The screams increased in strength and duration. The child sobbed, begging for mercy. Jack cursed and jerked his head up, furious with himself, with his inability to ignore it. “You’re going to die here, Jack,” he whispered aloud. “Because you’re a damned fool.” It didn’t matter. He couldn’t let it go. The past was bile in his throat, the door in his mind creaking open, the screams growing louder in his head.
He leapt from the safety of his tree to another one, using the canopy to travel, relying on his skin and clothing to camouflage him. He moved fast, following Biyoya’s trail into the darkened interior. The ribbon of road flowed below him, hacked out of the thick vegetation, pitted, mined, and trampled. It looked more like a strip of mud than an actual road. He followed it, using the trees and vines, moving fast to catch up with the main body of soldiers.
He slipped into a tall tree right above the heads of the soldiers, settling in the foliage, lying flat along a branch. Somewhere behind him the sniper was coming, but Jack hadn’t left a trail on the ground, and he would be difficult to spot blending in as he did with the leaves and bark. A woman lay on the ground, clothes torn, a soldier bending over her, kicking at her as she cried helplessly. A small boy of about ten struggled against the men shoving him back and forth between them. There was terror in the child’s eyes.
There was no doubt in Jack’s mind that Biyoya had constructed a trap, but the woman and the child were innocent victims. No one could fake that kind of terror. He swore over and over in his mind, trying to force himself to walk away. His first duty was to escape, but this—he couldn’t leave the woman and child in the hands of a master torturer. He forced his mind to slow down to block out the cries and pleas.
Biyoya was the target and Jack had to find his place of concealment. Jack inhaled sharply, relying on his enhanced sense of smell. If his nose was right—and it nearly always was—the major crouched behind the jeep just to the left of the woman and boy, behind a wall of soldiers. Jack circled around and lifted his rifle, taking the bead on Biyoya, knowing the soldiers would be able to pinpoint his trajectory.
The bullet took Biyoya behind the neck. Even as he fell, Jack switched his target to the man kicking the woman and fired a second round. Calmly, he let go of the sniper rifle and took up the assault weapon, laying down a covering fire to give the woman and child a chance to escape. The soldiers fired back, bullets smacking into the trees around him. Jack knew they couldn’t see him, but the muzzle flash and smoke were a dead giveaway. The woman caught her child to her and took off into the rain forest. Jack gave them as long a lead as he dared before moving, sliding back into heavier foliage and leaping up through the branches to use the canopy as a highway.
Ekabela was not going to let this go. Jack would have every rebel in the Congo chasing him all the way to Kinshasa.
CHAPTER 2
Briony Jenkins huddled in the darkest corner of the room, hands over her ears, eyes tightly closed, desperate to shut out the assault of thousands of people and their suffering. It had been such a mistake to take the job. She’d tried to tell Jebediah she couldn’t do it, but it meant so much to the family—so much money the circus needed to stay solvent. How in the world was she ever going to perform? She could barely see with the pain shattering her head and with spots dancing in front of her eyes. There was no medicine she could take, no relief from the suffering and violence in this place.
“Briony?” Jebediah crouched beside her.
She shook her head, pressing her hands tighter over her ears, as if that would keep the thoughts and emotions from flooding her mind. “I told you I couldn’t come to a place like this. I’m going to be sick again.” She couldn’t look at him, didn’t dare open her eyes and see light. Her body shook uncontrollably, and tiny beads of sweat trickled down her face. “I’m getting another nosebleed.”
Jebediah ran cold water on a cloth and handed it to his younger sister. “I had no idea it would be this bad. I thought you were doing all those exercises to help shield you from whatever it is that causes this.”
Briony bit back her retort, clamping down hard on her temper. She was on psychic overload and it wouldn’t help to get angry with Jebediah. Sure, her brothers and the other members of the circus had pressured her to come, but she could have refused. She should have refused. And she had told him it would be this bad. Jebediah and the others had simply chosen not to listen, because it wasn’t in their best interests. She pressed her lips together and tried to breathe away the pain. Jebediah might as well have been stabbing ice picks through her head, but it wasn’t his fault. He had no idea what psychic overload actually was—or felt like.
