She closed her eyes, willing it not to be true. Desmond. Her father. Andrew. In the past four days, all three had been returned to her. Now they might be taken away again. And somewhere deep inside her, she knew she would never recover this time.

Chapter 130

Chapter 130

It had been ten minutes since the soldiers entered the burning lab complex. Peyton was on her feet now, able to breathe better, but not one hundred percent. She peered into the flames, looking for any signs of figures emerging. The pulsing heat warmed her face and body. A breeze pushed the blaze back every few seconds.

A gruff voice came over Peyton’s comm. “Artemis, Zulu leader, we’ve got a live one. Request medical assistance. We’re at the admin building.”

Major Reeves had been coordinating his troops’ surrender, which was finally complete.

Peyton interrupted a string of orders he was calling out. “Can one of your men take me to the admin building?”

Reeves glanced at Lin, who nodded. He instructed one of his soldiers to accompany Peyton, and they set off down a stone path, walking as quickly as she could manage. Her lungs still ached, but hope drove her on.

The administrative building was a charred ruin. The entire top two floors had burned down. Trails of smoke rose from orange embers crackling in the night. A half dozen of the camo-clad special forces—members of Zulu and Bravo teams—waded through the wreckage, turning the blackened pieces with the barrels of their rifles, searching.

Ahead, a Navy SEAL motioned for Peyton to come quickly. She swallowed, dreading what she would see. She repeated the words over the comm in her mind: We’ve got a live one. Alive, but in what condition? And who?

She knew who she wanted it to be. In the moment, she was completely honest with herself. She wanted to see Desmond’s face. She wanted to leave the island with him more than anything in the world. In the Boxer’s mess, he had said the things he needed to say, but she hadn’t. She knew that had been a mistake—one she might live to regret.

Twenty feet away, beyond the Navy SEAL, lay a burned-out crater, nearly smooth in the center. A ring of bodies circled it. In hot zones around the world, Peyton had seen pathogens rip through a population, leaving death behind. This was an altogether different form of carnage. Men lay in pieces. Dead eyes stared up at her, or out into the forest. Severed limbs lay alone, remnants of the slaughter strewn about without care or mercy. Rivulets of blood flowed into the crater like the veins on the back of a dark earthen monster. As Peyton descended into the hole, steam rose from it, as if the spirits of the lives lost were drifting toward the yellow moon above.