Time passed. Rikki and Eddie did not move. Breathless, hot, drowning. Her scars ached, her legs began to cramp; something crawled along her neck into her hair.
Then, voices. Very quiet, hardly a whisper. Rikki stopped breathing. Eddie shuddered, stifling a cough. She placed her hand against his shoulder. Above them, clothing hissed.
And then, quite suddenly, a face peered into the hole. Asian, shaved head, eyes as cold as ice. A black vest, the edge of a gun in his gloved hand. He flashed teeth that reminded her of a shark.
“Come out,” he said, softly. “Come out and play.”
“No,” whispered Eddie, and the man’s feet exploded in flames.
It happened so fast Rikki hardly knew what to think, but the man’s screams were no illusion and he danced backward, flailing. Shouts followed. Men raced into sight, brandishing guns. Not one of them had a chance to pull his trigger. Their feet caught on fire; their weapons burned red hot. They screamed and screamed, and it was the ugliest, most miraculous sight Rikki had ever seen in her life—just like that damn crocodile, only this time the distraction was too good to put the bastards out of their misery.
Eddie rolled from the hollow, taking Rikki with him. The moment they stood, gunshots rang out, bullets slamming into the ground around them. Eddie looked over his shoulder, eyes hard, and she heard an explosion, like a thousand matches striking at once. Heat rolled over her back, singeing the hairs on her neck, and she turned just in time to see a wall of flame rise ten feet high into the air, churning black smoke like a pyre in hell. Men still shouted, Eddie had out his gun, and she suddenly felt like some chick Rambo—missing a bandanna around her head and more muscles than God.
Eddie doubled over, coughing. Rikki pulled him into a stumbling run. She fell once; he yanked her up, and after that she lost herself—caught only in the desperate unbending desire to get the hell out of Dodge, fast, fast, fast. She kept expecting a bullet to slam into her body or some man to step into their path. Every branch that hit her chest reminded her of steel, every caw of some bird that old rough laughter. The sweat flowing down between her breasts felt the same as hot blood, and her scars burned like the old wounds were salted and open.
They did not stop until Eddie’s legs finally buckled. He went down hard, coughing and gagging, and Rikki fell with him, too close to stop and tangled in his body. Her lungs burned like she had been inhaling bleach, and only her pure, stubborn, shit-stupid will to live was keeping her from having a heart attack.
But she listened hard—or did her best—and heard no screams, no sounds of pursuit. No gunshots.
“Oh, God,” she muttered, rolling on all fours. She gagged, puking up nothing but stomach acid, and felt Eddie touch her back.
“We gotta keep going,” he said breathlessly. “Come on. At the rate we’re going, we’ll hit the river soon.”
“Fabulous.” She spit, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, and staggered into a quick walk that made her head spin. Eddie did not seem to be faring well, either. His cough—which she had thought could not possibly get worse—shook his body like he was made of Jell-O, and it was terrifying to listen to. She kept expecting to see blood fleck his hands, and it did not pass her notice that Eddie checked his palms each and every time.
Six hours. According to the notes, each victim died only six hours after symptoms began.
She did not want to think about it. She did not want to watch this boy die. Not when it should be her.
Or Amiri. Golden-eyed man. She wanted him to be here more than she wanted to be safe, and that was some horrible joke only she could play on herself. All of them, dying together. Bullets and disease. What a way to go. Down in a blaze of glory.
Eddie was right: soon after, they found the river. They stood on shore, staring out at the wild churning water, which was a color only slightly brighter than mud. On the other side, more jungle. No way to cross. Distances were hard to judge, but it had to be at least a mile, maybe more. Neither of them was up for a swim. Or maybe they just weren’t that desperate yet.
“We need to find a boat,” Eddie said.
“Amiri won’t be able to find us if we do that. I won’t leave him.”
