Page 73 of Soul on Fire
It was that fucking white man from the door, the one who’d challenged him. Majambu cursed and flattened himself to the wall beside the door in the office he was hiding in. He had to rest after crossing the parking lot. He’d nearly blacked out as he’d stumbled into the office, and he’d fallen to his hands and knees and vomited blood all over the floor. It stained his uniform jacket, and he’d taken it off, balled it up, and dropped it behind him. It was too hot for a fucking jacket.
“Capt—” The voice stopped outside the office door, boots squeaking to a halt in a stutter-step. “What the fuck…”
It had been too long since Majambu fed the darkness inside him. Bombs weren’t satisfying, not like squeezing the life out of someone with his bare hands. Watching their final moments, watching the emotions flicker in their eyes. Fear, panic, and pleading, a desperation to survive. Anguish and pain, so much of it he could taste their suffering. The seconds before death, when they truly struggled, Majambu savored those the most. The pinnacle of their fight for life up until the moment they knew they would not survive. It was orgasmic, seeing a person’s frantic scrambling shift to darkness, to death.
He waited as the man entered the room slowly, moving to the bloody vomit and Majmabu’s balled-up uniform jacket. Squatting, the sailor plucked the jacket from the crimson puddle with two fingers and shook it out until he could see the name.Price.
When he reached for his radio, Majambu lunged. He tackled the sailor, shoved his face down into the bloody vomit, and landed on his back. The man shouted, tried to bellow a warning, but Majambu slammed his forehead into the linoleum with a heavycrunchand the fight went out of his body. He slammed his head into the bloody linoleum again, and again, and then flipped him over.
Dazed eyeballs stared back at him, the man’s face covered in Majambu’s blood, spreading into his eyes, up his nose, over his lips, and inside his mouth. He tried to speak. Tried to reach for his radio or his sidearm holstered on his thigh.
Majambu grabbed both his arms and yanked, holding them over the sailor’s head in one fist. His body trembled, barely strong enough to hold on, but adrenaline pushed him forward. Adrenaline and his love of this moment, the way he hungered for these seconds. If he could have this, he could finish his mission, he knew it. He would have the strength again.
His other hand closed over the white man’s throat and squeezed.
* * *
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Ikolo bracedhimself against the wall outside the CIC. His head throbbed, a stabbing pain that knifed into his spine and burned behind his eyeballs. His throat was tight, and there was a slipperiness in his belly.
He had to quarantine himself. Now.
The others streamed out of the briefing with Admiral Mallory, racing in every direction to return to their duties. Admiral Ramirez, the base’s chief medical officer, was still speaking one-on-one with Admiral Mallory. The two women were discussing Ebola outbreak preparations. They hadn’t wanted to discuss the details in the main briefing and cause a panic.
When Admiral Ramirez came out, he would tell her he needed to quarantine himself. He would be the base’s first Ebola victim.
“There you are.” Elliot’s voice rolled over him like the bloom of night flowers under the forest canopy. He almost fell down, almost broke and sagged to the floor at the sound of Elliot’s voice. “What’s wrong?” Elliot’s hand landed on his sweat-soaked back. “Ikolo… What’s going on?”
Ikolo backed away from Elliot, putting inches and then feet between them. He kept his hands laced together, not touching anything. “I’m sick,” he whispered. “I’m infected.”
Elliot’s face went slack and his skin turned gray as Ikolo’s words slammed into him. He took a step back and then a step forward. “No.”
Ikolo nodded. “Are you— Do you feel any symptoms at all? All I can think about now is what if I have infected you?”
Elliot stormed across the hall and grabbed him in both hands. He pulled him close, cradled his skull in one of his wide, warm palms. “We’ll get you into sickbay right now. Doc Ramirez is good, she’s really fucking good. She’ll take care of you. We’ll beat this, Ikolo. We’ll get through this, I promise.”
He wanted to fall into Elliot’s conviction, let himself believe as hard as he’d ever believed in Elliot’s promise. But he’d managed Ebola wards in four outbreaks and he knew the odds. He knew what was coming.
Still, he couldn’t pull away from Elliot. One more touch. One more before he pulled away forever. He wrapped his arms around Elliot and held on, felt their bodies align, felt Elliot’s arms wrap around his waist and pull him even tighter. Elliot pushed his face into Ikolo’s neck and nuzzled his sweat-damp skin. “We’ll do this together,” he whispered. “Ipromise.”
When Elliot pulled back, Ikolo watched a single bloodred tear fall from the corner of his eye and slide down Elliot’s cheek.
Ikolo caught it with his finger and held it between them.
Elliot’s breath stuttered to a halt.
The tears had brought it out, brought it to the surface. Elliot’s sclera, the whites of his eyes, were tinged red and filling with blood.
Time moved in slow motion. He saw Elliot grab his hand and lace their fingers together. “I’m sorry,” Ikolo breathed. “Elliot, I’m sorry.” Elliot shook his head. He tried to say something, tried to breathe, but nothing came out. He closed his eyes—
Footsteps echoed down the hall as a man approached. Ikolo jerked, trying to pull away from Elliot. It was his instinct to hide his love for another man, conceal everything, always. Elliot held on to him like Ikolo was the only anchor in his entire world, his eyes still closed, his face a rictus of agony.
Ikolo looked up as the footsteps came closer, a shuffling squeak of boots rounding the corner.
Majambu, dressed in the same military fatigues half of the base wore, stumbled toward him.
Blood drenched his front, flowing from his mouth and down his chin, staining his olive green t-shirt. A river of blood had flowed down his uniform pants, turning them more burgundy and crimson than military green. His eyes were red orbs, burning like the sun as he stared Ikolo down.
