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It took a moment of time. One heartbeat. A split second. Diego Campos had grown up in a cruel, unrelenting world and knew for a fact that everything you planned, everything you held dear, could be lost in that single space of time. Despite all the plans you made, all the precautions you took, that single moment would change your life.

Those horrible life-altering moments had happened to him many times, setting him on dark paths he could never come back from. And he was damned tired of trying.

He had come home to die. The only thing he wanted from life now was to be cremated and have his ashes buried next to his parents and five siblings in the graveyard behind the cabin his father had built so many years ago, there in the Appalachian Mountains.

He was on his way home to the old cabin now. With the exception of his brother Rubin, most of the rest of his family were already there, interred in the rocky soil that had been their home for so many years. It was important to him that his ashes were laid to rest beside them, and he knew, being a GhostWalker, that wouldn’t happen if he died anywhere but at the cabin, where Rubin would find him. Even grieving, Rubin would follow his wishes to the letter.

And he would grieve.

Rubin had followed others into the military and into the volunteer program of enhancement of psychic abilities. Diego had followed Rubin. Both scored exceptionally high and were accepted into the program. In the end, not only had their psychic abilities been enhanced, but they had been altered genetically. Given animal, bird and even reptile DNA. Those traits allowed them to do extraordinary things, but they also brought out every negative trait any volunteer in the GhostWalker program had. Diego had quite a bit of darkness in him. That had never stopped Rubin from having intense loyalty toward Diego, however.

Diego had driven up to the old trail that led the way up the mountain. He was miles from home, having to travel mostly by foot to reach the family homestead. He pulled off the pitted dirt road into the shelter of trees and brush. It was one of the places Rubin would look for his vehicle. They had often returned to the mountains and would leave supplies for each other in the truck they’d hidden in the bushes. There was an old road leading up the mountain, but they rarely used it. Neither liked to leave tracks.

Despite the shit show that was his life, Diego could never say he hadn’t been loved. But Rubin would be grieving for a man who had ceased to exist years earlier—hell, a man who never truly had existed. All the good in him had died during his brutal childhood years.

He was sorry Rubin would be the one to find him. If there were a way to spare his brother that, he would. But ending it at the cabin, knowing Rubin would be along in the next week or two to visit the neighbors who needed a doctor, was the only way he could think of to ensure his last wishes were carried out.

Wildflowers grew everywhere, splashes of color springing up in every direction, vying for space with ferns and various bushes. The moment he saw the verbesina, memories of his sisters making crowns from the bright yellow flowers flooded his mind. They’d been so young, laughing as they wove the strands of flowers together and placed them on one another’s heads.

His heart clenched in his chest. Years earlier, he and Rubin had planted verbesina and other wildflowers his sisters had loved in the family graveyard located behind the cabin. They made a point of keeping the little family cemetery nice when they returned each year.

August was ending, and it was time for their semiannual trek home. Rubin hadn’t questioned that Diego wanted to go up a little early. He knew Diego preferred being in the mountains, and it was natural for him to go a couple of weeks early. Besides, Rubin was married now and had commitments to his wife. Diego was counting on Rubin’s love for Jonquille to get him through the next few weeks.

Rubin was ten months older than Diego. They’d been seven years old when their father had died, leaving their mother with nine children and only the land to sustain them. Together, Rubin and Diego had dug the grave and buried their father in that small cemetery behind the cabin.

Hoping to bring in money to feed the family, their two oldest brothers, at fourteen and fifteen, had gone off looking for work but never returned. After two months with no word, Diego realized his older brothers had to be dead, or they would have returned to aid the family, so he made up his mind to protect the others. He had gifts, dark ones perhaps, but incredible gifts he knew he could develop. He set about doing just that every chance he had, determined to protect those he loved. But it cost him dearly.

As the next-oldest male after their missing brothers, Rubin had become the de facto head of the family just days before his eighth birthday. The expectation had been for him to run the family, to provide for them, even though he was only eight. Diego was his shadow, watching over him, honing his skills with his rifle, to better protect Rubin when they went out in the rugged terrain during every type of weather to hunt, fish, and forage for food to bring home to their mother and sisters.

