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)
Most people had no idea that Luther was an original GhostWalker, the ones who’d existed long before Whitney began his experiments. In the Vietnam era, there were a small number of recruits who had volunteered to be enhanced physically. The hope had been to produce supersoldiers. In retrospect, it made sense that Whitney wasn’t the first to come up with the idea. Whitney was ambitious, narcissistic and a monster. He was quite brilliant, there was no doubt about that, but he built everything he did on someone else’s research.
Throughout the intervening years, Luther had been “worked on” more than once. Despite his age, after serving his country in Vietnam, he was sent to Iraq and Afghanistan. Like Diego and Rubin, he had been sent out on countless missions, all of which he had completed. Each time he returned to his home in the Appalachian Mountains, he hoped he would be left alone.
Luther’s one wish was to be buried beside his beloved wife, Lotty. The man had expressed to Diego and Rubin that he knew the government would come for his body. Diego and Rubin would never allow him to fall into the hands of the enemy. Diego knew it would be the same for him. It was the reason he had come home to the Appalachian Mountains. He knew Rubin would find him and ensure he was cremated and his ashes buried in the family cemetery.
The persistent cry of a red-tailed hawk alerted him to possible danger. The bird uncharacteristically darted through the trees, flying low to keep his attention, banked and then flew back toward the road, giving him the impression of three vehicles covered with branches and vines tucked into the outer border of the tree line.
Diego’s heart dropped when he came onto the three trucks. There were no identifying plates, but he knew immediately they were military. He’d seen vehicles like that before, when men had come for Jonquille months earlier. He opened each hood, prepared to disable the vehicle, but just like before, when Jonquille had been in trouble, someone had been there before him. He guessed Luther. Little got past Luther when someone was on his land.
He picked up the pace. To get to Luther’s home, one had to trek a long way from the main trail to find the entrance to the holler. It was another mile or so before the cabin came into view. The land belonged to Luther, and he had a lot of acreage. He knew every inch of his property. Diego was the same way about his family’s land.
As a young boy, he had explored continuously, and he did so each time he returned. He was very familiar with the wildlife, flora and fauna on the vast acreage Rubin and he owned together. Each time a property bordering their land came up for sale, they bought it with the idea of better protecting the old homestead.
Luther’s cabin was nearly hidden among the trees and overgrown grasses and brush. Diego knew that just another forty feet to the west of the cabin was the most magnificent clearing surrounded by forest. Luther had worked at transplanting every kind of wildflower growing in the woods to that meadow because Lotty loved them so. Luther had built a fence to protect Lotty’s vegetable garden from deer. Whatever his wife wanted, Luther made it happen. In return, she spoiled her man, patching every hole in his clothing and mending his socks. He always had a warm meal waiting no matter when he returned. She lavished attention on him and turned the cabin into a warm, welcoming, peaceful home for him.
Diego was halfway to the cabin, making his way through the profusion of wildflowers covering the trail, when he heard it—the moment that would change the course of his life once again. The sound of gunfire was distinctive. And the shooters weren’t firing off one or two shots, like hunters might. No, this was a volley.
These were no hunters illegally poaching on Luther Gunthrie’s land. And those were no hunting rifles being fired. Diego had spent most of his adult life in the military. He knew an M4 when he heard one. He was hearing more than one.
Whoever these men were, they hadn’t taken their time to get to know their adversary. Like many before them, they made the mistake of taking Luther at face value. He was at least eighty, although he appeared ageless. But despite his age, Luther Gunthrie was a man who could handle weapons and any kind of combat. Any kind. In fact, the crusty old wolf welcomed combat. Not only could he outhunt and outshoot men a quarter his age, his property was riddled with bolt-holes and depressions in the ground Luther could fit into, as well as countless weapons caches secreted away. At any time of the day, he was more prepared for war than most militaries.