Night Game (GhostWalkers #3)(61)
Author: Christine Feehan

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 f**king every thing up,” Rick snarled.

“Good reason, Ricks’,” 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 Fear superseded the anger in his eyes as more of the ground gave way and mud began to pour into the hole with him.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 flared 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 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 o 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 o where he was stepping. Gator was certain Ed had panicked when the large alligator had plunged down on top 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 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 hi 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 down pour 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 break through 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 dose 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 telepathically. 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.