Noble Hearts (Wild Hearts Romance Book 3)

by Phoenix Sullivan

  The woman plunged to her knees, her wails redoubled with grief and fear.

  Gus whimpered and Jengo whirled and wrapped his arms around my neck.

  The shock that reverberated along the line of waiting cars was palpable. A door clicked open, closing rapidly when a soldier pointed his rifle that way. The growl of straining engines seemed to grow louder and louder...

  “Look!” Kayla pointed back to the southwest where a squadron of low-flying helicopters thwocked our way.

  “Reinforcements?”

  A welcome rat-a-tat of automatic gun fire said otherwise.

  “They’re not rescue, either,” Kayla was quick to point out. With a flick, she cut the engine, then reached behind to the jumpseat where we’d stocked our bug-out supplies—bottles, formula, food, cash, deeds, jewelry, rifles and ammo.

  We grabbed a backpack and rifle each as the helicopters swooped in and the gun mounts on the jeeps erupted in automatic fire.

  “We have to move. Now!” Kayla shouted above the gunfire and the storm.

  Other occupants up and down the line had the same idea as men, women and children swarmed from their vehicles. We could lose ourselves in the sudden chaos and be safe.

  Could…if it weren’t for certain four-legged responsibilities we had to make a decision about now.

  No. I was the only one who had to make that decision. Kayla was already scrambling out her door and around to the back of the van with a firm, “Stay close,” command thrown over her shoulder to the Rottweiler following on her heels.

  The gorilla baby screeched his loud desire to follow them, then suddenly his face was in mine, wide, dark eyes pleading and pouting lips anxious. In that moment, I understood completely what drove Kayla. The face staring back at me was no less vibrant, no less alive, no less deserving of my help than any human child. There was no decision to be made here. There was only follow-through to be done.

  Scooping Jengo close till he clung to me on his own, I grabbed my backpack, ammo and rifle and headed for the back to join Kayla.

  The cargo doors were already swinging open when I got there. The van’s springs were old, the lip of the cargo floor low, no more than thigh-high. Inside, the youngsters shivered with fright, huddled up against the hay bales.

  “Come along, watoto,” Kayla encouraged.

  A jeep’s gas tank exploded up the line, and Tamu and Nyota renewed their cowering. I swung into the back with them, urgently and firmly herding them toward the open doorway. The long-legged okapi, surely part gazelle, took the leap first. Whether or not she would have fled in panic was moot when Gus shouldered into her to block her running.

  With the SUV behind us too close to consider putting the ramp in place, our short-legged rhino was going to have to make the leap of faith on her own as well, with encouragement from Kayla and me.

  “Go on girl, fly!” I kneed her rump firmly from behind while Kayla tugged her shoulders from the front.

  With a decidedly un-gazelle-like leap, Tamu half-jumped, half-fell out of the van with Kayla taking part of her weight to steady her landing and protect her legs and knees. The rhino’s short, thin tail swished rapidly, probably in fear but I wanted to believe it was out of pride for her accomplishment.

  Out of all the necessities we’d so carefully packed into the back of the van, I grabbed a length of rope before jumping out. Most of the other occupants who had fled their vehicles were already out of sight, swallowed up by the rain and jungle. Further down the line, away from the fighting, some of the vehicles were turning back for Hasa and making a run for it. Cars and panic, however, were never a good mix. Horns blared and the distinct bam-bam-bam and crunch of numerous vehicles colliding behind us rivaled the crack of rifles and thunder of helicopters ahead.

  I froze. Casualties from soldiers fighting was one thing—especially if those soldiers meant harm to me and mine. Accident victims, though, that was another thing altogether.

  Kayla saw me hesitate as I stared behind us. “Bumper cars,” she said. “No one’s going fast enough back there to get more than a bruise. As for the rest, they’ll either get away or be stuck like us. There’s nothing you can do about that either way. We’re getting out of here.” And by we she meant her strays and her. “I want you with us. I need you with us. But you have to make the decision now.” She held out her arms, the rifle in its sling swaying awkwardly at her side. Gus was still keeping the rhino and okapi herded together but as fidgety as they were, it was clear they could bolt at any time.

