Peyton studied the face closer. He wasn’t one of the SEALs or Force Recon members who had been part of their team. “It’s not one of ours.”

Another tear, this one of joy, rolled down her face.

She walked away from the building then, back to Avery, and held the woman’s hand while they waited for the medevac. The slender woman drifted in and out of consciousness while Peyton monitored her pulse.

A Citium security contractor tentatively made his way over to them.

“We’ve finished the search,” he said. “We didn’t find any… non-Citium personnel.”

Peyton nodded. “Thank you for telling me.”

The man unclipped his radio and earpiece and handed them to Peyton.

“Your mother’s on the comm.”

The moment she slipped the earpiece in, Peyton heard her mother’s voice giving orders rapid-fire to the soldiers around her.

“Mom?”

“Peyton. Your brother and Charlotte got out.”

“Are they—”

“We’ve stabilized them, but they need medical assistance.”

“Will they…”

“Yes. I think they’ll make it, darling, but we need to hurry.”

“I’m coming. I’ll be there with a medevac as soon as I can.”

When the medevac landed to pick up Avery, Peyton helped hoist her onto the stretcher and load her aboard. Then she hopped into the helicopter as well and directed them to the labs.

When they landed again, she raced to her brother. His prosthetic was badly burned. He must have used it as a shield. That could be replaced, but his good arm was taped to his body, and a large gash ran across his forehead. He and Charlotte were both unconscious. Charlotte had a bandage across her upper chest.

Peyton stood aside as soldiers loaded both of them onto the medevac. She had lost her father that night. She was terrified that she was going to lose her brother too.

When the medevac slipped out of sight, Lin began walking away. “Come on, Peyton; we need to talk. Your brother’s life depends on what we do next.”

Chapter 133

Chapter 133

Millen was sitting on a cot, opening an MRE, when the door to the lab unsealed.

He stood quickly, ready to defend the Kenyan villagers, then relaxed when he realized who was entering: Phil.

“It’s over, Millen.”

“We—”

“A cure. Come on, get upstairs. We’ve got work to do.”

Millen joined the line in the auditorium, rolled up his shirt sleeve, and got his injection. The room was as lively as the New York Stock Exchange in the days before electronic trading; everyone was shouting questions about the mysterious cure. There seemed to be no answers.

Millen returned to his desk in the EOC after his dose and studied the new SOPs. Dr. Stevens had written them hastily; Millen had to re-read several passages twice. When he finished, he pulled on his headset.

“Centennial Park Checkpoint, BioShield Ops. We need an updated vial and head count.”