Jonas and Hannah sat at a table, a large map pinned up on a board behind them. There was a lot more red on the map than there had been yesterday.

“Report,” she said, trying to catch her breath.

“Want some breakfast?” Jonas asked, ignoring her order.

“I want to know what’s happening.”

Jonas glanced at Hannah, who stood and left. “I think you’d better sit down, Peyton.”

“That bad?”

“Pretty bad.”

Jonas brought Peyton up to speed on the reports from the teams in the field. Fifteen more villages were infected. Including the fatalities from the Dadaab refugee camps, the death toll had climbed to over six thousand.

Peyton shook her head. “It’s impossible.”

“What?”

“Let’s assume Dr. Kibet was infected around the time the two Americans walked into his clinic.”

“Okay.”

“He broke with the disease within seventy-two hours.”

“Right.”

“But he never had the respiratory symptoms. His progression to the hemorrhagic stage of the disease was too fast—much faster than this village.”

“True,” Jonas said.

“Why?”

“Maybe because he contracted the disease from someone who was already in the hemorrhagic phase. Maybe he skipped the respiratory phase.”

“Which means the disease has two separate courses, depending on whom you contract it from—and what stage they’re in.” Peyton thought for a moment. “There’s something else: the Dadaab refugee camps were being infected at roughly the same time as this village.”

Jonas nodded.

“The Americans couldn’t have infected them,” Peyton said. “From their travel log, they were pretty far north of Dadaab.”

“Maybe they interacted with a trucker who was heading south?”

“Could be. But for the pathogen to amplify this much in such a short period of time strikes me as wrong.” She pointed to the map. “It’s like it’s erupting everywhere in the region at the same time. How is that possible?”

Jonas stared at the map. “An index patient who infected a large group of travelers, maybe attendees at a funeral, or a meeting of representatives from dozens of villages? Could be infected food.”

Peyton’s mind flashed to Desmond Hughes. He had sent the package of food to the two Americans. What if the villagers had received similar packages? Desmond’s call a few nights ago ran through her mind. It had ended with the words: I think you’re in danger.

She looked around to be sure she and Jonas were alone in the tent. Her voice barely above a whisper, she said, “I know it sounds crazy, but I still think this is bioterror.”