the clearing.  More men had come from the road below the cabin.  They were surrounding Luther, coming in from various directions, utilizing a ground crew and those parachuting in.  This was a very serious attack.

Diego made his way up the side of the mountain fast, using a deer trail and staying hidden within the brush.  He had scouted Luther’s land many times and knew the best locations to oversee the cabin, meadow and even part of the forest.  Luther’s adversaries had parachuted in and, wanting to avoid the trees, were mostly at the lower edge of the mountain.  Those coming in from the road were swarming behind Luther’s cabin. 

Luther should have made his way into the cabin where he had access to the caves or at least, headed toward one of cave entrances, but instead, he was caught between the cabin and meadow in high grass with little protection.  How was that even possible?  The explanation was that Luther wasn’t alone.  With him were two women. 

One woman was a fighter, armed and clearly familiar with her weapon.  She had dark auburn hair pulled back in a thick braid.  She wore cargo pants and appeared armed to the teeth.  Even with all the guns and ammunition hanging from her belt and slung around her neck, Diego could see she was slender with a woman’s figure.  He wished she wore a vest.  Bullets were hitting too close.  Luther shouted instructions to her, and she nodded, staying low as she crawled through the brush toward a small depression behind several large rocks.

The other woman was curled up in a ball, rocking back and forth, hands over her ears.  She was directly behind Luther, and he kept his body between her and the incoming fire.  It was clear both Luther and the unknown warrior woman were protecting the woman on the ground.  Diego couldn’t tell if she’d been wounded.  She had darker hair than the fighter, but it had shades of red in it.  From what he could see, she had a similar build, though she might have been a little lighter.

A five-man team kept the three pinned down, but Diego could see they hadn’t come alone.  Behind Luther and the two women, another five-man team was creeping through the brush behind the cabin toward them.  Another five-man team was spread out in the forest, ringing the meadow.  That was fifteen men they’d sent after Luther.  Diego’s earlier estimation of the attackers went up a notch.  Clearly, they did know who they were confronting.  So what was their endgame?  Were they trying to acquire Luther?  The women?  Or kill them all?

Diego let out the loud screech of a red-tailed hawk to warn Luther he’d joined the party.  He repeated the screaming message three times to ensure Luther would realize the cry was a code.  Luther knew every bird on his property and the sound of their voices.  He said something to warrior woman.  She looked up at the mountains in his direction and then nodded.
Luther cupped his hands around his mouth and screeched a reply.  Enemies.  Lethal force.

One of the men with an M4 shot at the woman, spitting bullets around her.  It was covering fire to allow the team behind them to advance.  Without hesitation, Diego shot him between the eyes and then switched targets to the man with the M5, killing him the same way.  Two down and less than a second had passed.  He moved position, knowing they would be looking for him.
Even as he rolled into the deeper depression and crawled backwards, a volley of shots rang out, bullets sweeping across the mountain near his location.  They hadn’t spotted him, but they were experienced and had zeroed in on his position quickly.  Too darned quick.  Someone was directing these men, and that someone had to be found. 

He crawled through the brush, using the impressions the circling birds sent to him to guide his way.  Through the birds in the air, he was aware of the positions of his enemies.  It was important to find the commander, the one directing the others.  He sent one of the hawks to cover more of the territory in the direction he considered most likely for the man to have set up his command center.  The soldiers in the brush behind the cabin were creeping closer to Luther and the women.  The unit at the edge of the forest was more cautious, but they were advancing stealthily.

Diego reached his next destination point, an outcropping of boulders jutting out of the mountain.  The brush was thick but there were few trees.  He let out another series of hawk cries, warning Luther of the danger.  Warrior woman quickly scanned the forest as if she understood the message he’d sent to Gunthrie.  When she moved her head slightly, rays from the sun settled in her hair, lighting the thick braid to various shades of red from dark to fiery.  It was unexpected when her hair had appeared dark in the shadows and shade of the trees.  And distracting.

