Rubin sent out the call of an early morning songbird. It was one of Lotty’s favorite birds. Luther would know the brothers would remember that bit of information. He took a step toward the opening between the towering rocks. Diego got there first, smoothly cutting in front of him.
What the hell do you think you’re doing?
I’m more sensitive than you in situations like this. Just stay quiet for a few minutes and let me feel for him.
Diego rarely pointed out the difference in their abilities when it came to tracking or hunting in the mountains or woods. He was always humble about his skills, but Rubin was well aware his brother had extraordinary talents. He stepped back without another protest. His objection hadn’t been ego, it had been worry for Diego’s safety.
Diego moved silently even coming out of the water into the mud and then onto the slippery rock. Rubin found himself admiring his brother as he moved over the rock and began to insert his larger body sideways into that crack. He did so without making a single sound, not even his clothing seeming to whisper against the rock. He didn’t shift a grain of dirt. Rubin wasn’t certain if he prevented debris from being disturbed with his mind or if his body was just that careful. Whatever it was, Diego was a master at moving nearly unseen and unheard through most environments.
I can feel someone ahead, Rubin. Pain crashing through them. Smell fresh blood.
Rubin let out his breath slowly. It had to be Luther. He was alive, then. He’ll be doubly dangerous, he couldn’t help but warn his brother. Luther would be like a wounded animal.
Diego sent out Lotty’s favorite morning birdcall again. She had had a real fondness for the indigo bunting, with his brilliant blue feathers and his love for his lady, with her much more subdued coloring. His notes were so perfect it was as if the bird were singing to its mate. There was a long silence. Diego waited patiently and then sent the male’s call a second time, singing his song perfectly. Indigo buntings learned songs from the other males around them and could sing up to one hundred songs an hour. This time, an indigo bunting answered from somewhere deeper inside the cavern.
“Diego and Rubin coming in, Luther,” Rubin called, not wanting to leave anything to chance.
“Come on in, then, and don’t make such a ruckus.” Luther’s voice sounded thin and shaky.
Diego moved forward, going around one more bend. A faint light spilled out, this one artificial, revealing the smears of blood on the rock leading to the larger, hollowed-out chamber where Luther half lay, his back to the wall, bloody leg stretched out in front of him.
Rubin and Diego dropped their gear as they approached him, both coming up on either side to take a look at the wound. He’d been shot, and the bullet had done a lot of damage. He’d lost a lot of blood.
I told you he isn’t really human, Diego said. This should have killed him.
“You got yourself in a fine mess, Luther. Saw the body you left up on the ridge. You normally bury those. Why’d you leave it?”
“I was keeping him in reserve in case I needed to live off of him whilst they were livin’ down in the house,” Luther said.
Rubin turned his head and gave the old man the once-over. He raised his eyebrow at Diego. He went back to his gear and pulled out the field kit he always carried. It wasn’t the best, but it was all he had. It would have to do.
Diego scowled at him. He’s been on his own far too long.
Rubin tried to be practical. “There are bad diseases you can get from cannibalism, Luther. One called kuru can eat away at your brain. Bad way to go.” He tried to be simplistic but make it as bad as he could think to make it.
Luther snorted. “Was just joshin’ with you, kid. You lost your sense of humor. Would have just buried him like all the rest, but with this leg the way it was, didn’t think I could get back to the house and in the cave before they got me.”
It made Rubin wonder how many other bodies were buried somewhere around the Gunthrie property. It wasn’t as if Rubin and Diego could say much, although they hadn’t buried the ones they’d killed. Luther had been wiser and kinder than they had been.
“Wait a minute,” Diego said. “You were shot up on the ridge like this? And you made it all the way down to your house? There were no tracks, Luther.”
Luther had already cut the material away from the wound and tried to clean it. He’d attempted to build a fire and clearly was going to cauterize it in an effort to stop the bleeding. Rubin ignored the two men and began to work as fast as he could on the older man. He handed him water. He was clearly dehydrated. Running his palms just above his leg, he found he could see the damage done to the muscles and bone. The artery wasn’t hit, but the veins were a mess.