After the third gentle nudge, she opened her eyes, rubbed them, and smiled.

She saw the fear on his face instantly.

“What’s wrong?”

“I might be going away for a while. I need you to stay here. It’s important. You understand?”

She nodded.

“If you run out of food before I’m back, you can leave. But be careful. Don’t tell anyone you’re from Kenya. Tell them you’ve lost your parents and they didn’t want you to talk to strangers.”

She looked confused, but agreed.

Outside the BSL-4, he doffed the suit and changed quickly. When he reached the ground floor, he heard gunshots.

Chapter 104

Chapter 104

Auditorium A at CDC headquarters was again packed to capacity. Millen stood with the other staff, listening to Phil outline the evacuation plan. It was ingenious. The train tracks that ran behind the CDC were free of the mobs that had massed outside demanding the cure—and within ten minutes, train cars would be whisking the staff to safety.

“The people at the back of the room will guide you to the exit,” Phil said.

Millen fell in line, flowing with the crowd that rushed out of the room. In the distance, past the lobby, he heard more gunshots.

Instead of going outside, he broke from the crowd, made his way to the stairs, and descended to the lab level. He didn’t don a protective suit this time. Pretty soon, he wouldn’t need it—one way or another.

Inside the lab, he found Halima watching a DVD. She pulled one of the headphones out of her ear.

“No suit?”

He shook his head.

“Mind if I join you?”

He had made his decision: he would stay in the lab and try to protect the two children until the end. Leaving would mean saving only himself. And that wasn’t good enough.

The Atlanta streets were clogged with cars—some leaving the city, just as many going downtown to search for their loved ones in BioShield confinement. That’s exactly what Elliott and his neighbors had done: split up. One group had taken an RV and left the city, just in case it became a war zone between BioShield troops and citizens. Elliott sat behind the wheel of the other RV, driving toward downtown Atlanta. The massive vehicle was over thirty feet long. He had driven buses during deployments, some on muddy dirt roads in the third world, and none of them compared to this. He weaved the RV in and out of traffic, dodging stopped cars on I-75. Up ahead, the freeway was completely blocked with abandoned vehicles.

He veered to the side, taking the exit for Howell Mill Road. He wasn’t sure if he was driving the massive RV or if it was driving him. It rocked like a fish being pulled from the water. His twelve passengers gripped the kitchenette table, the walls, and anything they could get their hands on.