He stared straight at the loading dock where the woman stood. She had seen them, had raised a hand to shade her eyes. She was calling to someone inside.

Back at the plane, William winced as Peyton taped the ankle again.

“Sorry,” she whispered.

“It’s okay. Just hurts a bit.”

He held up a page and studied the handwriting in the margin. He was sure of it now.

He picked up the handheld radio.

“Bravo, Tango, report.”

He released the button. But no response came.

As Desmond and Avery approached, the woman stepped down from the loading dock and walked across the gravel drive. She stopped where the field began, squinting, trying to see who they were. Desmond wondered if she would recognize him.

A man walked out of the building, came to her side, asked her something. She shook her head.

Avery unslung her rifle.

“Don’t do that,” Desmond said.

“This is creeping me out, Des. Tell me what’s going on.”

“I told you, I don’t know.”

The people eating at the tables under the open-air building had noticed them. Some stood, trying to get a glimpse of the two armor-clad figures approaching.

When they were thirty yards away, the man waded into the field. Desmond guessed he was in his late thirties. His long brown locks blowing in the wind reminded Desmond of a surfer.

When he spoke, his accent was Australian, his tone suspicious.

“Can I help you?”

Avery cut her eyes to Desmond.

“No, I don’t think so. But I think she can.”

He kept marching forward past the man, who hurried back to the woman. She stood still, showing no hint of nervousness or fear, only curiosity.

When he was ten yards from her, Desmond stopped and studied her face.

“Hello, Charlotte.”

William tried the radio again, and again there was no response. Peyton could tell he was getting more nervous by the second.

“What is it?” she asked.

“I’m not sure.”

He began assembling his body armor, getting ready.

“Are you going out there?”

“Yes—”

They both heard it at the same time: a truck engine, barreling over the hills.

Peyton stood, was about to move to the door, but her father caught her arm. “This is important, Peyton. If you recognize anyone at the camp, don’t say anything. Tell me first.”

She nodded. “Okay.”

She walked to the back of the plane to cough. The fever and chills were getting worse. She pulled her shirt up. The rash had advanced. On the top of her hand, where she had coughed, were tiny specks of blood. She wiped them on the underside of her shirt. She didn’t want her father, or Desmond, to know how sick she was.

A few minutes later, Desmond appeared at the plane’s door.

“It’s safe.”

“What did you find?” William asked.

“It’s… not what we thought. Come see for yourself.”

Chapter 97

Chapter 97