  Almost overhead an engine exploded and, trailing a plume of black smoke, one of the helicopters fell from the sky, breaking apart on impact to cheers from the Red soldiers on the ground.

  That moment, more than any other, galvanized me, made me realize we weren’t necessarily going to be saved by the cavalry flying in like some last-minute deus-ex-machina. We had to get as far the hell away from here as we could as fast as we could.

  Kayla’s reaching arms could have meant a lot of things. For half a second I imagined them imploring me into them, to wrap ourselves together as defense against the world. A nice fantasy, but what she actually wanted was for me to hand over Jengo if I decided to stay and let myself be captured and pressed into service—or be held a hostage to ransom for American dollars.

  Kayla was right; there was little I could do here as a doctor without the tools of my trade. And my status as a doctor and an American was a liability here, not an asset. Clutching Jengo close, I shook my head, my decision made. “I’m coming with you.” She wanted me, needed me.

  More, I wanted her, needed her.

  The little gorilla brushed the back of his hand against my cheek.

  Needed this.

  CHAPTER 28

  MARK

  We ran.

  Or rather we slogged quickly through the mud and undergrowth with branches and vines slapping us in our faces and roots and deadfall tripping us up as we fled.

  Well, tripping Kayla and me up—even the rhino was remarkably agile in the jungle. And more me than Kayla, if I left my ego out of it. In fact, Jengo got so disgusted with my clumsy attempt at running, he threw himself out of my arms and knuckle-ran alongside me, presumably to show me how it was done.

  The rhino and okapi amazed me yet again, following Kayla along as obediently as ducklings without need of my rope or Gus’s encouragement.

  “My biggest worry,” I panted at Kayla, “was keeping the beasties close enough to handle. Looks like you’ve got that under control.”

  “Nature won’t let them get too far away,” Kayla said, and I wondered where the strain from exercise in her voice was. “They’re imprinted.”

  Was that why I was following her too? Was that why it hurt to think of not following her? Had I imprinted on her?

  It might not have been good time we were making in the rainforest, but we were putting distance between ourselves and the sound of battle dissipating behind us. I thought we would surely run into other refugees, but it was a wide jungle and there was no single destination in this direction toward which we were all heading.

  “I bet most folk are turning back south to Hasa,” I said when we’d dropped back to a walk after what felt like 20 miles but in reality was probably not even one. It was still raining—we could hear the beat of the rain on the forest canopy above, but the leaves were thick enough and the rain light enough it felt more like a drizzle here at ground level. “Do we have some sort of plan now?”

  The dark eyes Kayla turned on me were raw and bruised. Because she was so strong otherwise, it was easy to forget how vulnerable she could be too. Twice now she had driven or walked away from the things in her life that kept her grounded, not knowing if she’d ever see them again or return to the life she and her parents and their parents had made for her. Somehow, I’d get back to my home in the States. I might be captured and ransomed first, and it might be weeks ahead, but the monthly draft from my bank account assured my apartment and all my belongings would still be there when I returned.
And even if not, my parents would be there to welcome me in. My roots would not be lost.

  Yet here I was expecting answers, decisions, leadership from a woman who was still reeling from her parents’ deaths, from the impending death of a friend, from being abandoned by everyone else she depended on, and from having to abandon her home and memories. Where was the line between respect for equality and the mercy of sharing a heavy burden? I was more than willing to step up to the line and be a man, but society and the woman I mostly knew kept moving that line and redefining it until I had lost complete sight of it.

  “Uganda.” I didn’t know I had said it until I heard the word strong in my own ears. “Across the Mountains of the Moon.” We’d talked about it before, and we were already heading east, so why not? “Every other border will be watched. But who would be crazy enough to cross the mountains in this weather and as unprepared as we are?”

