The Last Twilight (8 page)

The airfield was crowded with the dead: a sea of body bags, stacked and tagged and ready for disposal. No scent of gasoline—not yet—but the smell of death was overwhelming. Amiri swallowed down the urge to vomit, and he set himself on Rikki, making certain she stayed close. Her scent cut through the carnage; wild, sharp, sweet.

A gunfight surrounded the plane. Amiri’s eyes shifted deeper into those of the beast and he found peacekeepers sprawled on their stomachs, peering through the aft loading bay of the cargo plane, shooting indiscriminately into the night. Amiri guided Rikki and Eddie closer to the body bags, searching for cover…and realized there were men there, too. Guns and faces were huddled amongst the bundled dead. They were firing on the plane.

But it was all wrong. His eyes were wrong. Those men could not be the enemy. Those uniforms…the colors …

Patrick shouted again. Amiri whirled and found the young soldier standing on the edge of camp. He waved frantically, beckoning them away from the airfield with furious, terrified, gestures.

“What—” Eddie began, but Patrick jerked, stumbling to his knees. He dropped his gun. Fell face first. Behind him, three men appeared. Men without biohazard suits, wearing light blue berets and camouflage gear. They were European in appearance; pale skin, dark hair.

Peacekeepers. Or men dressed as such. One of them nudged Patrick with his boot and laughed, while the others settled their gazes on Amiri and Eddie.

There was no place to hide. Amiri pushed Rikki behind him, but not before the men saw her. She was bundled tight, protective gear strapped over her face, but nonetheless the men stared, then glanced at each other with narrowed eyes. They raised their guns, taking careful aim. Behind, the assault against the plane continued; the massive engine roared.

Betrayed.
They had all been betrayed.

The tallest of the men bared his teeth and called out in French; then, after a moment, guttural English. He was heavy with muscle, the tufts of his eyebrows furrowed over dark eyes that examined Rikki with an intensity that made Amiri want to kill. He smiled and said, “Come,
mademoiselle.
Come here now. We will keep you safe, yes?”

“Fuck you,” Rikki shot back, the weight of her stolen gun briefly touching Amiri’s back. He did not reach for the weapon, only watched as the interest in the Frenchman’s eyes turned into a startling recognition. The man’s smile disappeared. His finger rubbed the trigger of his weapon.

“Doctor,” said the man softly, taking a step closer.
“Doctor Kinn.”

Rikki went still. Amiri said, “Eddie.”

Fire exploded. Fire in their hands, against their guns, beneath their feet. The men screamed, dropping their weapons, dancing backward. Flames licked their clothing. Rikki gasped.

Amiri pulled on her arm as the men dropped, rolling, stamping out the fire. The UN plane had begun to move, but the gunfire hailing upon it only increased, pinging the metal surface with sparks and hot bangs. He shouted once again for Eddie, and the young man whirled, eyes narrowed, expression hard.

A wall of fire erupted around the body bags, an inferno that swept inward, so high and thick it blocked the sights of the men firing on the plane—blocked them, too, from getting a clear shot on Amiri, Rikki, and Eddie. He heard them shouting, the high crack of panic. He could still see them in his head—wearing peacekeeper uniforms. All wrong, askew, like they had been thrown on in a haphazard manner.

Amiri snarled, pushing Rikki and Eddie toward the moving aircraft. His muscles contorted, shifting; the woman was too slow and he swept her up in his arms, ignoring her gasp of surprise. Eddie was just behind, arms pumping, leaving a trail of heat in his wake. The plane kept moving. Amiri could see the pilots in the cockpit staring at them. He shouted, desperation making him hoarse.

The plane did not slow. Behind, Amiri heard movement, shouts, screams. Pursuit. Eddie stopped, turning with his hands raised. Heat scorched the air, rushing over Amiri’s back with such force that he stumbled. Rikki gasped his name, arms clutched around his neck. He held her tighter, listening to the thump of her heart beneath the roar of the engines, smelling her fear beneath the miasma of death and fire.

“We’re not going to make the plane!” Eddie shouted.

Amiri agreed. Unfortunately, no one was going to make that flight.

There came a high-pitched whine, and he glanced to the right just in time to see something long and bright rush into the air from the jungle’s dark edge. It was like watching a falling star—a star in the shape of a missile— and it streaked through the night with a shriek.

“No,” Rikki breathed, stiffening in Amiri’s arms, flinching with a muffled cry as the missile slammed against the aircraft, tearing into it with a flash of terrible light.

