The scene on the USS Nimitz resembled the airbase at Edinburgh, though on a much larger scale. A tall man stood on the flight deck, roughly twenty feet in front of about two hundred men and women in US Navy khakis standing at attention. The officer met Peyton and the other three as they were disembarking the plane, and informed them that the assembled group were members of the ship’s crew who had volunteered for this mission. Each was either immune to the virus or wasn’t incapacitated yet. They were ready to fight.

Minutes later, a fleet of helicopters lifted off, carrying Avery, Peyton, Desmond, William, Charlotte, and the two hundred US Navy volunteers. As they rose into the sky, Peyton looked down and saw crews moving the boxes of the cure out of the transport plane. They had brought five thousand doses—enough to save the entire crew of the Nimitz.

They landed on the USS Boxer, which Peyton thought looked like a smaller version of the Nimitz. She soon learned that the Boxer was part of a US Navy Expeditionary Strike Group—a collection of ships capable of deploying quick reaction forces via land, sea, and air.

In a conference room just off the bridge, Colonel Nathan Jamison, the commander of the 11th Marine Expeditionary Unit, briefed the five of them on the reconnaissance his crew had gathered during the five hours since Avery’s contact had begun coordinating with the United States Department of Defense.

An image of a harbor appeared on the screen. Massive canopies hung overhead.

Jamison’s voice came out like a growl. “We haven’t observed any vessels departing or arriving.”

William stood beside him at the whiteboard. “You likely won’t.”

Through the windows, Peyton saw more helicopters arriving, unloading troops. The Boxer was gathering all able-bodied Marines and Navy personnel from ships scattered throughout the Pacific. The colonel had told them that his unit typically had twenty-two hundred active duty personnel, but the X1-Mandera virus had decimated their ranks. Peyton wondered how the Citium had gotten the virus onto so many ships. Had they used the water, packing tape, and boxes the team had discovered at Aralsk-7? Or was there another delivery method for the armed services and other isolated populations?

On the whiteboard, her father sketched a map of the island’s buildings and roads. “This is how the island looked in the mid-sixties. That’s the last time I was there.” He paused for a moment. Peyton thought he was remembering something; she wondered what it was.