  Just to our north. A helicopter thwocked low and slow over the forest canopy. “Reds or Yellows?” I asked, expecting that shake of Kayla’s head. “If we can’t tell friend from foe until they’re on top of us, then out best course is to not let anyone get on top.”

  “Why would you think just because the incumbent party aren’t the enemy that makes them our friends? If it comes to civil war, both sides will need property, money and recruits. We’ll all be pawns. No one will be safe.”

  “If it comes to civil war…” I repeated.

  “Ushindi will be lost to the DRC. The Congo is too old, too powerful, too practiced as a militant country. It will swallow up a divided Ushindi as easily as a lion swallows up a tiny hyrax. If we are found, it won’t matter which side finds us.”

  “Then let’s not be found. Not till we’re over the mountains and safe in Uganda.” I tried not to think about the trial ahead making it across 50 or 60 miles of rainforested mountains—jungle, really—when another thought struck. “Uganda is still safe?”

  Kayla shrugged—not in a brusque who knows and who cares kind of way, but in a small who knows but what can we do about it way. “Safer than here, I would think. They’re not going to get into a war with the DRC. Not over Ushindi and its refugees. But you’re American. That will get you amnesty.”

  “What about you?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never been a Ushindi refugee in Uganda before.”

  I deserved the sharp look and the sharp tone. It was like asking me what the United States would do with the refugees if the rest of Mexico invaded Baja California. How the hell would I know what policies might be implemented and whether the refugees would be granted political asylum and be welcomed with open arms, or be classified as potential unfriendlies and be deported right back to Mexico to be dealt with by the Mexican government.

  “Safer it is then.” I kept my tone neutral by way of apology.

  “We just have to survive a week in the jungle,” Kayla pointed out, “cross over the third highest mountain range in Africa, then find Kasese without a map or GPS on the other side. That is, if we can avoid the leopards and poisonous snakes and climbing too high into the cold for the clothes we have along the way. None of which will matter, of course, if we contract the Subs virus first.”

  Safer, it seemed, had a whole different translation in Africa.

  CHAPTER 29

  KAYLA

  We trudged for hours under the unrelenting rain and through the unforgiving forest. Wet and miserable as it was—as we were—there could be no stopping, not until we put as many kilometers as possible between us and the faceless, armbanded them.

  “Look out!”

  Mark hauled me back hard from the downed tree trunk I was halfway scrambled over. My first instinct was to go low and freeze in his arms, my eyes wide for signs of danger.

  “What is it?” My voice was frantic—the animals weren’t alerting to anything wrong, but if they were in danger—

  The hands on my shoulders relaxed their grip. Mark’s sharp laugh echoed with the strain we were all feeling. “Nothing. A vine. I swore it was a snake.”

  “Snakes aren’t going to be out in the open hunting in this rain. They don’t have the metabolism for it.”

  “You could tell me that all day and my brain would agree with you. Heartily. But then I’d see another vine snaking around a tree trunk like that and I’d still react as if it were a live snake. I’m human. We’re hard-wired to panic first, think later.”

  “I’d be thanking you hard right now if it had been a mamba or a bush viper. So”—I kissed him, full hard on the lips—“that’s for not thinking first.”

  “Mmm. I think I’m going to panic more often.”

  Always wanting to be in on the action when Mark and I touched, Jengo hugged our legs. Wet fur and soulful eyes told me he’d rather be in his dry bedroom at Zahur. Failing that, being wherever we were was the next best thing. “Me too, mtoto,” I whispered his way.

  As I stepped away from Mark, I was once more hauled abruptly back. It took a moment to sort that our rifle slings had tangled.

  “See, you just can’t get away from me,” Mark quipped.

  I snickered, as much from frayed nerves as from the situation.

