The Last Twilight (6 page)

Mack said nothing. He grabbed Amiri’s arm, attempting to hold him down. Like trying to restrain water; the other man slipped out of his grasp, eyes narrowed. “Do not.”

“Come on. It won’t hurt.” His tone was all Mr. Doctor, patronizing, as though talking to a child. Rikki wanted to shake her head in shame. That, and hold on tight. Looking at Amiri—right then—felt like a hurricane coming, and she watched him give Mack a long hard stare of withering disdain. But her colleague was an idiot. He reached out again. Confident, self-assured.

Amiri slapped his hand away so hard the sound was like a gunshot. Ruth flinched, eyes wide behind her goggles. Rikki tried to control her own face. No emotion. Just anticipation. She knew the strength in those arms, and that had not been a gentle blow.

“You asshole,” Mack breathed, as the skin above his surgical mask mottled scarlet. Amiri’s expression never changed, not even slightly. Carved in stone. But the look in his eyes was worse than the mouth of the crocodile: sharp, chilling, deadly. But still calm. Still a gentleman— in the most brutal, effective, way possible.

“Next time I will break you,” Amiri said.

Mack swayed, his hand cradled to his chest. His breathing was loud, his eyes narrowed. The syringe lay on the ground between them. “Fuck you. All of you and your damn beliefs. Primitive, superstitious—”

“Mack.” Rikki did not raise her voice, but it was enough.

His mouth snapped shut. He turned on her, staring. “This man needs the test. You know how important it is.”

She knew. She had made her career on taking blood from the infected, hunting live viruses. But she had never bullied her patients. Never forced anyone to take the needle.

Rikki looked at Amiri. He met her gaze, and it was like electricity—some live current, hot in her blood. She had never met a man who was so confident, so quietly self-assured, and it had nothing to do with excess; not even a hint of arrogance. This was a man who could handle things. Handle anything. And he knew it. He knew the cost of it.

Just like Rikki did.

It would take a fight to make him give blood. It would take more than Ruth and Mack. More than the peacekeepers patrolling this camp. Rikki had a feeling there was not a force on earth that could make this man take part in anything—
anything
—that he did not want to do. God help anyone stupid enough to try.

Rikki was not stupid. And even though she knew she should be frightened by the hard coolness of his gaze, she was not. She felt like she stood in the eye of the storm— his eye, his storm. Safe. Untouched. Hidden in plain sight.

I am buying you time,
Amiri’s voice echoed in her mind.
I will make certain no one sees you.

They might as well have swapped blood—his gift was as strong a bond. And whatever his reasons might be, the least Rikki could do was show him the same courtesy. She had no choice.

“There are alternatives,” she told Mack, and held up her hand against his protest. “Do a spot check with his saliva. The virus will be present there. Hell, do the same with me.”

“They won’t be as thorough.”

“But you’ll know for certain. We all will.”

He stared at her like she was crazy, and she was—it was bad science, against protocol, her own rules—but Rikki stared him down, unwilling to bend. Unwilling to contemplate how and why she could take a stranger’s side over Mack.

He almost didn’t back down. She could see it in his eyes. But after a long silence, cut with the fidgeting squeak of Ruth’s heavy breathing, Mack leaned down to scoop up the dropped needle. He tossed it into the infectious materials bin with enough force to make the plastic rattle.

“Careful,’” Rikki said, unable to help herself. “You might take an eye out.”

Mack shot her a glare. Ruth also gave Rikki a dirty look. Amiri did neither, nor did he smile. Instead his gaze turned thoughtful, his skin crinkling, just slightly, around his eyes. Warm, so warm. Looking at him was like finding kindness, and that was as unexpected as the rough way Mack suddenly grabbed her arm, fingers clamping down too tight for comfort.

You don ‘t have anything to prove,
Rikki told him silently, but he was already tapping out her vein, and she forced herself not to protest as he jabbed the syringe so hard into her arm she imagined it hit bone. Hurt like hell, but she kept her mouth shut. Gave Mack a piercing look. He raised his eyebrow. Daring her. Rikki did not take the bait.

“Ruth, get that man’s saliva.” He raised his brow at Amiri. “You won’t resist, will you?”

“This is more acceptable,” he replied. No warmth in his eyes for the doctor; quite the opposite, if Rikki was any judge. He spat into a vial for Ruth.

Mack rolled his eyes. “There’s an anxious young man who wants to see you. Would you like me to pass along a message?” Each word was clipped, forced.

