29
1008 Words
“Because the more time I spend with your woman, the less I want to give her back.”
The connection drops, and he’s gone.
I sit frozen for a moment, listening to dead air, my nervous system rapidly shutting down until my body feels as cold and immobile as an iceberg. I can’t think clearly. I can’t form words. The only thing I’m conscious of is the primal, almost violent need to see Eva’s face.
I have to get to her.
I have to get to her now.
“Nasir. What happened?”
I turn and look at Connor. His black eyes glint in the dim interior of the Mercedes, reflecting moonlight spilling through the windshield. My voice comes eerily calm and hollow.
“You have any pull with the Canadian Armed Forces?”
“Yeah. Got plenty of contacts who can arrange whatever I need for an op on Canadian soil. Why?”
“Because we need a long-range cargo plane and a parachute rig. By the time I get to the nearest air base and get geared up, there should be another satellite within range of the Silver Shadow so we can pinpoint their exact location. I’m gonna jump in.”
“Who’s Killian? What’d he say?”
“Enough for me to know that if we don’t get Eva back soon, we’re not getting her back at all.”
I face forward and stare out the windshield, seeing nothing, everything inside me the darkest shade of black. Then I throw open the passenger door.
“Move over. I’m driving.”
TWELVE
EVA
I’m dreaming. Fevered, delirious dreams of running through streets that are deserted and on fire, the soles of my feet blistering from the heat. Firestorms rage all around me, the flames so hot they create their own winds.
I run as fast as I can, my clothes smoking, my lungs burning, hot ashes landing like scalding rain on my skin. But there’s nowhere I can escape to. There’s no safe quarter for me and there never will be, because this is hell.
I hear the low drone of conversation somewhere behind me, but I don’t turn to look. I just keep on running as my skin starts to turn black and peel off my body.
“How long has she been like this?”
“Since I called you. She’s getting worse.”
A cool touch on my wrist. A thumb pressing down, seeking my pulse, finding it. An electronic beep near my ear.
“Well?”
“She has a weak, rapid pulse and a dangerously elevated temperature. Any vomiting or diarrhea?”
“Yes to the first, no to the second.”
“Dizziness? Fainting?”
“I don’t know.”
“Allergies?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, something nasty’s causing that rash.”
“What is it?”
“Could be anything from an allergic reaction to an infection to a bad flu. Or a hundred other things. There’s no way to tell without running tests. I’ll leave you with a broad-spectrum antibiotic and general care instructions.”
“No. She needs proper medical attention.”
“You’re not suggesting . . .”
“I’m suggesting we get her on a helicopter and head to a hospital.”
“Hospital! You could compromise the entire operation!”
“If you don’t shut up and get out of my way, I’ll compromise the shape of your skull.”
I’m being moved. Lifted by a pair of massive arms that cradle me close and shush me when I whimper. I must not be dreaming anymore because the fire is extinguished, doused by the sudden freezing slap of salty wind on my skin.
“Easy, bhrèagha. I’ve got you.”
I’m laid on something cold and hard. My limbs are gently rearranged. A heavy blanket is placed over me. I don’t have the strength to open my eyes, and I barely have the strength to care what’s happening to me.
Except . . .
“Naz,” I whisper through cracked lips.
A warm, rough hand wraps around my ankle and squeezes. “I took care of it. Dimitri knows you’re with me.” Then the voice commands to someone else, “Let’s move!”
A stomach-lurching weightlessness and a deafening roar of engines make me wince and curl, shuddering. Everything hurts, especially my heart, which feels as if it’s breaking. Every beat is accompanied by stabbing pain. Then the world fades to black.
The last thing I remember is the feel of that warm, comforting hand on my skin.
An hour or a day or a hundred years later, I hear murmuring voices.
“It’s endocarditis.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“It’s an infection of the inner lining of the heart chambers and valves that’s spread through the bloodstream. We typically only see this with patients who have underlying heart problems or previous damage to the heart muscles.”
“Is it bad?”
“It’s not good. If not treated quickly, it can destroy the valves and lead to life-threatening complications.”
“What’s the treatment?”
“For now, IV antibiotics. Once we see how she responds and what the extent of the damage is, we’ll decide if further intervention is required.”
“Such as?”
“Surgery. We’re also looking at possible complications including stroke, seizure, embolism—”
“How soon can she be moved?”
“Moved? She can’t be moved. She’ll need to be hospitalized for several weeks, at least!”
“You’ve got twelve hours. If she’s not stabilized and on her way to perfect health by then, I’ll put a bullet in your brain.”
“Don’t threaten me. And it would take a miracle for this woman to be well enough to leave in twelve hours.”
The voice I recognize as Killian’s says darkly, “Better start praying, then, Doc. Because even a miracle won’t save you if she isn’t.”
- Writer