A frisson of alarm crept down his spine as he eyed the woman through his scope.  She had a face so beautiful that it captured his attention and held it fast.  He drank in the sight of her, rapt with a single-minded focus that turned the frisson of alarm into a blaring warning.  Diego catalogued people when he saw them, filing their images in his mind with near robotic precision.  He could recall anyone he’d met in great detail, but he never took such notice of a woman’s beauty.  He certainly didn’t pay particular attention to her high cheekbones and large green eyes.  Or the fact that her mouth was perfectly shaped.  Perfectly. 

Nothing distracted him.  He wasn’t that kind of a man.  When he hunted, he did so with a single-minded purpose.  The fact that he not only noticed but was practically fixated on the details of this woman’s physical appearance was truly disturbing.  

Who was this mystery woman?  What was she doing there?  He had a feeling she was the cause of the assault on Luther. 

Another volley of shots spat at his previous location, snapping Diego out of his fascinated preoccupation with the woman. The gunfire sounded like a combination of rolling thunder and angry bees, but he wasn’t anywhere near where the bullets struck.  It was clear the attackers weren’t familiar with the terrain.

Diego wasn’t a man who cursed often but the activity surrounding Luther suddenly doubled, going from three five-man teams to six.  Someone had sent an army after Luther. 

Diego needed to get down there and find out what was going on.  He switched rifles, inserting the trackers Mordichai Fortunes, a fellow GhostWalker, had made.  It would be impossible for those hunting Luther and the women to detect the trackers in the bloodstream.  That was the beauty of having a few geniuses in his GhostWalker unit.

Again, he let out the cries of the hawk, this time a series of hunting cries, warning Luther he was about to be overrun and that Diego was going to shoot darts into all three of them.  He didn’t wait.  They didn’t have that kind of time.  Luther turned his head to speak to the women, and Diego fired the first dart.  It penetrated the skin in Luther’s neck, and Diego knew from experience that the dart felt like the sting of an angry bee. 

Immediately he switched targets, going for the female behind Luther.  She dropped her hands in response to Luther’s command and turned her head, giving Diego a better target.  He took the shot and switched to warrior woman.  If the man running the soldiers was watching, he didn’t want him speculating when the first young woman clapped her hand over her neck.  Luther had been stoic, not even flinching.  He hoped warrior woman would be the same.

The tracker was a needle-shaped dart filled with nano-transmitters that flooded the bloodstream and then adhered to the walls of the veins and arteries.  They lasted about three months before they naturally dissolved.  The needle carrying the liquid was slim and also dissolvable.  It still stung like hell entering the body.  Warrior woman was clearly arguing with Luther, shaking her head adamantly.  Diego didn’t have to be good at reading body language.  Warrior woman did not want a transmitter in her.

She turned her head toward Luther gesturing, every line of her body protesting.  Diego took the shot, uncaring that she was adamantly opposed to the transmitter.  Hell was about to rain down on them. 

She had discipline, he had to give her that.  She didn’t cover her neck or even jerk when the needle went in, but she did turn her head and flick a scowl at the side of the mountain where he was concealed.  At the same time, she gave him the finger.  It was an elegant movement, her gun in her fist, the finger riding the barrel.  She looked beautifully defiant.  Unexpectedly, he found himself smiling.  A genuine smile.  Strange that she could make him smile in such a dire situation.

He let out another shrieking cry, warning Luther to move toward one of his bolt holes that would lead to the caverns.  The moment Luther signaled to the women to retreat, to press back into the brush, a volley of shots rang out, the bullets spitting all around the three.  Warrior woman returned fire, and two of the enemy shooters went down.  Diego took out three who were coming up behind them.  Luther shot one soldier at nearly point-blank range and another as the soldier fired from the cabin roof.

Diego was certain the soldiers were attempting to herd the three to a specific spot with their gunfire.  Warrior woman must have thought so as well.  She backed into another depression and scooted into deeper brush, angling away from Luther and the other woman.  Diego could see her deliberately moving brush to keep attention centered on her.  At the same time, she fired at the wave of soldiers spreading out to capture them.

Luther caught up the other woman and ran, slinging her over his shoulder, staying low, but firing rapidly at any soldiers he could see.  Instantly a volley of shots rang out, returning the fire.  Luther stumbled and nearly went down but kept moving, trying for one of his bolt holes.