Explosion. Shock wave. Shrapnel. Amiri took himself hard to the ground, covering Rikki with his body. Eddie fell against his side, also over the woman. The three of them huddled close, pressed so tight Amiri felt as though he was breathing for all of them. His ears hurt with the thunder and squeal of tearing metal, and the tremor of the air shook him as the plane ruptured again and again, passing from machine to nothing more than burning parts. His mask slid off, as did his goggles. He did not care.

He lost time, but not much. After the first terrible wave he lifted his head, just enough to see. Fires burned so bright it felt like daylight, and all around him was nothing but barren earth, hot metal…and just beyond, the jungle, waiting like some dark wet shadow.

Amiri staggered to his feet, dragging Rikki with him, holding out his other hand to pull Eddie up. They turned in a full circle, surveying the destruction. Sweat rolled down his body, pressure curling at the base of his spine, making his skin tingle.

Instinct. Someone was watching them.

He took Rikki’s arm. “We go now. Fast.”

She shook him off, staring. Her mask was gone, as were her goggles. Exposed, vulnerable, deadly. “This was murder.
All of this.”

All of this.
Her voice echoed inside his head, as did visions of the dead; a thousand corpses bloody and still and twisted in poses of agony. Amiri smelled burning flesh, the smoke of the massive funeral pyre.

Blood trickled down Eddie’s cheek. His protective gear was torn, his face exposed. He did not seem to care. There was fire in his gaze: those flames, reflected. Burning. “Jungle or river,” he said. “Those are our options.”

Amiri heard distant shouts. The fire was spreading into the refugee camp, no doubt licking the edges of fumes and gasoline. Ready for another explosion, another consumption. The river was on the other side of it all, swift and safe. A sure thing.

But the jungle was closer, and he was good with shadows.

There was a path through the fire. Amiri did not know what lay on the other side, but it was better than remaining still. He pointed and Eddie wordlessly took the lead, running ahead. Amiri grasped Rikki’s hand, but she pulled back again, still staring at the wreckage of the plane. He grabbed her chin and forced her to look at him.

She never blinked. He expected her to be distracted, terrified, but instead her gaze was clear, hot, her focus utterly striking. She looked at him like she could see straight through to his soul, and it stole his breath.

“We must go,” he whispered, still holding her chin, his words tumbling into a growl. “We must live.”

Rikki touched his face, her fingers trailing up his cheek to the corner of his eye. The contact was fleeting, but it sent a shock of heat through him that went deeper than the surrounding fires. For a moment he forgot himself, the danger, his convictions; the cheetah rumbled through his chest, responding only to this woman, her scent. His hand tightened. He swayed closer.

Eddie shouted his name. Amiri froze. His heart thundered, everything inside his body tight, hard. He could not believe what he had been on the verge of doing. So stupid, so thoughtless. Less than animal.

Rikki still studied his face, but there was a difference in her gaze that he could not bear to look closely upon. He turned, grabbing her hand. Rikki stumbled, but this time followed. They raced away from the fire, toward the jungle.

Eddie was waiting. Amiri felt a sliver of fear for the young man—for himself, as well. They had done too much tonight. All their secrets, everything they had to hide, was bubbling to the surface. In front of a woman with sharp eyes.

Exposed once, exposed again. The world is too small if you are not willing to hide.

The pressure at the base of his spine intensified; his hackles tingled. Just within the leading edge of the jungle he passed Rikki off to Eddie, and turned in time to see a man follow them from the flaming wreckage. Not a peacekeeper, not a doctor or aid worker. This man wore a pale suit and a pale tie. An incongruous sight; an illusion, perhaps. Amiri stared, taking in the tall lean body, the short blond hair. Sharp features, deadly eyes. A face that reminded him of someone. A presence that made him think of cages and steel and Russia.

The man was some distance away, but he looked directly into Amiri’s hiding place and held up his hand. Waved, with a cold smile.

Amiri’s chest tightened. He melted backward into the jungle, passing into shadow. The cheetah fought him; the beast wanted blood, could already taste it, bitter and keen. Amiri bit his tongue to satisfy the urge. No matter who their pursuer was, now was not the time. He had the woman to think of. And Eddie.

They were waiting for him deep within the bush. The air was hot beneath the night canopy. Amiri listened hard, but other than the low hoot of birds, he heard nothing to indicate other humans, or pursuit. Not that it would last. They had been seen.

“Remove your protective gear,” he ordered, tearing his mask and goggles all the way off. There would be no hiding, no movement—not in this shambling outfit. He stripped away the latex gloves, hesitating for only a moment while he concentrated on maintaining the human appearance of his skin and nails.

