Gator lay in the mud, his body stretched out in the muck waiting. The rain fell steadily adding to the already high water table. Within minutes he heard the brush of clothes against plants. The shield was coming apart as the two men hurried back toward the center of the island. Grunts and bellows began almost at once. The pad of reptilian feet hitting the spongy ground. Snapping jaws. A curse. The protection was gone. He'd gotten lucky. One of the men was the shielder and he was distracted.
Gator sent out another pulsing wave, directed at the alligators in the area. The sound traveled through water and over land herding several of the reptiles right at two of his enemies. Once he was certain he had the reptiles on the move, he sent wave after wave of low-frequency sound to keep the hunters sick and disoriented. The men moved inland, their attention divided between the powerful jaws of the alligators and the continual assault on their nervous systems.
The first man wore desert camouflage clothing and stuck out easily in all the greenery. That told Gator they hadn't been expecting trouble; that it had been a recon mission and nothing more until he and Flame had been spotted. The man moved in standard two-man pattern, covering and signaling his partner forward. The second man was in regular camouflage, greens and browns, and much more difficult to spot. Gator was certain he was the shielder. It was difficult to see him through the downpour and several times Gator had to fight back the impulse to wipe at his eyes and clear his vision.
A small alligator shot past, scooting out of the way of his much larger brethren. Without Gator driving them, the reptiles seemed as disoriented as the hunters, stopping and grunting, looking around for a slide back into the water. A long tail covered in thick scales swept around, nearly knocking into the man in green and brown. He jumped forward and let out a startled yell as he fell through the thin crust of earth separating him from the high water table. The ground around him sank, pouring into the hole and water bubbled up as he disappeared completely.
"Ed!" The first man in the desert camouflage raced forward. Before he could reach the hole, the large alligator suddenly rushed in front of him, intent on getting back into the water. He flipped into the hole headfirst. At once muffled gunfire erupted and the water turned red. The second man peered down the hole, trying to see to help his buddy, afraid of firing and hitting him.
Gator came up out of the mud, only a scant couple of feet from him, knife in his fist. The man spun around, swinging his rifle hard in Gator's direction to drive him back so he could bring the weapon up to get off a shot. Gator caught the rifle before it could hit him, his palm slapping the barrel hard. He jerked and the hunter went sailing over his head. Gator followed him, kicking the rifle out of his hands as the man somersaulted back onto his feet and faced him in a fighter's crouch.
The man looked familiar. Gator sucked in his breath. "I know you. You took the psych test the same time I took it. Rick Fielding, right? Why the hell would you come after me?"
"Because you're a dumb shit and you're fucking everything up," Rick snarled.
"Good reason, Ricky," Gator said, stepping to his left, careful to place his weight where he knew the surface was spongy but stable. Moving forced Fielding to step also. "I hope you think it's all worth it because your sorry ass belongs to me."
"I don't think so. You and your little slut are the only ones here. You're going to be very dead and she's going to be entertaining tonight."
Gator laughed, the sound soft and taunting. "That woman would entertain you, Ricky boy, but not the way you think." He feinted with the knife, crowding close, forcing Fielding back another step. "You'd be wearing a happy smile right around your throat, you mess with her." He moved left, pressuring the soldier with another slight maneuver of the knife.
Rick's gaze dropped, following the action of the knife, and he took another step to the side. The thin ground gave way under his weight and one leg dropped into a hole. Rick sank to his crotch. Frantically he dug at the collapsing mud, clutching at the ground, trying to keep from slipping beneath the surface. Fear superseded the anger in his eyes as more of the ground gave way and mud began to pour into the hole with him. His other leg slipped in.
It was the sudden widening of Rick's eyes, hope flaring for a brief instance that had Gator spinning around, hands up to defend himself. It was the only thing that saved his life. Ed stood behind him, soaked, covered in mud, a knife in his fist as he shoved it toward Gator's kidneys. Gator deflected the blade, stumbled in an effort to keep away from the thin layer of ground and was forced to jump over Rick to avoid the thinner crust.
