Luther nodded and straightened his body slowly. He had learned years earlier that haste wasn’t a good thing. A smart operator planned his actions and took care of the wounds in his body before making any fast moves. Death came to anyone who moved without thinking it through. Luther had the patience of a hunter. Diego had the patience of a predator.
Diego wanted to point out that subtle difference to Luther, just to get his opinion. Luther was one of the few people he admired and would listen to. Luther didn’t believe Diego was evil at heart, but Diego knew there was darkness living inside him. It had grown heavier over time. Depression was the curse of his family. He knew his mother suffered from depression and two of his sisters had. He hadn’t considered that he did, but now, after making the decision to end his life, he was fairly certain he carried it as well.
Diego wished Luther good hunting and made his way out of the cave. He avoided the soldiers still searching for Luther and him. It was easy enough to do when he knew the terrain like the back of his hand.
Hunting in the woods, however, always made him feel alive. Part of nature. He was a natural predator, and the moment he slipped into the trees and began tracking his prey, his world changed. Every sense became more acute. The wind spoke to him, bringing information on his surroundings. Lizards, voles and ants scurrying through the bracken on the forest floor were like extensions of his own senses, their movements absorbing information and funneling it back to him.
The Appalachian Mountains were different from any other mountain range. They were old, with an eerie, spooky atmosphere amplified by the fog and the high canopies blocking out light to many areas. The terrain was steep, the forests overgrown, making it very difficult to navigate and easy to get lost. The extreme weather of snow and rain created a tropical rainforest in many areas.
The forest was once again home to moose, bear and elk; even wolves were returning, helping the ecosystem. Many species now thrived when not long ago they’d been hunted nearly to extinction. Sightings were rare, but Diego had roamed those mountains for years and he was familiar with the wildlife.
He ran with the ease of the deer, his enhancements making iteasy for him to lengthen his stride and cover the rough, steep terrain with inhuman speed. This was his backyard. He’d been born and raised here. He’d hunted the mountains from the time he was three. The forest was dark and intense, but he was used to it.
Hikers often chose to backpack the Appalachian Trail. Although it was shorter than the Pacific Crest Trail by several hundred miles, it took longer due to the difficulty. Often tourists discounted the mountains because they were smaller than many others. What they didn’t realize was that people disappeared often. The mountains were easy to get lost in due to the dense foliage, fog and unexpected weather. Going off the trail even for a short distance could turn someone around and they’d be lost.
He was certain he was getting close to the intruders and Warrior Woman, within a mile, but he was in dense forest. It was impossible to see ahead without going up into the trees. He ran unerringly to the nearest tree that gave him the best vantage point. He climbed the tall trunk with the ease of long practice and perched near the top. He had jogged more than halfway up the mountain, and by the look of the tracks he was catching up, but he still had a ways to go. He wanted to get a visual if he could. He put the scope from his rifle to his eye and did a slow sweep of the mountain.
It didn’t take long to spot the small group. They’d stopped in a clearing just north of a steep gorge.
The five men had formed a loose semicircle, standing around Leila as she lay on the ground. He turned the scope on each of them as they spoke.
“She’s dying,” one with massive shoulders and arms stated. “Why bother taking her with us the rest of the way. What’s the use of putting up with the bitch making it hard for us?”
Diego’s gut tightened as the man toed Leila’s leg. The temptation to take the man out was nearly overwhelming. He couldn’t get them all, not from the position he was in. Another man, a blond,said something, and he switched the scope to magnify his mouth so he could read his lips.
“I say we put a bullet in her and let’s be done with it,” the blond said.
“Been a long time without a woman,” the first man said. “Might as well take advantage of the situation before she croaks on us.”
The blond burst out laughing. “Jeez, Harold, she’s nearly dead.”
“That just makes it easier.” Harold smirked.
None of the other men raised an objection. If anything, they shifted closer in the circle surrounding Leila.
Instantly Diego moved. He wasn’t going to physically catch up with them in time to stop them from assaulting Leila. It didn’t matter that the woman was shot all to hell and in obvious pain. The five men were abandoning all attempts to save her life and were in agreement about assaulting her. It mattered little to him whether they would participate or not; they weren’t stopping Harold.
He needed to get into position fast to take all of them out. He didn’t bother to climb down the tree but instead ran along the most stable branch to leap into the tree next to the one he’d been in. He knew exactly where he had to be, and he got there in under a minute. Part was knowledge, part instincts, but when he was in hunting mode, he could run the branches of a tree with the ease of a cat, leap to the next one, landing in perfect balance, still running without pause. All the while he knew the exact angle he needed for any shot.
His speed at setting up his rifle was legendary. He didn’t waste time looking to see what any of the men said; it was too late for them. They were still in that same loose semicircle around the fallen woman. No one had made a move to help her or push the disgusting Harold away from her. Diego could see blood on her abdomen, a lot of it. Way more than any minor wound could produce.
Again, he didn’t waste time worrying. He pushed his fear for her out of his head and practiced each shot in his mind, one after another, easily switching targets until he could find them in his sleep. That took under a minute. His mind calculated and built a pattern as if programming a computer.
Harold pulled out his gun and gestured toward the woman to the others. Diego shot him and then the blond. He got off two more rounds before the bodies began to drop. All four shots sounded nearly simultaneous. The fifth man was the farthest from his warrior woman, and when the four bodies crumpled, he started to lift his gun toward Leila. The fifth shot took him before the gun was even aimed at her.
Diego slung his rifle around his neck and kept to the trees, using them as an arboreal highway. When he ran out of strong branches, he hit the ground running. He could go for miles thanks to his enhancements. Instinctively he leapt over rotted logs and termite hills. He went up the mountain with long strides, covering the mile quickly. Once he encountered a thin stream bubbling over rocks with a herd of deer drinking. Startled, the animals scattered, but he was gone before they could decide which way to run.
When he was a few feet from Leila, Diego slowed to a walk. “Coming up on you,” he warned. She had her eyes closed, but she gripped a knife in her fist. “Friend of Luther’s,” he added.
Her lashes fluttered. She even had splatters of blood on her face. He didn’t wait for an invitation. She might think she was fast enough to gut him, but she wasn’t.
He dragged the dead bodies away from her and tumbled them into the ravine. It didn’t take long, but it was one more thing to take his energy when he needed it for healing.
“I’m a doctor, a healer. I’ll need to take a look at your wounds to see how best to help you.” He kept his voice low and soothing. He had a compelling voice and could influence others. He alsocould do the same with energy. He had used his gifts shamelessly to build the compulsion to protect his brother. He’d never once felt remorse. He didn’t now as he crouched beside her, but he did feel regret. If he ever tried to pursue a relationship with her, he’d always know she was influenced to trust him by his voice.
The tip of the blade came up. “Not going to get raped. I’d rather be dead.”
“No, you’re not going to get raped. I’m going to look at your wounds, and I’ll have to take a look under your clothes.” His brother was far better at soothing patients than he was. He’d just as soon use his gifts. In this case, he didn’t have time to argue with her or reassure her. He used his voice the way others used a knife, the energy looking to slide into her brain with precise precision.
