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
“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
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