“Vigilance,” Amiri said.

Mack gave him a long look, but made no comment. He withdrew the needle from Rikki’s arm and swabbed her skin with alcohol. Said, quietly: “Neither of you are displaying symptoms. That’s some reassurance.”

Rikki glanced at Amiri. “Anyone else sick?”

Mack hesitated, also taking a quick look at the man. “Maybe we should discuss this later. There are…confidentiality issues.”

Amiri arched his brow. “Shall I go stand in the corner? Plug my ears with my fingers?”

Rikki tried not to smile. “Spill it, Mack. Or else there might not be a later.”

Mack briefly closed his eyes. “No symptoms in camp. Reports from downriver are clean, too.”

She tried not to think about what it would feel like to pull an
Exorcist
moment with her vital organs. “It’s been two days since the initial outbreak. The people who died in the river have been in the water that long. We should be seeing symptoms by now.”

“Our best guess is that the delivery system diluted the virus. That, or the sick aren’t reporting themselves.”

“The virus itself could be different.”

“No live samples yet.” Mack held up her vial of blood. “I’m hoping not ever.”

“Liar,” Rikki said gently, and that was enough to soften his mouth. But only for a moment. His expression turned pained, as though he looked at her and saw only death. Giving up already. Simply pretending otherwise. It made Rikki angry, but only because she had looked at other people the same way, in other isolation wards.

Work for the best,
was the motto.
Work for the best, assume the worst, and never, ever, let your heart get broken.

Easier said than done. Mack and Ruth turned to leave. Rikki said, “Hey, have you heard from Larry? Any word about people going missing at the regional hospitals?”

He raised an eyebrow. “No. Why?”

Rikki hesitated. “Nothing. Forget about it.”

Amiri shot her a hard look. “Do not forget about it. Ask others. See if anyone has heard rumors. And if strangers should come into the camp, people who do not belong—”

“Like you?” Mack interrupted. “Larry’s ‘security specialist? Some job
you
did.”

Amiri’s jaw tightened. “Be alert. That is all I ask.”

“Of course. Anything less gets you dead.” Mack’s gaze flicked back to Rikki, but she stayed quiet. There was nothing left to say.

Mack and Ruth departed. Through the clear plastic walls, Rikki watched them bypass the disinfectant tubs. Her instinct was to call them back to hose down, but she kept her mouth shut. They were not venturing into a clean environment. Just outside to the refugee camp. Later, when they wanted to eat, or sleep, or use the restroom—
then
dumping their gear would be a trial. The risk of infecting themselves would be at its highest.

“Sloppiness is death,” Amiri said, also watching them leave.

She felt like apologizing again. “Just part of the job. Helping people is dangerous work. I suppose you know that, though.”

“Life is dangerous,” he said simply. “It is what you make of it that matters.”

Her arm still hurt. She watched Mack leave without a backward glance, and felt very much alone. “So what do
you
make from something like this? What’s the price of a good life? That’s what you get paid for, right? Making people dead, people hurt. Is that worth the risk of helping someone like me? Being a hired gun? Cash make the wheels go around?” She glanced down at her hands, trying to imagine herself dying, gone, dead. Been there, done that, though this was almost preferable. No fighting. No screaming. No pain. Not yet.

Amiri did not answer. Rikki looked, and found him with his head tilted, eyes unblinking as he stared at her. Her cheeks warmed, but she did not lower her gaze.

“You are better than those questions,” he said finally, quietly. “And so am I.”

She had no comeback. He was too dignified. It was like having a not-so-peace-loving version of Gandhi call her a snot, and the result was an acute sense of
Twilight Zone-
itis
;
like she was floating in some alternate universe where strange men could affect her with nothing but a look and a word—make her regret, when with anyone else she would already be moving on.

Her face burned. “I apologize.”

Amiri made a sweeping motion with his hand. “And you? Why are you here?”

She had to take a moment, still wrapped up in his hold over her—how one of his looks could be so powerful. It bugged her, but not enough to run from. Curiosity would kill her yet.

“I hunt viruses,” she told him. “I chase outbreaks to find out what causes them. Others handle containment, but my job is to find the source.”

“Dangerous work.”

“Like you said, life is dangerous.”

“But that does not answer why we do it.”

Rikki stared at him. “Where
did
Larry find you?”

His eyes warmed—that singular warmth that made her gut twist, hot and unsettled. “You will have to ask him that yourself after we leave this place.”

