Nia led Jonas and Peyton to the back corner of the large treatment room, where a middle-aged man was propped against the yellowing plaster wall. His eyes were closed, and he wore a sweat-soaked tank top. A folded white coat lay by his side.

“Doctors Shaw and Becker, this is Dr. Elim Kibet, Chief of Physicians here at Mandera.”

Dr. Kibet opened his eyes, looked up at his visitors, and wiped the sweat from his forehead. He smiled weakly. “In the interest of full disclosure, I was the only physician here at Mandera.” He focused on Peyton. “We did everything we could for the young Americans. I’m sorry. It was not much.”

Peyton squatted down, bringing herself close to eye level with the doctor.

“All of us appreciate your efforts, Dr. Kibet. The CDC, the American government, and especially those boys’ parents.”

Dr. Kibet reached under the white coat and brought out a spiral-bound notebook. He handed it to Peyton.

“Before the ministry arrived, I talked at length with Mr. Turner.”

Peyton ensured her gloves were dry, then flipped through the notebook, scanning the ruled pages filled with neat handwriting. Dr. Kibet had been extremely thorough. Peyton hoped his notes might contain a clue that would lead them to the index case.

“Thank you, Doctor,” she said. She looked up at Nia, who was studying her intently. Peyton got the impression there was something more going on here, but she wasn’t sure what.

“Are you ready to see Mr. Turner?” the Kenyan woman asked.

Inside the orange Tyvek suit, Peyton felt as though the temperature had suddenly increased five degrees. She was aware of her breath, and of the weight of the decision she would soon have to make. It was a call that could determine the fate of the young man—and possibly millions of others.

Chapter 23

Chapter 23

Lucas Turner felt like he had been in the hospital room in Mandera for years. He knew it had only been a few days, but those days had been the longest of his twenty-three years on Earth.

The disease had started with a pain in his neck, and a fever. He had felt fine otherwise. But a few hours later, his body was turning itself inside out. He vomited nearly everything he ate. The diarrhea emptied his bowels the moment any morsel reached them, then reached for more, like a hose sucking his insides out.

He was weak and constantly tired. It was impossible to concentrate. He drifted in and out of sleep, never knowing if it would be night or day when he awoke. He drank the rehydration salts, which grew more heinous with each bottle. He had no appetite, but at Dr. Kibet’s insistence, he forced himself to eat. He dreaded it; he knew his body would reject the nourishment in some way. He felt like he was fighting a losing battle, his own body now set against him.