She remembered the many times her parents had tried in vain to comfort her when she huddled in a ball in a corner of a dark room and rocked herself back and forth, trying to ease the pain in her head. At times she could hear them discussing whether or not she had some form of autism. She needed to be alone. She didn’t like close physical contact. They were so hurt by her behavior. Shattered. She still woke up with her mother’s sobs ringing in her ears, and her voice asking why didn’t Briony love them? Briony adored them; she just couldn’t get too close without terrible repercussions, and there was no way to make them understand that the pain was real, not psychological.
She knew exactly how this scenario would play out. She’d gone through it a million times. “This is Africa, Jeb,” she reminded him, “a country rampant with suffering. There’s AIDS and death and rape and loss and it’s swamping me.”
His mouth tightened. He didn’t like her to bring up anything even hinting of psychic overload. He didn’t believe in it and, like her parents, thought it was a form of autism. He wanted her to fight through it and succeed in being “normal.” “Can you stop the nosebleed?” He glanced at his watch. “I need you to be able to perform, Briony.”
She wanted to throw something at him. “You say that before every performance and I always manage to make it. Go away, Jebediah. I need to be alone.”
Her other brothers pressed closer. Tyrel, as always, looked sympathetic, Seth angry, and Ruben disgusted. Ruben always chose to bully her, thinking that would somehow make her shape up. Seth yelled at her, and Tyrel eventually would get annoyed with both of them and run them off. The ritual had been going on as long as she could remember, and not once had any of them understood that she couldn’t help what was happening to her and that their presence, with their intense emotions, only made it worse.
“There’s a rumor going around that the rebel leader’s troops have been pouring into the city looking for someone,” Tyrel said. “That’s not a good sign, Jeb. You know they’re going to look at all foreigners.”
Jebediah swore. “If the rebel troops are coming into the city, the soldiers are going to be very nervous and trigger-happy. Why would they come into the city armed and ready for trouble?”
“Hell, I don’t understand any of the politics here,” Seth replied. “Everyone hates everyone and they want everyone else dead.”
No one had to tell that to Briony. The heightened tension in the streets increased her inability to function. There was poverty and sickness and so many tragedies she wanted to crawl into a hole and muffle out all emotion, sound, and thought.
“Your skin is changing color again, Briony,” Ruben said impatiently. “I told you to watch that around people.”
“We aren’t people; we’re her family,” Tyrel pointed out. “Leave her alone.”
Ruben persisted. “Well, how can she do that? Like some lizard or something.”
Briony sighed, pushing her pounding head into her hand. It felt like someone was hammering nails into her skull, but there was no pointing that out to anyone. The show had to go on—and Briony always, always, came through. It was a matter of pride with her. She was a Jenkins and whatever they did, she could do—and would do.
“Anyone could walk in here,” Ruben defended.
“I locked the door,” Seth said. “Snap out of it, Bri. I’m not kidding around with
you. You’re too old for panic attacks.”
Briony had had enough. They had ten minutes until they were on, and if her brothers didn’t leave, she wouldn’t be able to pull herself together. “Get out.” She bit the words out between her teeth, glaring at them.
Her four brothers looked startled. It was the first time she had ever interrupted the ritual. They were big men, muscular and well built with dark hair and piercing blue eyes. She had wheat and platinum hair, dark, chocolate brown eyes, and was about five foot two. She looked nothing like them, and certainly didn’t have their adventurous personalities—although she wished she did. She never really sassed them, although she considered herself pushed around a bit by them. At once all their faces dropped.
Ruben crouched down beside her. “I didn’t mean to upset you, Briony. We can work it without you if you can’t make it this time. It won’t be easy, and you know the crowd isn’t going to like it, but if you can’t pull yourself together this time… ”
Seth sucked in his breath. “Yeah, I could maybe take your spot, honey. Why don’t you try to go to bed? Maybe you’ll feel better in the morning.”
