The helicopters should have been there hours ago, but one of the bureaucratic glitches so common in Kampala had caused a delay. And now it was too late. All aircraft was grounded due to the weather and forecasts suggested that they would stay that way until just before dawn.

Chism and his team should have been long gone, but instead they were going through the mundane exercise of packing and categorizing research materials in preparation for them to be moved to a more secure location. It was an effort that would likely prove pointless beyond keeping them occupied.

Odongo’s grandfather had taught him that the darkness hid evilspirits intent on making the living suffer. And those superstitions, so easy to laugh off as his education had advanced, now manifested themselves. His informants in the surrounding villages were reporting the appearance of people who could only have been sent by Gideon Auma. They were sticking to the forest for now but taking positions along the main road that led there. Cutting off escape and isolating the facility from anyone who could offer assistance.

This was his mistake. His fault. He should have ordered an evacuation the moment the rumors started. But he’d prioritized the continuity of Chism’s work, concerned about the setbacks an evacuation could cause.

A flash of light became visible through the window, likely a few hundred meters distant. The strobe effect was accompanied by the unmistakable sound of automatic rifle fire.

It had begun.

Odongo used the laptop on his desk to activate the facility’s alarms and strode purposefully from his office. The few staff members remaining were volunteers and all understood their roles perfectly. He felt great pride in seeing them work—removing IVs, stabilizing wounds, moving critical patients from beds to more maneuverable stretchers. They would carry them into the rain and scatter, trying to keep them alive as they were transferred to nearby villages that he prayed Auma would ignore.

Everything seemed to come into a sharp focus. The traditional pattern of the floor tiles. The scent of the rain filtered through the building. The efficient movements of the people who had been courageous enough to stay. It was incredible that a world with so much darkness could also have so much light.

He spotted Chism rushing up the corridor, having abandoned the busywork he’d been assigned in the lab.

“What’s going on, Mukisa? What’s the alarm mean?”

“Auma’s here.”

The fear on the young scientist’s face was clearly visible but didn’t rise to the level of panic. He wasn’t as pampered as the others. The boy had lived through hard times. Some self-inflicted, but hard nonetheless. While he’d never experienced anything like Gideon Auma’s army, it wouldn’t be completely unimaginable to him. The other two, though, would have no context for what was coming. He prayed they would be spared.