Rick sank up to his chin as mud continued to pour into the hole around him, effectively burying him. "Ed." He coughed, tried to wiggle free but the mud held him prisoner, pinning his arms so he was helpless as he continued to sink into the sludge.
Gator pulsed sound directly at the shielder, driving him back. It would have knocked another man unconscious, or even killed him, but the shielder only dropped to his knee, face contorted, one hand up in an effort to deflect the blast of low-frequency sound coming at him. He vomited twice, and fought to regain his feet. His glance shifted once to his partner, but it was too late to save Rick; he had disappeared beneath the mud, his air cut off.
Ed backed off another step, this time paying attention to where he was stepping. Gator was certain Ed had panicked when the large alligator had plunged down on top of him. The alligator had just wanted to get back in the water, he hadn't been attacking, but Ed had fired and the wounded alligator had most likely thrashed around, knocking the rifle from the shielder's hands.
"Why did you come after us?" Gator asked, hoping for a better answer than Rick had given him.
The shielder threw the knife with blurring speed, suggesting genetic enhancement. Gator twisted his body in an effort to avoid the blade, feeling it slice through his torn shirt and shave off skin along his left bicep. He answered with another pulsing wave of sound, this time stronger than the last. Mostly he listened to the sound of running footsteps, still a distance away, but coming fast.
The shielder turned his head as the wave hit and Gator jumped, slamming both booted feet hard into the thin crust of earth separating the ground from the water. He went in fast, the water closing over his head, the downpour of rain driving mud in after him. He managed to get the hollow reed to his mouth and the tip to the surface, allowing him to breathe under the water and muck.
Beneath the surface, he felt the vibration of heavy footsteps. Gator waited for them to come close, to edge out onto the thinner crust. One pulse of sound could break it down and send the entire group into the water, but the shielder must have warned them off. The vibrations ceased just steps from the thinner layer of earth, then they retreated, heading inland away from the marshy region.
Gator was certain two men had approached and three walked away. Using his hands, he broke through the layer of mud plugging the hole so he could push his head up. The rain and air never felt so good. He turned his open mouth up to allow the rain water in. Rinsing and spitting several times, he began the slow work of fighting the pull of the thick mud.
A bird called and another one answered. Gator sifted through the noises of the bayou and heard multiple heartbeats. Ian. Tucker. Maybe Wyatt or Kadan, although Kadan could mask the sound. The hunt had turned even deadlier. He fought his way out of the hole, taking care to distribute his weight evenly so as not to break through any more of the surface. It took time to drag himself out of the thick mud around the surface. Dirt and mud fell into the water widening the breakthrough point, but he worked patiently to extract himself until he lay flat, arms and legs spread wide while he took in great gulps of fresh air.
Gator. Give me a signal to lock on to.
I took out one of them. There's at least three more. The shielder is injured and they're looking to run. He could sense the GhostWalkers close now. They moved with stealth, but Kadan didn't shield them, wanting Gator to know they were coming to him. He knew Kadan had locked on to him the moment he'd spoken telep
athically. Relief swept through him. Not that long of time had passed since he'd left Flame, but it felt like a lifetime. He wanted to get her to a hospital immediately. With the other GhostWalkers there, they could sweep the area with quick efficiency and then get Flame medical attention.
They'll be coming at you north, northwest.
We're coming to you. Kadan's voice was confident.
Gator rolled over and stared up at the pounding rain, allowing it to wash most of the sludge from his face. He lay for a short while to get control of the raging headache that always accompanied the use of psychic talent, before turning back onto his belly and scooting forward much like a lizard. He used small stops and starts, keeping his weight evenly distributed at all times until he gained solid ground.
Gator leapt to his feet and began his pursuit of the other soldiers. No one had answered his question, but they were enhanced and Rick Fielding had definitely been in the same room with him while he took the test to determine psychic talent. Gator had assumed, obviously erroneously, that Fielding hadn't made the cut.
