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than good at that. It made for a bad combination.
Briony glanced up at the man leaning more and more of his weight on her. He was swearing over and over under his breath. Sheer will kept him on his feet. “Do you need to rest?”
He didn’t answer, but kept walking. They made it back to the stream, and Briony stopped him, sitting him on a fallen tree trunk. It was a measure of how far gone he was that he didn’t protest when she helped him to sit. Her bizarre childhood training was suddenly an asset. Somewhere close by she sensed several men. She waited as long as she could, giving Jack a chance to rest before dragging him up again and setting off toward Kinshasa. She had to skirt around groups of soldiers hunting in the forest. Each time, their scent gave them away before she ever came close to them.
Once inside the city itself, she hoped they looked as if they’d been drinking. It was difficult to hide the sniper rifle and he wouldn’t release it to leave behind, so she kept it locked between them, hoping their bodies hid it from anyone who might spot them. She chose the deserted streets and alleyways as she made her way with him back to her room.
“A few more steps, Jack,” she said encouragingly. The man must have a will of absolute iron to keep going. He never faltered, stoically walking in spite of the raging fever. His body was hot and dry, desperate for something to drink.
She kept to the shadows, skirting around the pockets of people they encountered. She avoided all contact with the soldiers on the corners, careful not to draw their attention. Once they were in the alley beneath the window of her room, she leaned Jack against the wall.
“I’m going up to open the window. Do you think you can make the jump?”
Jack slid down the wall to sit on the ground. He nodded, but didn’t look at her. Briony wasn’t so certain. She crouched and made the leap, catching the windowsill by her fingers.
She drew herself up onto the narrow ledge and pushed open the window.
Jack. She was afraid to call out to him, all too aware of the soldiers and the possibility that the rebels had followed them into the city. Can you make it?
He didn’t answer. Briony put one hand on the sill and leapt back down to the ground, landing lightly on her feet beside him. She put her hand on his shoulder. “I’ll take the rifle.”
She reached for it.
Jack came alive, jerking back, his movement graceful and smooth, practiced, sliding away from her, coming to his feet, the rifle coming up. He shook his head. “Sorry. I’ll keep it. It belongs to my brother.” He sagged back against the wall. “Where the hell are we?”
“My room is right up there, Jack. Can you make the jump? I don’t want to bring you through the hall where someone might see you. This is safer for both of us.” Safer for her brothers as well. She still had lingering fears that Jack might be in Kinshasa for reasons to do with her oldest brother.
Jack wiped sweat from his face. “I think so.” But he didn’t move. He closed his eyes, allowing the rifle to hang by the sling around his neck, his hands dropping to his sides as if his arms were too heavy.
Briony heard a slight noise and turned to see a soldier entering the alleyway. She clenched her teeth. This had to be the night from hell. They were never going to get into the safety of her room at this rate, and how could she possibly keep the soldier from seeing Jack’s tortured body or the gun slung around his neck?
Desperate, Briony shoved Jack against the wall, her arms sliding around his neck. She leaned her body into his and lifted her mouth. The darkness surrounded them, enfolded them, so they became a shadowy silhouette the soldier could barely make out. She heard his footsteps approaching. If he saw the rifle now hidden between them, or saw the condition Jack was in, they were both in terrible trouble.
Jack. She whispered his name intimately, needing to rouse him, to make him more aware of
Briony glanced up at the man leaning more and more of his weight on her. He was swearing over and over under his breath. Sheer will kept him on his feet. “Do you need to rest?”
He didn’t answer, but kept walking. They made it back to the stream, and Briony stopped him, sitting him on a fallen tree trunk. It was a measure of how far gone he was that he didn’t protest when she helped him to sit. Her bizarre childhood training was suddenly an asset. Somewhere close by she sensed several men. She waited as long as she could, giving Jack a chance to rest before dragging him up again and setting off toward Kinshasa. She had to skirt around groups of soldiers hunting in the forest. Each time, their scent gave them away before she ever came close to them.
Once inside the city itself, she hoped they looked as if they’d been drinking. It was difficult to hide the sniper rifle and he wouldn’t release it to leave behind, so she kept it locked between them, hoping their bodies hid it from anyone who might spot them. She chose the deserted streets and alleyways as she made her way with him back to her room.
“A few more steps, Jack,” she said encouragingly. The man must have a will of absolute iron to keep going. He never faltered, stoically walking in spite of the raging fever. His body was hot and dry, desperate for something to drink.
She kept to the shadows, skirting around the pockets of people they encountered. She avoided all contact with the soldiers on the corners, careful not to draw their attention. Once they were in the alley beneath the window of her room, she leaned Jack against the wall.
“I’m going up to open the window. Do you think you can make the jump?”
Jack slid down the wall to sit on the ground. He nodded, but didn’t look at her. Briony wasn’t so certain. She crouched and made the leap, catching the windowsill by her fingers.
She drew herself up onto the narrow ledge and pushed open the window.
Jack. She was afraid to call out to him, all too aware of the soldiers and the possibility that the rebels had followed them into the city. Can you make it?
He didn’t answer. Briony put one hand on the sill and leapt back down to the ground, landing lightly on her feet beside him. She put her hand on his shoulder. “I’ll take the rifle.”
She reached for it.
Jack came alive, jerking back, his movement graceful and smooth, practiced, sliding away from her, coming to his feet, the rifle coming up. He shook his head. “Sorry. I’ll keep it. It belongs to my brother.” He sagged back against the wall. “Where the hell are we?”
“My room is right up there, Jack. Can you make the jump? I don’t want to bring you through the hall where someone might see you. This is safer for both of us.” Safer for her brothers as well. She still had lingering fears that Jack might be in Kinshasa for reasons to do with her oldest brother.
Jack wiped sweat from his face. “I think so.” But he didn’t move. He closed his eyes, allowing the rifle to hang by the sling around his neck, his hands dropping to his sides as if his arms were too heavy.
Briony heard a slight noise and turned to see a soldier entering the alleyway. She clenched her teeth. This had to be the night from hell. They were never going to get into the safety of her room at this rate, and how could she possibly keep the soldier from seeing Jack’s tortured body or the gun slung around his neck?
Desperate, Briony shoved Jack against the wall, her arms sliding around his neck. She leaned her body into his and lifted her mouth. The darkness surrounded them, enfolded them, so they became a shadowy silhouette the soldier could barely make out. She heard his footsteps approaching. If he saw the rifle now hidden between them, or saw the condition Jack was in, they were both in terrible trouble.
Jack. She whispered his name intimately, needing to rouse him, to make him more aware of
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