“How short a period of time?”

“In our tests we got up to four days,” he said. “I may be able to convince the CDC to let us do a little experiment. Get him out of here before those four days are up.”

“You think they would actually let someone leave the Q?”

“I think his father will be highly motivated to get him out, and that could work to our advantage.”

“How would he even do that? Where would he exit?”

“We’ll figure it out. I’ll probably ask for permission to scale one of the walls. But for today, I need you to get him that now, or none of this matters.” He touched her upper arm. “Inject him there. Whether he wants it or not. It is not optional.”

She nodded.

“Declan and his team are closing in on the area. They’ll cover you while you grab Pierce. I’m trusting you with this because I know I can count on you not to kill him.”

“Of course.”

“And I need someone who Pierce will at least let close to him. He’ll be less likely to try to punch you.”

She bit back a laugh. “Sure. Let’s hope, anyway.”

“After you’ve injected him, you and Declan’s team will bring him back here immediately.”

“Got it.”

“Good. Go.”

—

Lopez pulled a bus out of service for her, and it whipped down the street at a pace that made Maisie’s teeth rattle in her head. The driver laid on the horn every twenty seconds, maybe to alert people to get out of the road. Maybe just to annoy her.

Hadley’s voice came crackling out of the speaker on the roof.

“Bus four is out of service, folks, and you’re going to want to steer clear of the roads until further notice. And please keep an eye out for any other men falling from the sky.”

The bus screeched to a stop and Maisie darted out.

Declan stood on the side of the road. He had a man by the neck, his fingers digging into his skin. Blood poured out of the man’s nose, one of his eyes already swollen.

Declan looked up at Maisie. He released his grip, and the man crumpled to the ground with a moan.

“Pierce is in there,” he said, pointing to the shack down the road. He took a step back, gesturing to the field that stretched out beyond it. Three motorcycles and several men on foot raced toward the shack.

“I’m going to go help my boys ward them off,” he said, and turned to go.

She took off running. She pumped her arms as fast as she could, her shoes crunching against gravel as she raced toward the shack. The pouch Lopez had given her was tucked in her pocket, the needle heavy against her thigh.

She skidded to a stop at the door and threw it open.

A man stood on the other side, a machete aimed at her face.

She ducked just in time. The blade sailed over her head.