Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 125037 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 625(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125037 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 625(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
It had been a bad winter with slim pickings for the wildlife, including coyotes. They’d grown bold in places, snatching cats and even small dogs right out from under the noses of the homesteaders. Their mournful howls could be heard throughout the mountain trails, adding to the mystique of the fog-shrouded forest.
Diego had a plan to aid them and cull some of the old, dying deer at the same time. He worked patiently to connect with the pack occupying the thick groves close to Luther’s homestead. If he could eventually use the coyotes as scouts, the beatings he received for disappearing over long periods would be worth it. The pack accepted him, responding to his calls when he aided them in hunting.
The pack was hungry. Starving, just like his family. The more time he spent trying to connect with the animals, the more he felt part of their pack. The first time he was able to help them bring down an aging doe—a huge sacrifice when his family was hungry—he had felt intense guilt for not packing the meat home, but at the same time, the hunger of the pack had been overwhelming.
It had never occurred to him that the pack would hunt a human being. He’d never seen evidence of it. He’d never heard of coyotes doing such a thing, but that particular day, the pack that he’d been helping to feed surrounded Rubin when his brother came to find him. They darted in, trying to knock him to the ground. Rubin shot two of them, and Diego had no choice but to dispatch the others until all six were lying dead.
After much thought and soul-searching, Diego had to admit to himself that he had been responsible for the change in behavior of the coyote pack. Until he had helped them pull down bigger game, they had survived on small animals like rabbits and mice. They’d eaten carrion and plants. But once they learned they could pull down a larger animal and consume it, humans appeared as prey to them. Diego had to accept that responsibility. That particular lesson had been heart-wrenching, and it took him years to get over it.
Now he no longer had to ensure that Rubin remained alive and well in the world. Rubin had met and married Jonquille, a perfect match for him. He was happy and healthy and in a good place. Their GhostWalker unit would protect him. Rubin was a psychic surgeon, a very rare and sought-after talent. That alone would ensure he was guarded. It was the kind of talent every unit wished they had, but Rubin and Diego’s unit kept it very quiet. No one outside their close-knit division could know. If Whitney—or the government—found out, Rubin would be taken and studied. Most likely they would take his brain apart in an attempt to make others like him.
Diego had a very persuasive voice. At times he could use compelling energy to get others to do what he wanted. He wanted Rubin safe, and time and again, he ensured that every member of their unit wanted the same thing. Diego was considered an amazing sniper, but there were others in his unit who could shoot as well as him or better. At least so it appeared to everyone observing them. He made certain he was never considered the best. He kept his talents in the shadows even while he played the front man, doing paperwork and setting up whatever Rubin needed. He always appeared quiet but approachable. He was very, very careful not to draw undue attention. Ever.
Luther Gunthrie’s property was situated at the base of the mountain and ran upward into the heavy forest. Diego happened to know there was a network of caves the old man didn’t reveal to anyone. He’d even hidden his moonshine still there. Rubin and Diego had discovered one of the secret entrances when they were tracking him, knowing he’d been severely injured.
Diego decided visiting with Luther Gunthrie on the way up to his cabin was a practical idea. Luther was getting up there in age and never went to a doctor. He made moonshine, and since his beloved wife had died, he kept to himself. The trail leading to the rugged holler back to his home was so overgrown one couldn’t recognize that it had ever been an actual path. Gunthrie had planted wildflowers along the trails and paths until it was impossible to know a road had ever been there.
Since his beloved Lotty was gone, Luther discouraged visitors, particularly the official kind that he believed came looking for his still—or were government men determined to bring him back to their labs. Over the years he’d built up a mystique with his neighbors. Although families lived miles from one another, they knew each other—or thought they did.