Peyton motioned to Hannah, who advanced into the home, set down her cooler, and began taking samples. Peyton knelt by the two adults, swatted away the flies, and searched for clues that might establish a rough time of death. From the looks of it, these bodies had been dead for several days at least. Not good.

They found more bodies in the other huts, and several outside. Some of the villagers had probably wanted to die with the sun on their faces or the stars above them. Peyton didn’t blame them.

Just as she was turning to head back to the tent complex, she caught movement out of the corner of her eye. She froze, waited. Yes—there was someone, or something, just beyond the village, crouched, watching them.

Over the comm, Peyton said, “Jonas, did you see that?”

The German epidemiologist was already walking back to the tents. He stopped. “See what?”

Peyton set down her sample case and got ready to run. It wouldn’t be easy in the suit, but taking it off wasn’t an option. She spoke quickly on the comm line. “Colonel Magoro, do you copy?”

“Yes, Dr. Shaw.”

“We need a team of your men at my location immediately. Do not transit the village—proceed around it, and use caution. Try to stay out of sight and stay quiet. Have your men take up a concealed position a hundred meters north of me.”

“Understood,” the Kenyan officer said.

“Hannah, take your team back to the tents and take off your suits. Get in the vehicles and prepare to leave.”

Jonas returned to Peyton’s side and glanced over at her, silently questioning what was going on. Peyton nodded subtly toward the bushes. Jonas took a step toward them, but she caught his arm, urging him to wait.

A moment later, Colonel Magoro said, “We’re in position.”

“Spread your men out and begin walking toward the village,” Peyton said.

The Kenyan troops rose, assault rifles held in front of them, and stalked forward quietly, like big game hunters approaching a kill. Peyton wanted to run, but she focused on the group of yellow-green shrubs. If she was wrong about what she had seen, the mistake might be deadly. Sweat poured down her forehead. She desperately wanted to rip the helmet off, wipe her face, and pour cold water in the suit.

Suddenly, the bushes between the Kenyan troops and Peyton shook as three figures sprang forward. A woman, likely in her forties, a young boy, and a teenage girl, all emaciated. Surviving villagers, Peyton assumed. Their eyes were wild as they barreled toward Peyton and Jonas, away from the soldiers. They stumbled, trying to get their feet under them as they ran. Colonel Magoro and his men were close behind them, yelling in Swahili.

“Don’t harm them!” Peyton said. “And keep your distance. They may be infected.”