In her last remaining moments, she turned quickly to Max. Maybe it was a trick of her imagination, maybe somewhere high above a leaf fluttered, allowing moonlight to slip through the canopy, but Max’s face was clearly visible in the darkness. So much she wanted to say and no words that could ever say enough. “Thank you. For everything.”

Max paused for a long time. Her eyes glinted, intense and penetrating. “You’re welcome.”

Rachel smiled. Max understood.

“Get ready,” the SEAL in front of her said.

Rachel couldn’t imagine running through this inky soup, but she would if it meant getting out of here. If they told her to fly, she’d figure out a way to do it.

“I’m going back with Grif,” Max said.

Rachel gripped her arm. “Just make sure you get on the helicopter. Please.”

“I’ll be there.” Max’s hand glided over her back before her fingers skimmed down Rachel’s arm to her hand. Max squeezed her fingers. “Stick with Hernandez, no matter what.”

“But—”

“Don’t look back. Just go.”

Hernandez gripped her upper arm firmly. “Let’s go.”

Rachel was tugged forward and Max disappeared. Her feet caught up with her body, pedaling forward faster and faster, and then she was running, crashing through underbrush, gasping for breath, her arms in front of her face to ward off the branches slapping at her. Closer and closer she raced toward the angry buzz of thousands of bees—a rogue hive that turned out to be helicopter rotors whirring madly. Mercifully, the jungle finally released its stranglehold and she burst into a clearing, the moonlight so intense she blinked furiously to clear the tears welling in her eyes. There in the center of a clearing ringed with decaying huts and tiny overgrown plots marked out by low stone walls sat a helicopter. Just ahead of her Amina give a sharp cry of joy and lurched forward to keep up with the SEAL whose arm encircled her waist. Rachel slowed and jerked around, searching the towering wall of vegetation behind her. Where were the others? Where was Max?

Gunfire erupted. Lightning streaked from the helicopters and the air resounded with automatic weapons fire. Rachel cried out.

“Come on!” Hernandez jerked her toward the Black Hawk, and her feet nearly left the ground.

“What about the others?” she shouted.

“Just keep moving. And keep your head down!”

“We can’t just leave them.” Her words were lost in the vortex of swirling sand and pulsating air.

Up ahead, someone inside the helicopter reached down and lifted Amina up as if she were a child. When Rachel was a few feet away, hands grasped her by the waist and arms and she was airborne, her feet flying from the ground and landing on the metal floor of the helicopter with a bone-jarring thud. Once she regained her balance, she stared at the figures crowded into a small space almost as claustrophobic as the foxhole had been.

“Are you injured?” A female voice, the face partially obscured by a helmet. Kind brown eyes. Not indigo, not Max.

“I…” Rachel spun toward the open door. The ground below was swallowed in the night.

A hand on her arm. Her face was clearer now. Young, intense. “I’m Corpsman Delgado. Are you injured?”

“No,” Rachel shouted above the din, straining to see through the murk and dust. “I’m…fine.”

“Good. Over here.”

Delgado led her to a place against the side of the helicopter’s belly and she slid down, her legs turned to jelly. Someone placed a blanket over her. Amina crowded close and gripped her hand.

“We made it,” Amina said, tears streaking her cheeks and triumph shining in her eyes. “It’s all over.”

Rachel eased her arm around Amina’s waist and leaned into her. “Yes. It’s all over.”

She hoped Amina believed the lie. A series of pings rattled against the metal shell and someone shouted, “We’re taking fire.”

The Black Hawk vibrated as the motor revved. Delgado hooked a safety strap to a line above their heads, her body swaying as the helicopter rocked from side to side. They were taking off.

“No,” Rachel cried, throwing the blanket aside. “Max!” She tried to get to her knees and nearly fell.

“Stay down,” a soldier yelled and blocked her way.

“Where are the others?” Where was Max? Max would never have left her. She couldn’t leave her. With a scream trapped in her throat, she braced herself on her arms and started to crawl across the floor toward the open door.

The soldier held her back. “Here they come.”

A SEAL vaulted out of the blackness into the helicopter, knelt at the edge of the opening, and leaned out. The end of the litter appeared and he grabbed it. Another SEAL piled in and did the same. The litter and Grif were hoisted aboard. The Black Hawk rose. Rachel stared at the opening, an opaque black abyss, and waited, time suspended. Minutes became hours became a lifetime, and her heart stuttered to a standstill.