“We can call for a doctor,” Tyrel offered. “Your doctor has always flown out within an hour of a call.”
Briony would have laughed if her head wasn’t splitting apart. “I’ve never missed a performance. Just give me a little alone time and I’ll be fine.”
Jebediah waved the others out of the room and sank down beside her, reaching out a hand to push back her thick mop of blond hair. “We need you, honey, I won’t lie to you, but I’ll call the doc if you think you’re going to need him. We have several performances to do, and if the rebels are really sneaking into the city, the emotions are only going to get worse.”
It was such a concession for Jebediah to admit that anything would make her condition worse. “I don’t like the doctor.” Briony rubbed her hand over her face. “He stares at me like I’m an insect under a microscope. There’s something not right about him.”
Jebediah sighed and sank back on his heels. “You’re being paranoid again.”
“Am I? Why is it the rest of you can go to any doctor you choose, but I have to have a specific doctor, one that flies halfway around the world to treat me?”
“Because you’re special and Mom and Dad promised. I keep their promises and so should you.”
“I’m all grown up.” When he didn’t respond, she let her breath out slowly. “I’m serious, Jeb, just give me some space. I can beat this.” She wasn’t certain this time. It was the worst she’d ever been, other than when she was a child, unable to cope with or understand what was happening to her. Feeling desperate, Briony closed her eyes and began to breathe slowly and evenly, looking for that calm, tranquil spot inside of herself.
She was barely aware of her oldest brother leaving, concentrating instead on putting away the emotions of the people in the city, of the soldiers and their guns and dark deeds, of the hatred and fear battering at her mind. Once she was calm enough, she dealt with the ever-present fear of high places. If there was one person in the world who shouldn’t be doing trapeze or high-wire acts, it was Briony.
“Let’s do it,” Seth called from outside the door.
Briony stood, looked in the mirror to make certain there was no blood on her face and that she could manage a high-wattage smile, and then ran out to join her brothers. The audience had swelled to immense proportions. She didn’t look at them, concentrating on the beat of the music. They used a blend of popular African and Cuban music to do their performance, a dangerous trapeze act.
Briony completed a quadruple somersault; Jebediah caught her and sent her flying out toward the taut high wire, where she was caught by Tyrel and swung up onto the wire. Seth and Ruben continued the flying act while she ran across the wire without a pole, and as Ruben flew back toward Seth, she crossed him in the air, diving to Jebediah through a ring of fire Tyrel held. It was a wild, frightening act, done with exact precision and timing, and at least two of them flying in the air at all times.
No one knew why Briony had such incredible balance or strength, but to the act, it was a huge boon, drawing thousands to their performances. It helped that her brothers were handsome and incredible athletes. No one had an act like theirs, as daring and complicated and showy. Briony thought the hip-hop beat and the drums only added to the excitement of the show. Adrenaline poured through her body as she flew through the sky, concentrating on her mark, listening for her brother’s command. He caught her and sent her spinning back through the air. She tucked and jackknifed, turning as she came out of it, to reach with her hands and connect with Tyrel.
The applause was accompanied by a roar of approval. The audience stomped their feet and called for more. Briony waved and smiled when Tyrel squeezed her arm, and she dove from the wire, arms outstretched as if she could really fly, doing a slow motion, graceful somersault, coming under Ruben. He was doing the exact same sequence over the top of her as they exchanged places. Briony and Ruben waved again to the roaring crowd and caught a rope to slide down, coming together, hand in hand, to bow. They waited for their brothers to join them, all of them taking a final bow together.
