One pulled the helicopter’s door open. The smell of body odor rushed in with the warm night air. Above, the helicopter’s main rotor roared. Wind pushed down.

Hands grabbed Peyton. They were rough, gouging into the muscles of her arms. Voices shouted in Swahili and another language she didn’t know—Somali, perhaps. Desmond kicked a man reaching for him, punched another. A rifle was pressed to his face, and he froze.

Peyton could hear Avery fighting too, screaming obscenities.

The men dragged Peyton out, onto the ground, then held her up for a tall black man to inspect. Behind her, she heard them grabbing Hannah.

“Don’t touch her!” she yelled, but the words were lost in the commotion.

Chapter 70

Chapter 70

Peyton fought the men holding her as the helicopter’s rotors thundered overhead. It took four large men to subdue Desmond, but they finally brought him down. They held him on the ground, twisting his arms behind him, but still, he refused to cry out—or to stop fighting back.

The crowd of rifle-carrying militia parted, and a middle-aged black man hurried through. Whoever he was, he was in charge.

Peyton had seen him exactly once before: in a large room in Mandera, filled with dying people. He had lain in a corner then, sweat covering his body, three buckets beside him: one for feces, one for vomit, and one for urine.

That day, Peyton had given him a lifeline: a dose of ZMapp. She had hoped it might cure him.

It had.

Dr. Elim Kibet was vibrant now, his eyes full of life.

At the sight of Peyton, he yelled to one of the tall soldiers, who barked orders to his men.

Hands released Peyton as if she were a live electric wire. She fell forward, but Elim caught her and raised her up.

Over the dying roar of the rotors, he said, “Welcome to Dadaab, Dr. Shaw.”

On Elim’s orders, two medical technicians brought a rolling stretcher from the building and ushered Hannah inside to an operating room. The facility wasn’t high-tech, but it was clean and well supplied. For nearly an hour, Peyton and Elim stood over Hannah, operating. They removed dead tissue, disinfected the wound, and closed the gaping hole in Hannah’s shoulder. When they were done, Peyton stood there for a long moment, staring at Hannah, hooked to the IV antibiotics and pain medication.

The woman was infected with the Mandera virus, but Peyton thought she had a fighting chance now. And she was in good hands—hands that were being washed just a few feet away.

Seconds later Elim slipped out of the OR, leaving Peyton alone with Hannah.