The GhostWalkers drifted out of the trees, pacing alongside of Gator, checking his condition out. Ian MacGillicuddy. Tucker Addison. Kadan Montague. They were in full combat gear and tossed him a rifle and several clips of ammunition.
"You okay?" Kadan asked. "I brought a medic kit."
"Flame needs it. Alligator attack. It broke her arm, but she fought it off. We've got three men left here. One's a definite shielder. I'm using low-frequency sound waves to keep them sick and disoriented so they don't have a lot of fight in them. They just want to get the hell out. We need someone alive so we can follow them back to whoever is running them."
They kept on the move, covering ground as fast as possible. "You're certain these men aren't part of Jack Norton's team?"
Gator shook his head. "Jack's team works mainly NCIS when they aren't running ops. These men are more like mercenaries. I'd met one of them. His name was Rick Fielding. He took the test in the same group I did. I don't know who they work for, but they aren't very pleasant. And the dead one threatened Flame."
Kadan shot him a quick glance. "No wonder he's dead."
The Ghost Walkers spread out across the small island, several feet between them as they began to stalk their prey. The men ahead of them would have no choice but to keep moving or turn and fight. They wanted to regroup. And they didn't want to take on a skilled army no matter how small it was. Gator continued to pulse low-frequency waves in front of them, not hard enough to kill, but to make the men sick.
"They're splitting up," Tucker announced, pointing to tracks. "Can you hear them, Gator?"
Gator shook his head. "Their shielder is strong. He's been very resistant to the sound waves. I figured they'd split up. It's the only chance they really have for any of them to get out." With the sound waves coming at them, they knew if they split up, they had a better chance to elude the pulsing waves Gator was sending at them.
Ian indicated he was climbing. He slung his rifle around his neck and went for the tallest cypress tree in their vicinity. As he climbed, Tucker, Kadan, and Gator looked over the tracks carefully.
"That's the shielder," Kadan said, indicating a path to their right. "He's moving fast." For the first time there was a note of worry in his voice. "He's locked on and is hunting."
Gator felt a sudden cold chill go down his spine. "Flame's back there." He indicated the other side of the island. "I'll take the medic kit to her."
The sound of rifle fire reverberated through the swamp. Birds rose shrieking their annoyance. Ian joined them on the ground. "Knew one of them would get the clever idea of lying back to wait for us. He was sitting in a tree a few hundred yards from here." He nudged Tucker. "Must have not liked your looks. He had his sights set for you. Guess I saved your life."
Tucker gave a derisive snort. "Guess you're full of yourself. Bullets bounce off me. I've got my superman shirt on today."
"Is that where my shirt went? You thief. I been looking for it ever since I did laundry." Even as they wrangled back and forth good-naturedly, they were scanning the ground for more tracks.
Kadan dropped down to examine a footprint. It was small and right over the top of it was the shielder's print.
"There's blood here, Gator, and it isn't from one of their team," Kadan announced.
Gator crouched down to touch the smears of blood on the leaves. "She left me. Damn her for this. She left me."
The earth vibrated beneath their feet and shook the smaller puddles of water gathered in several depressions, drawing his attention. He sucked in his breath and fought back the need to express his anger and growing fear. Already the trees around him were shaking. He drew in a hard breath. "One of them is tracking her. When I catch up with her, I'm going to shake that woman until her teeth rattle."
"That'll help," Ian agreed. "Betcha that will get you a lot a points. Where'd you ever get the rep for being charming?"
Gator flashed him a single warning look. His stomach churned with alarm for Flame. She was on the move and she was losing too much blood. He had held on to his control every moment of the hunt, yet now he felt wounded, a terrible hole torn through his gut and he wasn't so certain he could hold back the intense emotions crowding in, all conflicting with each other. "I'm not letting her go." He made the announcement between his teeth.
