Peyton was eating dinner with Elim, Desmond, and Avery in the building’s cafeteria when an African woman approached them and sat beside Elim. Peyton instantly recognized her: she was one of the survivors from the village. Was it a coincidence that she was here? The village was hundreds of miles away; how did she get to Dadaab?

Elim looked exhausted, but his voice was strong. “She’s a very lucky young lady.”

“Yes,” Peyton said, taking a bite of the stew. She was glad there had been no label on the vat. “A few more hours in the air and she might not have made it.”

“Perhaps. But she is lucky because she has you watching out for her.”

Peyton had never been able to take a compliment; they seemed to wrap around her like a rope, constricting her, paralyzing her. She turned red.

“Just doing my job,” she said quietly, taking another bite of mystery stew. “What happened here?”

“Biology,” Elim said. “The virus got loose in the camps.”

“How many are dead?”

Elim paused. “We’ll be counting the survivors when it’s over, Dr. Shaw.”

“Any estimate would be helpful. I think this is perhaps the first large population center the virus struck. And please, call me Peyton.”

He nodded. “There were about three hundred thousand people here when this began. I expect about ten thousand to survive.”

Peyton sat in shock. “A three percent survival rate?”

“With better care, rehydration salts, the number might double—five or six percent.”

The words hung there like a bell tolling. No one spoke for a long moment. Ebola Zaire killed ninety percent of those it infected. Mandera was even more deadly than that—and in its early days it was as contagious as the common cold. It was the perfect killer.

But why? How was the pandemic connected to the Looking Glass? What was the Looking Glass? What could possibly be worth killing 95% of the world’s population? Or was there another plan?

Conner McClain had all but confessed to having a cure to the virus; finding that cure was the world’s only chance. They needed to start putting the pieces together.

Peyton swallowed. “I really hate to ask. We came here for Hannah, but we were also hoping to find a couple of things.”

Elim raised his eyebrows.

“We need a satphone.”

He nodded.

“And a plane.”

He broke into a smile Peyton couldn’t read. She was reflecting on how outrageous the request was when he said, “I think I can help you.”

When they finished their meal, Elim led them through the building’s main corridor. The facility was in complete disarray. Every room had been ransacked. To Peyton, it looked like a middle school with no teachers, trashed by students running wild. Half-empty boxes littered the hall; desks were overturned, drawers pulled out; supply closets stood open.