Rikki and Eddie stared at him, unmoving. There was some light pushing through the trees from the burning airfield, but once they began walking it would be dark in the jungle. Only Amiri would be able to see, though Eddie, he thought, might have a penlight in his pocket.

“The disease,” said the young man, tentative. “I thought…”

Amiri slowed his movements, glancing from his friend to Rikki, whose gaze was lost in shadows. He wished he could see her eyes; even so, he could not look away from her. His hands stilled. “There is more happening here than just a disease. Or am I wrong, Doctor Kinn?”

She stood very quiet, a far cry from the quivering fury he had spied on the burning airfield. Her silence was profound.

“Doctor Kinn,” he said again, more gently.

“No,” she said softly. “You’re not wrong. But there’s still a risk.”

Amiri settled his jaw. “We have already been compromised. Even Eddie, with his torn suit. So we all die now or die later. I know what I choose.”

“Yeah,” she murmured. “But why do I think you always choose the hard way?”

Amiri smiled grimly, tearing off the rest of his suit. “Because for me, Doctor Kinn, the alternative has never existed.”

The sky began to lighten not long after their escape. Slivers of it turned lavender, then peach, gasps of starlight fading. Birds screamed, lost in the dense canopy; monkeys howled. Rikki hardly noticed. Her legs burned, her throat hurt. A headache was building at the back of her skull. Adrenaline had faded. It was hard to breathe. She wanted to vomit.

Rikki did not blame Ebola, or any other disease. She refused to think about it. Or about the fact that she was a hunted woman. Not even the gun still held slick in her hand could compensate for that. Nor could the men who had saved her life.

Strangers. Mysteries. Amiri walked in front. He had taken off his shirt and tucked it into the back of his loose drawstring scrubs. His back was lean as a whip, his shoulders broad and sinewy, and though his skin was dark as rain-soaked earth, there were golden undertones that even in the forest twilight seemed to gleam in his sweat and in the play of shadows rippling against his hard muscles. He was tireless, quick.

But looking at him made Rikki’s head hurt even worse. She glanced over her shoulder, desperate for a distraction. Eddie was behind her. She had barely gotten a look at the young man since escaping the camp. There was finally enough light to see the dark hair, the lean pale face. He was younger than she expected; young, with old eyes. Familiar, too. Startlingly so, which did nothing for her headache.

“Ma’am,” he said quietly, catching her gaze.

“Hey,” she replied, hoarse. Eddie reminded her of someone. Her brother. Dead at seven, but with that same dark unruly hair. Those soulful eyes. Uncanny, how much it seemed like him, if only older. The young man could have been family.

No,
she told herself, turning away sharply.
No, don’t go there. Don’t you dare.

But staring in the other direction was no help, either. Amiri was there.

Eddie wore a backpack. Rikki said, “Any water in there? Food?”

“I wish,” he said grimly. “Aspirin, if you want it.”

A root snagged her foot. She stumbled and Eddie almost stepped on her. She felt heat roll off his body. Too much heat. She turned, studying him more carefully, and the weak dawn light could not hide his flushed cheeks, or the brightness of his eyes. She forgot herself and reached out to touch his forehead. Found him hot to the touch. Burning up.

“You have a fever,” she said. Eddie caught her hand and pushed her gently away.

“No, ma’am,” he replied. “I’m fine.”

Rikki frowned, and glanced over her shoulder, intending to call Amiri. No need, though. He stood directly behind her, so close she could have touched him if she breathed hard. Silent, silent, man. Rikki tried to keep her voice steady as she said, “We need to stop.”

“No.” Eddie glanced at Amiri. “No, I’m fine. Really. She thinks I have a fever.”

“He’s hot,” Rikki protested. “And it’s not from exertion. It’s internal.”

Amiri looked at Eddie. “How do you feel?”

A tired smile touched the young man’s mouth, and for a brief moment the two men stared at each other with a weight and gravity that made Rikki feel totally insignificant, a stranger amongst friends. It made her wonder how they saw her—if she was nothing but a paycheck. A burden.

That’s what you
are,
stupid. What else do you expect?

Rikki didn’t know, but either way, it cut. And that was wrong.
She
was wrong, to want more. To desire even the pretense of friendship. The security of it.

Amiri’s shoulders relaxed, and he glanced down at her. “He is fine, Doctor Kinn.”

“Fine,” she replied flatly. “Really.”

“Ma’am,” Eddie said gently. “It’s nothing.”