Diego shot three soldiers as they sprayed bullets at Luther and the girl on his shoulder.  Warrior woman spat bullets as well and two more soldiers went down.  Movement up higher on the mountain, above the first wave of soldiers, caught his attention.  The hawks in the sky screamed warnings at him.

More soldiers.  Luther and the women didn’t stand a chance even with him picking off soldiers.  He doubted they had time to escape into a bolt hole.  He continued firing, trying to give Luther cover, but the soldiers were swarming around him.  Luther staggered, went down to one knee and gently deposited the girl on the ground.  He leaned close to her whispering something.  She clutched his arm for a moment and then nodded before letting him go. 

Diego knew immediately that Luther was going to try to make one of the entrances to the caves.  By abandoning the young woman, it gave them both a chance to live.  Luther had to believe the soldiers wouldn’t kill the girl, who had once again curled up in a ball.  She waved him away, and Luther was up and running.  Diego rapidly shot as many of the soldiers gunning for him as possible, but there were so many.  Inevitably Luther went down, rolling and tumbling, leaving a trail of blood splotches until he disappeared in the higher grass surrounding a pile of boulders.
Diego shot one of the soldiers who shot Luther, but even as the bullet plowed through the man’s chest, a secondary spray of blood spewed close to the first.  Warrior woman had turned back and was firing as well.  She seemed to be an excellent shot.  When she tried to get to the other two, she was instantly cut off. 

From his vantage point above them, he could see the soldiers swooping in on the young woman on the ground.  They surrounded her, guns out, but she didn’t put up any resistance as they approached her.  It didn’t appear she had any weapons on her, and it was apparent to anyone looking at her that she was violently ill.

They secured her and turned away from the firefight still waging between warrior woman and other soldiers.  They began to run back toward the meadow.  Diego had to let them go and turn his attention to aiding warrior woman.  She was game, that was certain.  She didn’t flinch from a fight, even though the odds were overwhelming. 

Diego didn’t miss and he was dropping the soldiers closest to her as quickly as possible.  She had no choice but to move from the depression she was in and head up the mountain to evade the wave of soldiers.  She couldn’t get to the other woman, and she probably had no idea where Luther had gone.  He’d vanished as was his way.  There were times when Diego wondered if he could teleport.  He knew a couple of men who could do so, but they’d been enhanced in ways he hadn’t thought Luther had been.

Warrior woman refused to give up or go down.  She sighted target after target as her guns spat thunder.  He tried to help her, picking off every enemy combatant he could.  But no matter how many soldiers they took out, more took their place. 

He swore as a bullet smashed into her, driving her backward and down.  It appeared as if she might have been hit with a second bullet while she was going down.  Diego retaliated, killing the two shooters, but soldiers swarmed around her, kicking her weapon from her hand and hastily dragging her into more sheltered position where a man, presumably a medic, crouched over her.
Diego didn’t like the way his heart accelerated or the way a terrible cold fury burned through him.  He’d felt that same kind of icy rage when his sister had been murdered.  He’d been just a boy at the time, but he’d gone hunting nevertheless, and he hadn’t stopped until all four offenders were food for scavengers. 

He knew just how unrelenting and merciless he could be when the cold fury took him.  It was not a sensation he enjoyed.  He didn’t want to be a man who gloried in revenge.  Or one who would kill out of anger, no matter how righteous that anger might be.

No, he preferred to be detached and cool-headed.  To know that every bullet he fired, every life he took, was a necessity, a task he performed solely to defend others, protect his own life or serve his country.

After a few minutes, the men hoisted the limp, unconscious body of warrior woman and started hiking up the mountain with her.  Clearly, they were making their way up the mountain, through the forest to a clearing where they could rendezvous with a helicopter.  Reluctantly he let them go. 

He studied the soldiers.  There was now a division of thirds.  One third had taken the girl with the darker hair toward the road where their vehicles had been left.  They were going to find that Luther had rendered them useless.  It would slow them down but not stop them.  The second faction, the soldiers who had parachuted in, were taking warrior woman into the forest and up the mountain.  The last third was scouring Luther’s homestead, looking for him.

Diego made his way down the mountain in a careful retreat.  He had trackers in both women.  Admittedly, he was concerned with warrior woman.  She’d taken some nasty hits.  His instinct was to go after her but with the transmitters he could follow her easily enough.  It was the only logical decision.  He had to find out what he was dealing with before he made his plans.