The wild music and adrenaline rush had helped to keep the crushing emotions at bay, but as she stood in the spotlight, she felt the impact like a physical blow. She stumbled, forcing her smile to remain in place as the pain crushed her head in a vise and twisted hard knots in her stomach. Thousands of people were around her, all giving off waves of emotions. Everything from elation to the deepest despair. She could feel the tension, see the men moving through the crowd with guns, occasionally shoving a hapless individual, faces grim, no caring in their eyes. Her eyesight had always been phenomenal. She had the ability to see a mouse moving on the forest floor, and she could easily see and feel the fear of the women as they gathered closer, trying not to be noticed by the soldiers.
As soon as she left the center ring, Briony raced for the bathroom and threw up what little she’d managed to get down earlier. She changed quickly from her skimpy, sparkly costume into a dark pair of jeans and a top. She could hear her brothers, laughing, excited, heading to the clubs to check out the nightlife. Kinshasa was reputed to have numerous nightclubs, and many people, in spite of the turbulent problems in the outlying areas, chose to travel there for the clubs.
“You okay, Bri?” Tyrel called out. “You want me to stay with you?”
“No, of course not, I’m fine,” she called back. “You have a good time, but be careful.”
“Lock the doors after us,” Jebediah instructed.
“Will do.” She wasn’t going to stay in the room and suffocate. She knew the Congo River was close. The rain forest would be still and quiet, at least away from people. She would be able to breathe again, but she knew better than to let her brothers know she was heading out. They’d lose their minds.
Briony had utter faith in her ability to blend into the night. She could do extraordinary things—things even her brothers didn’t know about. She’d had rigorous training only her parents—and perhaps Jebediah—were aware of. She just had to make it through the city without being detected and get into the sanctuary of the rain forest.
She tied a scarf around her neck and added a hat to cover the mop of blond hair. She could change her skin color, something her brothers found repulsive. It had started sometime around her sixteenth birthday, right after she’d been hospitalized for some strange thing the doctors said she had. It had taken awhile to learn to control it. The shading sometimes happened when she was upset or angry, but she could bring it on at will, matching her surroundings so she seemed to disappear.
She hesitated just inside the door. She was afraid to face the onslaught of raw emotions. Walking through the streets, knowing she would be subjected to the intense emotions of the people, was a nightmare, but if she didn’t go and find a refuge, she wouldn’t make it through the next few days, and her brothers needed her to perform.
Brio
ny squared her shoulders and stepped out. She had studied the map of the streets and knew exactly where she was going. She was also certain she could fight off or outrun any attacker, so she strode with purpose, all senses alert to trouble, but walking briskly through the streets back toward the Congo River and the rain forest.
Why was she so different? Why was she able to read thoughts and emotions if she were touching someone and feel them if she was near? Her parents had insisted on a rigorous, almost military training, very physical, for as long as she could remember, yet when her mother held her, she felt fear mixed with love. Did her mother fear her strange abilities? And if so, why had she insisted Briony develop them, yet keep them secret? Secrets kept her apart from her brothers and the other performers around her. Secrets and her extraordinary differences. She detested those differences.
The streets were crowded, people everywhere, still late at night, many already preying on the night population, easy marks with too much drink and drugs. The smell of marijuana hit her hard. She was very sensitive to scents, had always been able to identify people and animals in near proximity to her before anyone else, and now the unwashed mingling with the overperfumed made her queasy.
She made it through the streets without incident and followed the river into the rain forest, where she picked up her pace, jogging easily along a winding path that led to a deep stream feeding the river. She kept going along the stream, seeking a refuge, a place where she could curl up and just breathe in peace.
It was hot and humid in the forest. She stopped to wade into the water and stood there listening to the sounds of insects, the flutter of wings, and the movement of creatures through the trees. For the first time in days, she felt the tension ebbing away.
Briony dipped the scarf in the cold water and pressed it to the nape of her neck. Desperate for relief, she waded deeper into the small stream. Her brothers were going to kill her for disappearing, but she wasn’t going to survive the next few days if she didn’t find somewhere to get away from the suffering. Whatever she’d learned about shields didn’t work in Africa. There were too many people, too close, and far too much suffering.
GhostWalkers 4 - Conspiracy Game Page 3