“Optimistic.”

“As are you. I suspect your job requires it.”

She shook her head. “Are you sure you’re a bodyguard?”

“I never said
that.
Only that I had been sent to protect you. The two, I assure you, are quite different.”

“Huh.” She lay on her side, cushioning her head on her arms. “But here you are.”

“Indeed,” he said, and for a moment it was easy for Rikki to forget where she was, what had happened.

But not for long. She fell asleep again, and dreamed.

Her old coach was with her, a shouting man made of muscle turned to lard, stout and pockmarked and a genius at his craft: Markovic, former Olympic gymnastics champion. He was yelling, chasing her. Rikki did not know why he was angry, but it frightened her and she tried to run. Not far, though. She tripped. All grace gone, no strength left. Drained into the earth, like blood. Blood, on her hands. Blood, everywhere, from so many dead. Dead, all at once.
All at once.

Bad dream. Rikki woke with a question on her lips, a nagging sense that something was wrong. Her fault. She had missed something obvious.

The lights in the tent were off. It was very dark. That was also wrong. She began to sit up and a hand caught her shoulder. Amiri. He was sitting on her cot, shadows gathered around his body. She imagined, once again, a faint glow in his eyes.

“What?” she whispered, but as soon as she spoke she heard shouts in French outside the tent. Hoarse voices, full of fear. Sweat beaded against her skin, and it was suddenly hard to breathe. Hot, suffocating. The air-conditioning had gone with the lights.

Gunfire made her jump. The
rat-tat-tat
of automatic weapons. Shouts became screams and Amiri dragged her off the cot and pressed her to the ground.

“Rebels,” he murmured. And just like that, things got worse.

She squeezed shut her eyes. Her scars ached. Like some storm-burn in an old woman’s joints, more frightening than bad weather. She wanted to run. She wanted to hide. She wanted to pick up a gun and start blasting into the night: heartless, efficient, effortlessly brutal. Better than the alternative.

Screams cut the night. Amiri’s arm tightened. Rikki’s heart pounded so hard she felt sick.

“This area’s been quiet,” she muttered tightly, trying not to vomit. “But I heard rumors in Brazzaville that the rebels and militias have been moving east out of Kivu. It’s why this camp was established. To take care of the folks running from their homes.”

“It makes no sense,” Amiri murmured, but he stopped, squeezing her closer as the rough shouts got louder, accompanied by wet sobs and desperate pleading. Rikki did not recognize the voices, but she wanted to run to them. Faces flashed—old friends, dead—and she shuddered as she remembered, with perfect clarity, her body dragged through dirt and stone. Hands holding her down. Those damn knives.

Bodies hit the ground outside the tent. Rikki bit her bottom lip, fighting like hell to keep from shuddering, but that was a joke and she felt Amiri’s mouth touch her ear. He whispered something she did not understand, again and again, but just as the words took shape inside her dull ears, gunfire exploded. Bullets ripped open the plastic sheeting, razing the cots and monitors, kicking metal into cutting shards. Amiri wrapped himself so tight over her body he felt like a second skin. The fingers of his right hand dug into the floor like claws.

The hail of bullets did not last; in its wake came deafening silence. Amiri slithered off her body. His hand caught her wrist. She moved with him, breathless, straining to listen. Men spoke. She heard a patois of French, Lingalese, some other Bantu language. She imagined she heard her name.

Amiri did not stop moving. He pulled her to one of the plastic tubs that had been scored and knocked over by bullets. Scrubs had spilled out. Amiri pointed, then pushed down on Rikki’s shoulders. She resisted. There was no place for him to hide. She tried to tell him that, but he covered her mouth and shook his head. He forced her to crawl inside the plastic tub. She was just small enough. Amiri pushed the clothing around her body.

“Stay,” he breathed, and then he was gone: melting out of sight, utterly silent. Rikki wiggled forward, trying to see. It was too dark. She could hear, though—and after several breathless moments the low murmur of voices drifted from the entrance of the tent. Not many, but enough. Rikki took three quick breaths, forcing herself to focus. Trying to decide how long she could rely on Amiri before one of them was killed, or worse.

The voices got louder. The quarantine barrier rattled. Rikki heard uneasy laughter, a low crooning call. She tried to judge numbers, but it was impossible. Stacked odds, either way. Amiri was unarmed. She took another deep breath and nudged forward, just slightly. Looking for a weapon, anything. She found syringes. Spilled on the floor, just out of reach.