“I wasn’t suggesting that,” he replied, but he looked at her as though seeing something for the first time, and it was a quiet judgment that he passed, utterly inscrutable. It made Rikki feel odd. Like she had more to lose than just her life.
And then he started coughing, and they went to find a place to hide.
It made her think hard—about a lot of things. But she did not ask. She also contemplated, briefly, the idea that he was contaminating the water supply with a possible illness, but hell, so much had happened already; if the refugee camp hadn’t fouled the water with disease, one young man certainly wasn’t going to.
“You know,” he said, after coming up for air. “I think, maybe, I’m not feeling too well.”
“Nah,” Rikki said. “You’re healthy as a horse. Young studs like you don’t get sick.”
He lay on his side, water streaming off his body. His eyes were bloodshot, gathering shadows. Only minutes ago he had looked nominally healthy, but his color was shifting from pink to scarlet, and that frightened Rikki so badly she had to kneel at the stream and drink, just so that he would not see her expression.
Eddie needs your best,
Rikki told herself, and took a deep breath—sucking up every raw nerve in her body. She put the mask on her face.
But when she turned, his eyes were closed. She thought he might have fallen asleep, but he started coughing again, and rolled onto his back. Rikki knelt beside him, and after a moment’s hesitation, smoothed his wet hair away from his face. She felt awkward, out of practice giving comfort to the sick. Most of the time, the people she dealt with could not be touched. Not like this.
She thought of her dad and Markovic. Amiri, with his golden eyes. “You have a girlfriend, kid?”
A faint smile touched his mouth. “I did. We’re just friends now.”
“Ah, the friendship deal. Not so cool, huh?”
“She has issues with guys,” Eddie mumbled, shifting like his body ached. “Her father…was an asshole. He hurt her.”
Rikki continued running her hands over his hair, trying to calculate the timing of his symptoms, the speed of escalation. “I bet you were her knight in shining armor.”
He smiled again, weakly, his eyes still shut. Rikki said nothing else, letting him rest. She took his pulse, found it high and thready. His fever felt worse. Minutes ticking, his body breaking down. Faster than anything she had ever seen. This was no flu. Not some fluke.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
She wanted to scream.
Rikki lay down beside him. She tried not to think of her dead brother. Frankie. Little hands, his dark eyes. That smile.
Frankie had liked the
Transformers
cartoon. He’d enjoyed hiding her dolls and playing ball, or just poking her with sticks. Had curled in her bed at night and kept her back warm. Wiped his nose on her sleeve while they listened to their parents fight. Held her hand, telling her it would be okay when Mom and Dad used the word
divorce
and she cried.
She did not want to see Eddie die.
Rikki forced herself up and patted his stomach. “I need your shirt, kid.”
Eddie did not ask, or argue. He sat up just enough for her to pull the T-shirt over his head, then slumped back down. Limp, boneless. Rikki dumped the white cotton in the stream, soaking it, then spread the cloth over his flushed body. She imagined steam, a low hiss, and ignored it all as she worked to bring his fever down.
I’m warmer than other people,
she remembered him saying, and thought of fire—fire and heat and viruses. Those stubborn viruses. Biological infectious particles, evolved to survive in particular host environments. Affected by extreme temperatures. Sometimes. No one had ever experimented with exposing diseases to the internal extremes of a particular host.
“Eddie,” Rikki said, rubbing his shoulder. “Eddie, I have to ask you some questions. I need to know if you can raise your body temperature without hurting yourself.”
He peered at her, eyes bloodshot. It was easy to imagine blood seeping from them like tears. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Rikki frowned. “I know you started those fires.”
Eddie’s mouth tightened and he closed his eyes. She shook his shoulder. His skin was so hot. “Eddie, please, this is not the time for playing dumb. I don’t give a shit how you do it. Question is, can you heat yourself up without frying anything vital?”
He ignored her. Rikki said, “Eddie.”