Finding Luther was the most important first step.  If Luther was in good enough shape, he’d be able to go after the other woman. 

Luther would be able to tell Diego what was going on.  Why so many soldiers were determined to take the women and why those soldiers were still hunting Luther.  Once he secured Luther, he would then follow the soldiers who took warrior woman.  He hoped Luther was in good enough shape to go after the other woman.  That was his best course of action, but he couldn’t do anything for either woman until he ensured that Luther was alive and would stay that way.

Diego scanned his surroundings.  He knew there was an extensive cave system running below the property.  He knew several ways into the cave system running below the property.  The caves weren’t on any map.  Luther had discovered them accidently and established several hidden entrances to them, including one from inside his cabin.  The cabin entrance was closest. To reach it, Diego just had to get through the line of soldiers and sneak into the cabin without being seen.  The soldiers had already searched it looking for Luther.  He had a big property and chances of them returning to search it again were low.  They might guard it and he particularly needed to rid them of their commander.  He would have to do that before he got to the cabin.

Diego called on the red-tailed hawk he’d sent out to find the commander in charge.  He would have to be secreted somewhere up high where he could oversee Luther’s property.  He was directing the remaining soldiers in a grid pattern.  The hawk reacted with a dizzying vision of a man perched on the branch of a tree.  Diego would need a clear line of sight to take him down.
The cabin wasn’t exactly in the open, there were too many flowering bushes growing tall and wide around it.  That provided him with cover as he made his way through enemy lines to a large bush growing near the cabin’s front door.  He used his ability to feel the ground and felt the crush of heavy boots coming down on tall grasses and brush. 

The flame azalea standing sentry beside the cabin’s door was in full bloom, the showy double-blossoms bright and gorgeous and plentiful, the low hanging branches providing a curtain for him to slide behind.  The last time he’d hidden in this bush, he’d had to wait for enemies close to the cabin to move past, and it was no different this time.

The flowers were gorgeous.  The bush had been Lotty’s favorite, and Luther babied it until it thrived, the abundance of fiery, red-orange flowers a testament to the great love he’d borne for his wife. 
Rubin loved Jonquille the way Luther had loved Lotty.

The deep connection between them left Diego feeling isolated and alone.  Rubin and Jonquille didn’t mean for him to feel that way.  His brother and sister-in-law included Diego in their lives, but just seeing them, he felt apart.  Just as when he’d observed Lotty and Luther when he’d been a child.  Outside of their circle of love.  Unworthy of being included in it. 

He knew he hadn’t been loved as a child by his mother.  She’d withdrawn from her children but still tried to take care of them—with the exception of Diego.  Diego had never been able to do anything right.  He’d learned fast that he was going to get into trouble no matter what he did.  Somehow, it didn’t matter to him.  He’d adopted Rubin’s code and stayed with it.  Loyalty.  Family.  Community.  Survival.  Rubin had been the leader in all things moral and Diego followed him. 

He could honestly say he knew how to love.  He loved his brother and Jonquille.  He loved Ezekiel, Mordichai and Malichai Fortunes.  When teenage Rubin and Diego hopped a train and headed for anywhere but here, they landed in Detroit where Ezekiel eventually found them on the street trying to survive.  They had no problem in the woods, but learning the ways of city streets was much more difficult and they had a tendency to defend themselves to the death.  Ezekiel took them under his protective wing and guided them through those perils.  And there were many perils.  Just as many as living off the land in these mountains provided, only in the city, the dangers were different.

The faint vibration in the ground ceased, confirming the soldiers had moved away from Luther’s cabin.

 Once the soldiers were completely away from Luther’s cabin, Diego made it onto the roof.  Thanks to the red-tailed hawk he knew where the commanding officer was secreted while directing the search for Luther.  It took only seconds to set up and begin his sweep of the trees.

The terrain rose into a good-sized hill with a large grove of trees covering it.  Using his enhanced vision, the commander’s face came into sharp focus. 

Diego took a breath, let it out and squeezed the trigger.  The moment he did, he rolled from his vantage point, taking his gun with him.  He hit the ground, caught up his pack and entered the cabin.