The old factory was a square building with no windows except at the very top, the panes cracked and broken. Very dim lighting came from within, so weak I wondered if it was a trick on the eyes. The tall, wooden door was secured with a large but cheap padlock. Didn’t take me more than a minute to pick it; the lock gave with a loud click. Victor, Arun, and I looked at each other, and I eased the door open.

The scene that greeted us infuriated me and made me want to retch at the same time. At least fifty people were crammed into the warehouse, lying on the concrete ground with nothing more than thin blankets. The government couldn’t even be bothered to provide cots, because I suppose they were expecting all of them to die. Moans, coughs, and weeping echoed through the empty warehouse. I couldn’t smell anything with my respirator on, but I saw enough vomit and urine on the floor, and dirty bodies glistening with fever sweat to imagine what it must be like.

Arun turned on a powerful lamp and was greeted by cries of alarm and hoarse voices begging for help. The sick ranged in all ages, although I saw more lined faces and heads covered in gray among them. At least eight were children, many curled up on their sides, faces flushed with fever. I gagged, fighting down nausea.

It was obvious that everyone who had been left here was poor and homeless, without family or friends to speak up for them, to demand they be treated as human beings, not like rabid dogs thrown into a cage to die.

Victor cursed.

“Let’s get to work,” Arun said, his voice cracking.

He demonstrated the best way to inject the antidote into the forearm. We made quick work of it through the ranks. A few tried to protest, asking in fear what we were doing, unable to believe that we were trying to help—not giving a lethal injection to kill them. After what they’d gone through, I didn’t blame them. I gave as many reassurances as I could, but in the end, they were too weak to fight us off. We were done in an hour and left for the next stop.

Within fifteen minutes, we pulled up to a second warehouse. This was an abandoned clothing manufacturing company, and we had to navigate between dusty sewing machine stations to reach another forty meis locked inside. While Victor and Arun were unloading water jugs to leave behind for those who might recover, I removed my gloves and checked my Vox for any messages or news.