“Don’t ask me,”
he hissed, looking at her with an expression so piercing and haunted she rocked back on her heels; staring, tasting the fear in his gaze. Hard, desperate fear.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” she whispered, horrified.
“You’ll tell,” he murmured, pressing his flushed cheek against the ground. “You’re a scientist. You’ll want to write a paper or something. Study us.”
Us. More than one.
Amiri.
Rikki forced herself to take a deep breath. Then one more. She looked at her hands, then Eddie, and took the T-shirt off his body. She soaked it in the stream, splashing water on her own face. Brought the T-shirt back to Eddie and held it heavy and dripping over his mouth, squeezing water past his lips. He watched her as she did, and she watched him. Thinking of Frankie. Her little brother.
“Can you do it?” she said quietly. “Can you raise your temperature without hurting yourself?”
He judged her. She could see it in his eyes. Wheels were turning and turning, tasting her character. She let him, and did not blink.
“No,” he finally whispered, hoarse. “I’ve tried.”
“Okay,” Rikki said, keeping calm. “We’ll just have to stick with basics, then.”
She began to move away, back to the stream. Eddie grabbed her hand. “You can’t tell anyone.”
“Tell anyone what?” she replied, sliding her other hand around him. She held him to her, comforting him in the only way she knew how. He stared, those dark eyes haunted, and Rikki tried to make him understand, tried in ways that words could not. She knew what it felt like not to trust. She knew fear.
And she also knew that if Eddie did not let go, if she did not hide her face for even a moment, he was going to see something he should not.
Rikki tugged, gently. Eddie let go, and closed his eyes. He did not look peaceful, but he did not look afraid, either. Resigned, perhaps.
Don’t think too hard,
she told herself, spreading the wet cotton over his flesh. She lay down beside him, trying to stay calm, and closed her eyes to shut out the sight of him.
She did not mean to sleep, but she did—dreamt fleetingly of knives and fire and men with sunlight for eyes. She woke with a bad taste in her mouth, a worse feeling in her gut, and lay very still, staring at the sky, listening. The sun had moved deep into the west, getting on into late afternoon. The wind blew softly through the tall grass, swaying it into a slow dance.
Somewhere nearby, stones crunched.
Rikki’s heart shot so hard into her gut she almost puked. She inched up on her knees and peered over the grass. Just for a moment. Then she ducked down, fast.
Men stood by the river’s edge. Only three, but she did not trust her eyes. They were laden down with weapons, wore loose clothing. If they spread out, started walking upstream…
You are so screwed. Might as well pick your poison now and get it over with. Blaze of glory. Hoo-rah.
Eddie lay very still beside her. His breathing was shallow. Rikki pressed her fingers against his throat, and was not certain what disturbed her more—that he did not stir, or that his pulse was uneven. His skin was hot to the touch, frighteningly so, and she thought of fire and burning men. Herself, aflame. By accident, by direction. She did not know exactly what Eddie could do, but if he became delirious, lost control…
Stop. Right now, stop. Not when you know what it’s like to be seen as broken. Don’t you do that to him. Doesn’t matter how strange things might be. He’s still a human being.
And he was dying. She was going to die, too, but at least it was an eventuality she had prepared for. Eddie was just a kid. He had more hearts to break, more girls to play knight for. A life to live.
Rikki’s eyes stung. She pressed her mouth against his ear. “Hey, kid. Can you hear me?”
His eyelids fluttered and he mumbled something incoherent. Rikki could not help herself—she kissed his forehead, smoothing back his hair. Frankie had liked it when she did that.
Stop it. He’s not your brother.
But even so, Rikki could imagine Eddie filling that role and it hurt like hell. Two years spent fighting to avoid that kind of pain, and now…now she was being a fool all over again.
More rocks crunched. She tried to peer over the grass. Her elbow nudged Eddie—by accident—and he took that moment to wake up. Coughing.
The sound was horrible, loud. Not so far away, she heard a shout. Eddie froze, covering his mouth, then looked down. There was blood in his palm.