An arm, two, reached out of the dark and the SEALs each gripped a wrist. They pulled and Max’s body flew inside. She landed on her back and lay still.

Rachel waited, frozen. Max turned, met her eyes, and grinned.

“About time,” Rachel mouthed as her heart started beating again.

“Told you I’d be right behind you,” Max yelled.

“Yes, you did,” Rachel murmured.

Max pushed herself up and bent over Grif. Rachel slumped back beside Amina. The Black Hawk ascended into the night. She didn’t know where she was going, and it didn’t seem to matter. She had no idea what she would do when she arrived. She wasn’t even sure she knew who she would be when she did.

Chapter Sixteen

The helicopter climbed straight up, and the ping of bullets against the metal body faded. Making a wide arc, it banked sharply, turned 180 degrees, and picked up speed. Wind rushed through the cabin and Rachel pulled the blanket tighter. SEALs with machine guns leaned out either side of the helicopter. Delgado knelt with Max over Grif’s litter, switching IV bags and pushing drugs into the line. The dark beyond the dim cabin lights was impenetrable. Rachel couldn’t see where the helicopter was headed, not that she really cared as long as it was far away from the Juba jungle. All that really mattered was that Max was safely aboard. They were all safe now—they had to be. She couldn’t even let herself think they wouldn’t reach their destination after all of this. There must be some fairness in life. An image of the starving Somalis straggling into the aid camp flashed into her mind, and she knew fairness had nothing to do with it. Men perpetrated great crimes and great acts of selfless bravery, and sometimes the reasons for both were incomprehensible. She’d been lucky Max and Grif had reached her. Maybe life was far more random than she’d ever wanted to believe.

She couldn’t tell time in the dark, the engine roar made conversation impossible, and before long she dozed. She snapped awake, adrenaline pouring through her, when the helicopter angled, nose down, and dropped. Now she caught glimpses of light through the portals, pockets of illumination in the inky night that grew brighter with each passing second. She had once thought there was nothing more beautiful than the Manhattan skyline at night, but she knew better now. Wherever they were headed, those scattered constellations of flickering lights were without a doubt the most glorious sight she’d ever witnessed.

“Amina, look!” Rachel grasped Amina’s arm and pointed. “We’re almost—”

“Hey!” Delgado shouted.

Rachel looked over as Max slumped forward. Delgado grabbed her around the waist and lowered her to the floor. Rachel’s heart plummeted.

“What is it? What happened?” she shouted, but no one answered. No one even heard her.

Delgado opened Max’s jacket, looked inside, and began cutting away parts of the sleeves. She tore the wrapper off one of the bandages Rachel had seen Max use time and time again on Grif’s leg and pressed it to Max’s right upper arm. Max was hurt.

Rachel pushed aside the blanket, ducked the restraining arm of the soldier kneeling close by, and scrambled forward a few feet next to Delgado. Max lay motionless, her eyes closed. Max was never still, never unaware. Rachel wanted to shake her and tell her to wake up and explain what the hell she was doing.

Rachel tugged Delgado’s shoulder. “What’s wrong with her?”

Delgado spared her a brief glance and then went back to what she was doing. “…a round…arm. Lost a…blood…idn’t bother…tell anybo…”

The words were muffled but Rachel heard them clearly enough. Max had been shot. The words marched across her brain like cues on a teleprompter, but she was having trouble making sense of it all. Max couldn’t be shot. Max was a doctor, and she was out there to take care of everyone. She wasn’t supposed to get hurt. She wasn’t supposed to—

This was wrong. So wrong.

“Max?” Rachel gripped Max’s leg just above her knee. Max’s fatigues were stiff with dirt and other things, but Rachel didn’t care. She needed to touch her. “Max.”

Max’s eyes fluttered open and roved blankly until they settled on Rachel’s face.

“Hey,” she said, her expression hazy.

“Hey, yourself,” Rachel said, anxiety and fear sharpening her tone.

Max’s grin widened. “Uh-oh. Pissed again. How come?”

The ball of panic crushing the air from Rachel’s lungs started to melt. She reached across Max’s body and found her hand. The fingers that twined through hers were too cold, but still strong. Still Max. “I thought we talked about this. You weren’t supposed to get hurt.”

“Didn’t, much.” Max turned her head, frowned at Delgado. “What did you give me?”

Delgado grinned. “Just a little something to keep you down. I know you. You’d be trying to get up before we had a chance to take care of you or driving me bat-shit telling me what to do.”