Lightning Game (GhostWalkers #17) -Christine Feehan Page 0,155

it. Jonquille moved into position on the other side of the bunk and did the same, lowering her palms over his chest.

“His name is Leon,” Sean said, coming up behind them. “A good man. A good soldier.”

Rubin ignored him. “Do you see that, Jonquille?” Those idiots act like they know what they’re doing and they don’t. They mess with the human body and then walk away saying it’s all for science.

How do we fix this? Can we fix this?

The heart was struggling because everything going to it was a mess. Leon’s insides were a mixture of animal and human parts, most not fitting together properly. Rubin had no idea how he had managed to live this long. He glanced around the room and saw the others were all watching closely. The others had taken care of him. This was one Joe and Wyatt had said was impossible to save medically.

“Tell us what you need to help him,” Sean said. “Anything.”

“Zeke, have the men set up for an operation immediately. I’ll need Bellisia. Call her back for me. I need a line into him now, Malichai,” Rubin ordered. He looked at Sean. “The other one you said was in bad shape. Where is he?”

Sean indicated across the room toward another lower bunk. “His name is Milo. We’ve been giving him oxygen, but …” He trailed off.

Rubin removed the thin sheet without preamble, opened the shirt covering the man’s chest. He was dotted in sweat, just as Leon was, only more so. Had Sean not been providing oxygen, Rubin doubted if he would have survived another hour. Milo was well aware of it too. He looked at Rubin in despair, shaking his head slightly and lifting his hand barely off the mattress to flutter his fingers toward Leon, indicating for Rubin to help his friend.

Rubin found the same problems inside the man as were in the first patient—a mixture of animal and human parts that just didn’t fit. “I need you to clear your men out of here, Sean. The men who are capable of hearing telepathically anything Jonquille hears, I need identified. Don’t screw around. We don’t have time for that. I’ll be giving her instructions to try to save one of these men and I can’t have interference. Identify them now, before they leave this room.”

“Andrew and Hudson are both capable of hearing what Jonquille hears,” Sean said.

“Malichai, I need lines in this patient as well. He’s going to need oxygen and blood. We have to put him out. I don’t want his veins collapsing. Same with Leon. I’ll need them side by side, but with enough room for me or Jonquille to get around both patients. I need water for both of us to drink. Two good chairs. If possible, darken the windows in here. If not, keep everyone away. Zeke, I’ll need Joe and Wyatt. Get them here fast. Sean, I need a couple of volunteers willing to donate body parts if necessary, but they have to be the closest to these two in DNA that you are aware of.”

“That would be Christian and Simon,” Sean identified without hesitation.

“If they agree, bring them here along with Hudson and Andrew.” Rubin was snapping orders, aware time was slipping away.

His team was setting up fast as they always did in the field. They were good at it, sterilizing the operating tables, getting lines into veins, transferring patients onto the tables. They had two more makeshift cots waiting for the donors who would be put out as well. Bellisia hurried in, a towel wrapped around her, clothes in hand, looking for a bathroom in which to change. Her blood type was RH-null, a very rare type that was compatible with all types, making her blood very sought after. It meant she was born without any antigens in her blood.

Sean hurried away to find his volunteers and the two men the GhostWalkers had to make absolutely certain they couldn’t hear one single word said between Rubin and Jonquille. Surgery would be done in this room on the two patients, but it wouldn’t be done with scalpels. It would be done with minds. No one could have that information outside their own unit.

Of the two patients, Milo was really laboring to breathe. Both struggled, but Milo couldn’t seem to pull oxygen into his lungs and from his lungs into his bloodstream. Rubin again positioned himself over the man, his palms a scant inch from his chest, Jonquille on the other side, mimicking his