  The distant drone of a helicopter reminded us why we were out here in the first place. My cheeks fell flat as my nervous laugh died. With a sigh, I clambered over the fallen tree trunk, Mark right behind me, and we marched another hour due east according to the tiny compass built into the hilt of my hunting knife.

  As the gray day turned grayer, we began searching for a campsite, settling on piling some branches around a towering kapok tree with one of the more impressive wrinkled and fluted trunks in the neighborhood. Several saplings and shrubs within a few meters of the camp meant Tamu and Nyota would have good browse nearby. The rain ensured plenty of small flooded streams with fast-moving water, much of it runoff from the rains. Not the most ideal for drinking, but part of the emergency kit Mark carried in his backpack included chlorine dioxide drops to chemically sterilize the water for sensitive human systems. How the animals all managed to not get sick from any of the water they drank was beyond me. With all the perils in the wild, it was also beyond me how our ancestors managed to out-survive the competition, which seemed better suited for survival all the way around.

  Emergency packs of sandwich crackers filled with stale peanut-butter ensured we wouldn’t starve the night. Which was fortuitous since we weren’t going to find any fuel dry enough to light a fire.

  Ten packets each of powdered formula meant the babies would be held to one bottle a day, and that would be mixed with water not cow’s milk. The okapi was near weaning age anyway, so with enough browse she would be the easiest to care for on the trail. The rhino really still needed double feedings—forced sustained browsing would be hard on her stomach and hindgut, but she was carrying enough baby fat to help get her through the next week or so without overmuch stress so long as we allowed her and Nyota time enough to browse and graze.

  The bit of fruit we carried for Jengo would have to be eaten soon or it would spoil. That meant we needed to collect whatever edible roots and nuts we could find going forward.

  Gus was both the most problematic and the least. I had his usual assortment of dog treats in my pack, but beyond that half kilo of biscuits, he would have to hunt his dinner down. And since his prey would mainly be the same as any snake’s—mice, rats and lizards—he wouldn’t have any more luck finding them out and about in the rain than a snake would. Stumbling on a badger den or ground nest along the way would be his best hope for as long as this rain kept up. Still, of us all, I fully expected Gus to be the most capable of surviving.

  As for Mark and I, we nibbled on our crackers after bottle-feeding the watoto and huddled in our shelter together for warmth. Things might have gotten cozier between us if not for 50 kilos of dog and a small gorilla snuggling in beside us, wet fur reeking, effectively killing any thought of even a romantic kiss.

  “Next time,” Mark said over the ruff of fur that had somehow managed
to crawl between us, “we hire a babysitter for date night.”

  “Next time,” I agreed.

  And despite the sadness and horrors of the day, it was the promise of next time that I fell asleep to, a balm to my pain.

  A gift to my heart.

  CHAPTER 30

  MARK

  I woke the next morning surprised to discover I’d slept at all. After the abuse of college and residency, I was pretty sure my body was trained to catch sleep anywhere it could safely and without risk. There was little safe, however, about the constant rain, the night or the wild. That I could sleep at all was a testament to how much trust I put in the Rottweiler to warn us of any danger. Keeping that natural alarm in top working order would be my first priority out here. Or, first after making sure Kayla was safe and well.

  She stirred when I did.

  How could anyone possibly look that good after the day and night we’d been through? I ran a self-conscious hand through my hair before leaning over to kiss her cheek.

  She rewarded me with a smile and a “Habari ya asubuhi.”

  “Habari ya asubuhi,” I repeated back to her, fairly confident I’d just wished her a good morning.

  Small hands gripped my head while a pair of thick lips stretched an incredible distance from their anchoring face to reach my cheek. Laughing, I returned the kiss on the top of the little gorilla’s damp head, miming it mostly—because let’s face it, damp gorilla fur wasn’t terribly inviting either in feel or smell—but smacking loudly to compensate for lack of actual physical touch.

  With a delighted gorilla laugh, Jengo scampered out of the shelter to tend to whatever gorilla business needed attending.