Rifle skills weren’t the only thing Diego worked on. He had a close affinity with animals. He could understand them, and they could understand him. He worked hard to establish as many connections as he could with the wildlife and birds surrounding them. That led to better hunting skills and gave them an added layer of protection. His mother, a stern, religious woman, was certain he practiced witchcraft. Her punishments didn’t stop him though, not when it was for the survival of all of them.

Diego shifted the pack carrying his favorite weapons as he came upon a stream where he’d fished for trout with Rubin and his older sister, Mary. They’d laughed so much together, and Rubin had caught the biggest trout in his life. Their family had eaten well that night, Diego and Mary contributing with their smaller but tasty fish. He could not only remember his sister’s laughter, but he heard the sound of it in his mind. He could see them all so clearly, their lips pink and stained with grease from the fish they’d fried up in Mama’s old cast-iron skillet. Even Mama had been smiling, a rare thing, but she had that day, her eyes warm as she watched her children eating and laughing.

Man, that trout had tasted so good. That was a good day. He stood by the stream, a half smile on his face at the memory until he remembered the tragedy that had come a few weeks later. Diego’s fingers flexed around the strap of his backpack, knuckles going white as his grip tightened. That was the terrible truth that dogged him. There was never any good in his life that bad didn’t soon follow.

Rubin and Diego were nine when Mary left home to get married. Mathew Sawyer had been a good man, but she was barely of age. She died in childbirth nine months later, leaving behind her newborn son. Rubin and Diego dug the grave and buried her beside their father.

Diego had been particularly close to Mary, and he was devastated by her death. He knew Rubin was as well. But they were quiet about their grief, doing their best to comfort their mother and sisters.

Diego toed a large rock beside the stream and watched as several bugs crawled out from under it. Memories continued to flood his mind, and even the beetles couldn’t distract him.

The year they turned ten was a decent year. They managed to put together a generator from old parts they found in a mine. They came up with a way to bring gravity-fed running water to the house, the first their mother ever had.

Diego shifted his pack once more, used to the heavy weight of it, and began to follow the winding stream up toward Luther Gunthrie’s place. Rubin and Diego had often snuck past Luther’s homestead to get to the best fishing spots. Night fishing for catfish or bass often saved them from starvation.

Diego had begun to get very proficient at calling wildlife to him, but he felt guilty each time they had to kill a deer or rabbit he’d summoned. He didn’t feel quite so guilty when he practiced on the fish in the streams. He’d had to hide his abilities from his mother. Although his connection with animals saved his family from starvation, she believed the devil was in him and she’d try to beat the affliction out of him.

The thought of night fishing brought up one of his worst memories. That next summer, Lucy, their twelve-year-old sister, had gone night fishing with eight-year-old Jayne. Four men hiking the Appalachian Trail had run across the two girls. When their sisters didn’t come home, Rubin and Diego went to find them. Lucy was dead, and Jayne was nearly comatose from the brutal attack.

After carrying the girls home, they went back to track their sisters’ attackers. Rubin and Diego caught up with the men the following night. By morning all four men were dead. Rubin and Diego left them where they lay for the vultures and wildlife to take care of. They lived in a remote part of the mountains, and neither of them worried about the bodies being discovered.

They were thirteen when the flu took Jayne and then their sister Ruby. They buried both girls next to their father and sisters. Their mother never spoke a word after that. She sat in a chair, rocking, barely eating or sleeping. Just rocking, staring straight ahead with a vacant stare.

Their fourteenth winter was brutal. The snow fell every day, and they ran out of food. Rubin and Diego had no choice but to go hunting. When they returned to the cabin, their mother was dead. She had hanged herself, and Star, their last living sister, blamed herself for falling asleep. Star snuck out that night, leaving a note that said she’d gone to join the Catholic nuns in a convent. Alarmed, they tracked her and found her frozen body near the stream where Lucy had been murdered. It took days to bury their mother and sister in the frozen ground alongside the rest of their family.