The quarantine sheet pushed inward. Rikki froze. Her hearing dimmed to nothing but heartbeats, the roar of blood. She was dimly aware of distant wailing screams, gunshots. People dying. None of it mattered. Only that plastic wall and the men behind it.

Then, not even that. Amiri exploded upward from the floor.

Rikki knew he was fast, but what she saw in that moment verged on inhuman—a blur, too quick to follow. He plowed through the quarantine wall and her ears could hardly keep up with the answering crack of bones, grunts, muffled cries. Furious, unrelenting. She slithered out of the container, reaching for a syringe. Her hand closed around plastic.

A gun fired inside the tent. Rikki tore off the syringe’s protective cap just as a large figure fell hard through the quarantine sheet. It was too dark to see his face, but the body was all wrong, too thick and hulking to be Amiri. She smelled blood.

The man saw Rikki. He lifted his gun. She lunged. Small, fast, desperate; she hit him hard in the chest and jabbed the needle into his face. Aimed for his eye, but his cheek was good enough. He screamed. Rikki tried to knock aside his weapon.

Amiri appeared. He grabbed the man’s head and twisted. Rikki heard a sound like cracking knuckles, then silence. The gun dropped. She snatched it up, safety off, grip sticky with blood. She did not give the dead man another look.

Movement flickered at the corner of her eye, just beyond the torn plastic barrier. She aimed, adrenaline high and wild, but kept her finger off the trigger. Focusing. Listening. Amiri stepped in front of her, facing the flimsy wall. She heard the sounds of a brief struggle, a distinctive pop—one loud shot—followed by a sharp intake of breath, a muffled curse that was suspiciously American. Rikki forced herself to breathe. The gun was slick in her hands. She heard distant screams and thought of Mack, the nurses, everyone who had come here to help. This could not be happening.

Amiri said, “Eddie. Over here.”

Rikki gave him a sharp look. “A friend?”

“Yes.”

The plastic sheeting to the quarantine section rattled. She felt light-headed, out of her mind. “He can’t. He can’t come in here. We’re contagious.”

“Doctor Kinn—”

Rikki took a step toward the barrier. “Stop, Eddie, whoever you are.
Don’t move.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” said a young male voice, far too close for comfort. “Contagious or not, you don’t have much of a choice. You have to leave. Now.”

Amiri took hold of her arm and for a moment she forgot herself. Training took over. She fought, using all her strength. He lost his grip, grunting with what sounded like surprise, but he was faster than her and his arms clamped down. She tried kicking him and he only squeezed harder, pressing his mouth against her ear. He smelled like blood. His hands were slick.

“We must,” he whispered harshly.

Yes,
she thought, finally gazing down at the dead man beside her, neck twisted, syringe jutting from his cheek.
Hell, yes.

But she could not say those words. She turned her head, peering up into Amiri’s eyes. “If we contracted the disease, we are
contagious.
We will kill innocent people everywhere we go, anyone we come in contact with. I won’t do that.” Even if she was prepared to use the gun in her hand to defend her life. No conflict there. Shooting men intent on murder did not, in her opinion, count.

Amiri’s hands tightened; he shook her, just slightly, and in a voice so low it was almost a growl said, “Eddie, are the peacekeepers evacuating?”

“Trying to,” said the young man, still out of sight. “They were taken off guard. Some are trying to find the medical personnel, but it’s chaos out there. That’s why we have to hurry. I don’t know how much longer the planes will stay grounded before someone panics.”

“Indeed,” Amiri murmured, and then louder: “Go and find us some biohazard suits. Make certain yours is secure.”

Eddie pushed back through the barriers. Rikki began to protest, but Amiri covered her mouth with his hand.

“I am not ready to die,” he said in a hard voice. “And while I live, so shall you. We are leaving here, and you are coming with us, even if I have to carry you.”

Rikki pushed away his hand. “And if we hurt others in the process? Can you live with that’”‘

Amiri said nothing. He shoved Rikki across the isolation ward, and though she put up a fight, he was the strongest man she had ever encountered, and nothing she did broke his stride.

She could have played dirty. Part of her wanted to. But there was another part, ruthless and fierce, that wanted to run with him. Run fast, run long, and never mind the consequences. High ideals be damned. Because she also wanted to live. She wanted to fight for every breath, even if it killed. Even if all she had left was a day or an hour.

Go,
whispered a tiny voice.
Don’t look back.

She went.