The smell of chlorine in the small room was overpowering. Dr. Kibet had left several paperback novels and a Bible by his bed, but he couldn’t muster the energy to read them, despite his boredom. His thoughts were of his parents and his sister. They would be devastated. At one point he wished he had never come to Africa; he cursed himself for being so naive. Dreamers die foolish deaths. He was instantly ashamed of the thought. He refused to live his life that way—with regret, second-guessing himself. He had followed his dream, it had led here, and that was that. Life is uncertain; in the end we control only a single thing: our own thoughts. He set his mind to controlling those thoughts. He would stay positive, even if it was his fate to die here, in this place.

At some point, when exactly he didn’t know, Dr. Kibet stopped coming to his room. There were new personnel, in better containment suits. They were extremely cautious with him. Unlike Dr. Kibet, they asked him no questions and never stayed in the room a second longer than they had to. Dr. Kibet had treated him like a human being. These people treated him with clinical detachment.

The sun was setting. Through the narrow window, Lucas saw a group of the new personnel gathered around a bonfire, tossing their suits upon the blaze. The fire belched heavy black smoke, releasing plumes as more rubber shells were piled onto the inferno. He turned to the small mirror on the wall, which reflected bloodshot, watering eyes and pale skin. It was the face of a stranger. A monster.

With Jonas close behind her, Peyton followed Nia into Lucas Turner’s patient room. Lucas was asleep, and Peyton hated to wake him, but it had to be done. The clock was ticking—and they needed answers if they were to have any chance of stopping the pathogen’s spread.

Nia reached out to shake the young man, but Peyton placed her hand on the woman’s shoulder and moved in front of her. She sat on the edge of the bed, clasped Lucas’s hand, and gently shook his forearm and said his name until his yellow-tinted, bloodshot eyes opened. Peyton forced a smile. Seeing this young American in the prime of his life so sick broke her heart. He had come here to try to make the world a better place. And that path had led him here—to this room, where he was dying.