Ian shrugged his broad shoulders. "No one expected you to, bro."
"She expected me to."
"She doesn't know what a stubborn son of a bitch you are," Tucker pointed out.
"Let's go get her," Kadan said.
CHAPTER 13
Flame sat in the mud with her back against the tree, breathing through the pain shooting down her arm. "Rat bastard alligator. I don't care if you were just looking for a meal. I should have made a purse out of you." She glanced down at her muddy boots. "And shoes. Real alligator leather shoes too."
Her arm hurt like a son of a bitch, but that wasn't the reason tears burned behind her eyes and her throat felt clogged. She was leaving New Orleans and Raoul Fontenot. It wasn't safe for her to stay. She wouldn't be able to find poor Joy Chiasson or avenge Burrell's murder. And there would be no making love to Raoul Fontenot. She closed her eyes briefly, regret pouring through her. She'd never wanted a man the way she wanted him. Just the simple sound of his Cajun drawl made her body hot. She even liked his swearing.
Flame groaned. She was a lost cause. Raoul was a dream, a life out of her reach and she wasn't going to die for something she knew she couldn't have. Whitney was too close. She could smell him. He had locked on to her presence and he was sending in the troops to retrieve her.
Raoul had never been her enemy and he would try to protect her. After spending time with him she felt she could only do the right thing for both of them. As long as she was around he would be torn between the people he loved and her. He believed in the Ghost Walkers--and maybe he even had reason to--but she would never be comfortable with them.
Gator wanted and deserved a home and family, a woman to take home to his grandmother, one who would produce babies he could put in her arms. That woman could never be Flame. If she stayed he would need to defend her and no matter what his dreams of family, he would never leave her. That was the kind of man he was.
Flame gritted her teeth and forced herself into a standing position, holding on to a tree trunk to steady herself. Waves of dizziness washed over her. She fought back the feeling and looked around her, trying to get her bearings and pick the safest way back to the frontage road. She couldn't get in Raoul's path. He was bound to use low-frequency sound waves and they would affect her in the same way they would their enemies.
"You can do anything for a short period of time. Control. Discipline. Patience." How many times as a child had she recited the same familiar mantra when Whitney had made her so ill? How many times had she knelt on the cold bathroom floor near the toilet, rocking back and forth to ease the nausea brought on by the chemotherapy treatments?
She'd slept on the bathroom floor, a thick blanket under her with Dahlia and Tansy pressed tight against her on either side. She hadn't thought of those days in years, hadn't allowed herself to think about the other girls. It hurt to remember them. Their voices and laughter. The sound of their sobbing when the pain of working with their psychic talents became too much.
Tansy had brushed her hair for her when they were allowed to be together and when it all fell out, she'd cried with Flame. Who else had been there? Dahlia. She'd been fairly good friends with Dahlia, the other "bad" girl. And Lily. Flame sucked in her breath sharply. She remembered laying her head in Lily's lap while she stroked Flame's bald head, rocking gently and whispering that everything would be all right.
Back then, she'd believed Lily. And maybe that was why her betrayal went so deep. Flame worked for months on her first escape plan, hoarding the secret closely, confiding in no one. Until that one moment of weakness. She'd been up all night retching from the aftereffects of chemotherapy, helplessly weeping over the loss of her hair, and the other girls had sat with her, holding her hands, washing her face, and sharing her tears. Stupidly, foolishly Flame had confided in the other girls. Lily protested vigorously, claiming she feared Flame would die without treatment--but Flame didn't care. She'd figured Whitney was going to kill her anyway.
Lily hadn't allowed Flame that freedom. She'd gone to her father and told him of Flame's plan. Whitney's men were waiting for her when she escaped. She'd been punished, kept locked up for weeks without seeing the other girls. She'd been so sick and Whitney forced her to take the medicine, even giving her shots while strong men held her down. Lily had crept in once to admit what she'd done and whisper she was sorry, but Flame turned her face away and never spoke another word to her.