Her eyelid twitched. “I spent the better part of twenty-four hours bagging bodies. You want to run that past me again?”

He had the grace not to argue. Amiri turned away. “We need water.”

“A satellite phone would be better,” she muttered, staring at his back. He said nothing. Kept walking. Rikki almost gave him the finger, but Eddie cleared his throat and that was reminder enough to act her age. So she shot
him
a look—the one usually reserved for drunks and circus clowns—and said, “What, oh paragon of health?”

The young man flushed a deeper crimson. “I just wanted to say thank you. For your concern.”

“Oh.” Rikki hesitated. “I suppose you didn’t need it.”

“Not now,” he said easily, almost cheerfully, though she noted a soft aching fear flash through his gaze, an uncertainty that made her heart hurt.

Just a kid,
she thought. He was too young to be out here. Too much like her brother, Frank Jr., what with that loopy sweet smile. She almost wanted to find a football and toss it at him, just for kicks. Which was … really pathetic.

She was silent too long. Eddie frowned. “Ma’am?”

“Rikki,” she corrected him absently. “You make me feel old.”

“Rikki,” he said, with surprising gentleness. “It’ll be all right. You can trust us.”

Trust.
She gave him a closer look. He met her gaze, square and true. Earnest, even sweet. Naive as hell, maybe, but she wasn’t going to hold that against him. Not when looking at Eddie made her homesick for something she could not name. Rikki patted his shoulder. “Thanks, kid.”

Eddie raised his brow, mouth twitching into a grin. “Kid?”

It was hard not to smile back, but it didn’t last. The young man held her gaze without moving, those old eyes studying her with disquieting intensity. It made her uncomfortable, and just as she was about to say something he held aside some branches and gestured for her to precede him.

As she passed, he said, “Do you know why, ma’am?”

Rikki stopped. “Why what?”

Eddie searched her face. “Why would men want to hurt you?”

She stared, caught, but all she could think of was Bakker and Mack and every other person lost at that refugee camp. All she saw in her head were the flames and the dead: children, splashing gas on bodies; men in peacekeeper uniforms, men she should have been able to trust. Her scars ached.

Why, indeed?

Amiri appeared from behind the gnarled trunk of a massive tree, pushing aside a sweep of vines dripping from the canopy. His eyes were sharp. He did not need to say a word. He stared at Eddie and the young man flushed. Rikki glanced at him. “We were just talking.”

“I asked Doctor Kinn why she’s a target,” Eddie said, with such simple honesty it was like looking at a choirboy—the kind with guns jammed in the back of his pants and spots of blood on his shirt. Rikki wanted to shake him around a little … or give him a noogie.

Amiri raised an eyebrow. “And?”

“And nothing,” Rikki said. “What went on in that refugee camp last night was bigger than me.”

Eddie shook his head. “With all due respect, ma’am, we weren’t sent to protect a refugee camp. And even though it came under attack, it was your name those men knew.”

“They knew more than your name,” Amiri added softly. “They knew your voice, as well. The men at the airfield could not see your face when they recognized you.”

“Someone prepared them,” Eddie said. “Someone’s been watching you.”

Rikki closed her eyes, fighting for control. “We need to go back, you know. The camp is scheduled to receive a new influx of personnel and supplies. What’s going to happen when they get there? More explosions? I assume they’ll see the smoke if those fires haven’t been put out, but that won’t stop them from landing. And if those same people are waiting…” She thought of Mack. Ruth. “We have to send out a warning. There should be a radio left, some way of communi—”

“No,” Amiri interrupted sharply, and then, softer: “No.”

“More people will die.”

“But not you,” he said. “Not you.”

Rikki stared. Amiri was an unflappable man, but last night she had seen a crack in the mask. Felt his hand on her chin, his heat; the way he had looked at her, hungry and dangerous with those fires burning all around them, in his eyes. His glowing eyes. Those impossible eyes.

His eyes were not glowing now, but the hunger was back, an intensity that rolled down to her bones, weakening her knees. So rough, so damn alluring.

Rikki shivered. Amiri blinked, relaxing his jaw. “You think I do not care about those people.”

“I don’t know what to think. Least of all, about you,” she replied, and watched his gaze slide back into that cool mask; predatory, aloof. She wanted to tell him it was too late, that she saw right through him—that she could feel the echo of his emotions, the burning. No mask could hide that. And his calm did not make him any less intense. Not to her.

Eddie said, too quietly, “We should keep moving.”

Amiri held Rikki’s gaze a heartbeat longer. “Follow me. I found something.”