After that, Diego decided that his sole purpose in life was to protect Rubin. He knew his brother was a good man. He didn’t have that dark place inside him that Diego did. Diego also knew he had to be very careful that Rubin didn’t realize his younger brother possessed the same gifts he had and was using them to protect Rubin, even after they joined the GhostWalker program.

Until Rubin and Diego discovered the truth about Luther Gunthrie and the government experiments done on him, they’d believed Whitney had been the man who conceived the GhostWalker program and psychically enhanced the soldiers who tested high in psychic ability. He’d also genetically altered them without their permission, making the GhostWalkers enhanced physically as well as psychically. They’d signed on for the psychic enhancements because they believed they would be a help to their country and fellow soldiers. The genetic enhancements, however, they hadn’t known about and had never agreed to. Still, they were soldiers who had joined a top secret military program, and they did their jobs, no matter how dangerous it was or how many times they were betrayed by factions of the government.

Each branch of the service had one GhostWalker team, consisting of ten members. The first team experimented on had a few major problems. Some needed anchors to drain away the psychic energy that adhered to them like magnets. Others had brain bleeds. Every subsequent team had fewer and fewer flaws until Whitney had achieved his goal and created his prize group, the Pararescue Team. They might have what Whitney considered fewer flaws, but they also had more genetic enhancements than any of them cared for. Most of their talents were hidden from Whitney and never documented.

Diego might have been ten months younger than Rubin, but they may as well have been twins. Each gift that should have been unique to one was shared. It was just that Diego never allowed anyone to see him use some of the stronger and more valued talents his brother was known for. Once those gifts had been enhanced by Whitney, both men’s abilities had continued to grow in strength, though Diego and even Rubin had kept the full extent of their power increase a closely guarded secret. As for hiding most of his psychic talents entirely, well, Diego had his reasons, and he would take those to his grave.

Diego turned away from the stream to take a shortcut through the denser forest. The trees were tall, and the canopy overhead cut out a great deal of light. This grove of trees was at the very bottom of the mountain as it began its climb upward. Although a long hike from their homestead, Diego had favored practicing calling birds and wildlife to him in the heart of that dense forest. He was protected there, and the animals were diverse. His mother’s friends or the other children couldn’t spy on him and tattle to her. She might think she knew what he was doing, and she often punished him for disappearing all day and sometimes overnight, but he felt the punishments were worth what he was gaining.

That proved to be true when Rubin came looking for him once in an effort to keep him from getting whipped with a switch. Their mother had been ranting and raving. Rubin wanted Diego to hunt food and bring it back so their mother would think that was what he’d been doing each time he disappeared. Diego no longer cared if he was beaten. His mother refused to love or want him no matter what he’d done to try to earn her affection, and he had given up. He went his own way unless Rubin asked him to do something. And he protected Rubin. Was his shadow, whether his brother wanted it or not.

His first huge success at commanding animals had taken place right there in that very section of the forest. Not only his first success, but the worst lesson possible in responsibility and the consequences of meddling with nature.

The memory washed over him, and for the first time he felt weak, so much so he had to stop and crouch down in the brush, breathing deeply, reliving that moment when he’d nearly lost his brother. When he’d been utterly responsible for the demise of a pack, animals that he loved.

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.

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.

Diego normally didn’t travel with quite as many weapons as Luther had stashed around his property, but on this trip, he had brought a small arsenal with him. From the first moment he had planned his exit from life, he’d intended to leave everything he valued for his brother Rubin, including his guns. As a result, he was carrying his favorite sniper rifle, as well as his hunting rifle, a Glock, a Sig Sauer and plenty of ammo for each. He was also armed to the teeth with his favorite knives.

His weapons weren’t the only advantage Diego had on his side. He glanced up at the trees, spotting a red-tailed hawk perched on the branch of a large oak tree not far away. Diego could sense another two hawks within a mile radius of his current position.

Ever since he could remember, Diego had always had a special affinity with birds. It was one of his many abilities that all the psychic and genetic manipulations of the GhostWalker program had enhanced. Prior to entering the program, he had already developed a rapport with the birds in this area, using them to hunt or scout for him.