He looked at her, stricken, and Rikki pushed him back, reaching beneath him with her other hand for a gun. “We’ve got company. I want you to stay here, out of sight. Okay?”
“No,” he said, but there was no time to argue. She shoved him flat, using all her strength, and jumped to her feet in plain view of anyone who cared to be looking. And there were quite a few: men she had not seen before. Armed and staring.
Rikki ran, angling toward the river and the distant leading edge of the jungle, trying to draw the men away from Eddie. They shouted at her—one of them fired his gun into the air—but she slowed only enough to take a wild shot over her shoulder, which succeeded at nothing but making her stumble from the recoil and her frayed nerves. She caught her balance and kept running. She had to get far away, distract the men so much they wouldn’t think to look for Eddie.
Stay down,
she pleaded silently.
Kid, stay down.
But it was too much to ask. She heard him shout, followed by another gunshot and a scream—and turned in time to see a glimpse of fire. But that was all. Something large rammed into her back and she went down hard, cracking her chin on the ground. Hands grabbed her waist, hauling backward, reaching over her to grab the gun still in her hand.
Just like before.
Rikki went crazy. She twisted, screaming, using her elbows and legs, doing everything in her power to break free. Fingers dug into her scalp, but she rolled and scrambled backward, trying to plant her feet in the man’s gut. He was big, red-faced, familiar—the man from the airfield who had called her by name. His eyebrows were thick as a moustache, creeping up his forehead like some awful wiry mat, and his breath smelled rancid, like garlic and rotting meat—with somebody’s dirty crotch thrown into the mix.
His fingers crushed her gun hand. She bit back a cry and he grunted, eyes cold and angry, rearing back with his other fist, ready to slam it down into her face. Rikki steeled herself.
“Marco!” someone snapped. The man above her froze. He was breathing hard, almost shuddering with the effort not to land that blow. Rikki stared into his eyes, forcing herself to stay sharp. Ready.
“Marco,” said that other voice, quieter now, smooth. “Marco, her gun.”
Rikki tried not to let go, but the man dug his fingers into her nerves, and the pain was too much. He took the gun from her, and only then did he let go. She scrambled backward, breathless, trying to stand—
—and got an eyeful of nightmare. Eddie was crumpled on the ground, unconscious. A dart jutted from his shoulder. The metal reflected sunlight, making her eyes water. On either side of him stood two armed men dressed in black, big and husky with muscle, bristling with weapons. Blond. Hard eyes.
And in front of them, another man. Narrow, lean, with an angular face and short hair so pale it was almost white. He wore—of all things—a cream-colored suit and pale blue dress shirt, perfectly tailored and cut to his body. It was stained now, with sweat; his pants were covered in mud.
He turned slightly. Rikki saw a gun in his hand. Held with a delicate grip, finger on the trigger.
“Wild cat,” murmured the man, staring. “Little Regina Kinn. What a pleasure.”
Rikki bit down on her tongue. The man’s eyes were cold, the color of old bone, and just as lifeless. Dead eyes. Same as those old prison guards who had watched her every time she went to visit her father. Like she was nothing, bait. Rikki had hated that. And she hated it now.
She pointed at Eddie. “What did you do to him?”
He seemed amused by her question. “I disabled a weapon.”
“He’s a
boy.”
The men behind him stirred, glancing at each other. The man in the suit smiled thinly. “I’m afraid not. Not
just
a boy.”
Rikki swallowed hard. “Who are you?”
“A friend.”
“Bullshit. Give me a name.”
Again, that smile. “Call me Broker. Call me anything you like.”
“Motherfucker,” she said. “Get out of my face.”
His gaze flickered. Marco slung his arm around Rikki’s neck, jerking her against his chest. Her feet dangled off the ground. She began to choke. Broker moved close. He was all she could see. His eyes were cold, like ice. Not golden. Not warm.
“We will start first with you,” he said.