Lightning Game (GhostWalkers #17) -Christine Feehan Page 0,112

which ones had the most cover. They stayed under branches, avoided hitting brush that might give them away to anyone watching for them.

As they neared the edge of the woods where Gunthrie had built his home, they swung around it to intersect with the long holler leading to his residence. The equipment the soldiers planned to use to build a runway was lined up in a row just around a bend from the Gunthrie home.

One man was peering inside the first machine, a frown on his face. “Just about every wire is cut. Every wire. What wasn’t cut was smashed or bent. I don’t know how that old man could have done this much damage by himself, Bert. You have to take a look at this.”

The soldier in charge, Bert, stalked over just as the second sentry arrived. Bert peered inside the machine. “What the hell? Is every one of them like this one?”

The others opened the machines up to examine them. Bert looked inside with obvious disgust. “How could he do this without making a racket? You’re telling me you didn’t hear him?” He straightened and turned toward the other three soldiers, all grouped together.

Diego and Rubin shot them with arrows, the first two hitting Bert and his partner in the throat, the second two the sentries. They each shot two more, hitting their targets in the heart before they had fallen to the ground.

A red-tailed hawk to the west is in a spruce looking down on two soldiers moving through the woods heading up toward the ridge. They finally spotted the vultures. About time. There’s quite a few now. Must be going to take a look at the body.

Still have two more somewhere. Going onto the ridge is risky without knowing where those two are, Rubin cautioned. Have to get eyes on them.

Diego was silent, reaching for the various hawks he had in the sky. Two are walking the meadow. Pacing it off. Presumably to map out the runway.

We take them first, Rubin decided.

They’re in plain sight. The ones on the ridge can see them. If we kill the ones in the meadow, the ones on the ridge are going to know they’re being hunted.

Either way, one of the pair was going to be tipped off. If they took the ones on the ridge, those in the meadow would no doubt know. Luther might get them. And was that the problem? Was he protecting the old man? Luther had done enough for his country. Given enough. Put his life on the line over and over.

Diego smirked at him. That protective streak in you is growing, bro. I don’t say that like it’s a good thing. Luther wouldn’t appreciate it. You’re taking his fun. I can’t imagine what it’s going to be like when you have children. You’re going to make those kids crazy.

Diego was right—the logical thing to do was go up the ridge and remove that threat. They could always find the last two soldiers. They knew the woods and Huntington Falls far better than the two men who would be looking for their team members to back them up. Even if they radioed to the squirrel men holding Jonquille, the elite soldiers would have no choice but to continue with their plan to bring her to the meadow. They didn’t yet know the equipment was useless. Hopefully, Luther killed the two in the meadow before they relayed that information or the fact that the ground crew was dead.

Rubin sighed. Fine. We’ll head for the ridge. But if anything happens to that old man, I’m holding you responsible.

He’s a vampire, Rubin. He lives underground and sleeps in a coffin. That’s his secret. The military found a way to make him into a vampire. He lives on blood.

Rubin wouldn’t have been altogether surprised if that turned out to be the truth.

That’s why he stayed in the tunnel when we came out of it. He’s got a trapdoor in the meadow though. You wait and see. He’ll pull those two poor soldiers through and feed off them for the next twenty years. That’s why his buddy Jacob has to cremate his body so fast.

And I thought I was the storyteller. Have that hawk keep a close watch on the pair. Let’s move fast.

The two again began to make their way to the ridge, this time through Gunthrie’s woods and brush, heading in the direction of the mountain itself. The slope was gentle at first, deceptive in its climb. Rubin