She gritted her teeth. “It’s fine.”
They put helmets on and buckled themselves into seats along the aisle, away from the plane’s sides. As the wind tossed the aircraft, Peyton stared at the aurora. Streaks of light green crossed the sky in curving forms, as if an artist had painted the black sky with phosphorescent paint.
They were dropping quickly now. The wind picked up with each passing second. Peyton put her hands on the seat in front of her and braced herself.
Outside the windows, the aurora disappeared, replaced by fog.
The tires barked as they caught pavement. The plane shuddered and barreled down the runway, then bounced and shook when it slipped off the pavement. Seconds later, it came to a halt.
Desmond unbuckled himself, sprang up, and opened the cockpit door. Avery was standing. He grabbed her by the shoulders.
“Good flying, A.”
Peyton thought he was going to embrace Avery, but he held her at arm’s length, staring at her.
Avery smiled.
“If anything had been on the runway, we’d be dead,” she said.
“But it wasn’t. You did great.”
Avery looked exhausted. Peyton realized she hadn’t seen the woman sleep since their escape. She looked like she might collapse right then and there.
Instead, she marched into the passenger compartment and stopped in front of Peyton.
“I need my body armor.”
Peyton didn’t like the woman’s brusqueness, but with a nod she stripped the black garment off—a little self-consciously, as if she were on display. Avery donned it, grabbed her rifle and night vision goggles, and turned to Desmond.
“We need to secure the tower and refuel. If we get jammed up here, I want to be ready to bug out.”
When Desmond and Avery were gone, Peyton finally relaxed. The plan called for her to wait in the plane for now—which was fine by her.
She felt the fever she had barely noticed before. Her mind’s eye flashed to the people at Mandera Hospital, suffering, dying. Without a cure, that would likely be her fate. She had traveled to Mandera almost a week ago. If she assumed she’d been infected for five to seven days…
She pushed the thought out of her mind. She had to focus.
She set about organizing their supplies and strained to hear any sound of gunfire or struggle. The fog was still thick on the runway and around the plane.
After what seemed like hours, she heard someone jogging on the paved runway. The sound stopped when the person or persons hit the grass near the plane. Instinctively, Peyton moved to the cockpit, ready to close the door and seal herself off if necessary.
Boots pounded the staircase, and Desmond appeared in the doorway.
“Miss me?”
Peyton exhaled.
“You scared me to death.”
Outside, she heard the roar of a truck engine.
“What’d you find?”
“The airport is deserted. There’s a fuel truck. We’re going to fill up, get the plane back on the runway, and get ready in case we need to leave in a hurry.”
When they had the plane fueled and back on the runway, the three of them sat in the passenger compartment.
To Desmond, Avery said, “Any memories?”
“Nothing.”
Peyton was amazed at how easily he lied. It scared her a little. Avery’s reaction gave no hint as to whether she believed him.
They discussed what to do next, finally agreeing that Avery needed to sleep and that Desmond and Peyton would take one of the airport vehicles to the GPS coordinates. They would radio back if they needed help. Avery didn’t like it, but she reluctantly consented. Not only did she need the sleep, but splitting up had one advantage: if something did go wrong at the site, she could come looking for them and potentially rescue them.
Desmond and Peyton found the keys to an old Citroen SUV in the airport’s office, and pulled out onto a paved two-lane road that wound through the green, rolling landscape. The GPS location was about forty miles from the airport, in an area of wooded hills. The fog hung heavy on the road; the headlights barely cut through it. The aurora loomed above, its green glow like a homing beacon. Peyton studied the aurora’s curving lines; they were like the plasma contrails of a spaceship in a sci-fi movie.
As Desmond drove, he told Peyton what he had remembered. For a very long time, Peyton had wanted to know what had happened after he left her on the doorstep of their little bungalow in Palo Alto. She had thought about him for countless hours since that day. Hearing the full story was nearly surreal to her, a blank page of their life together now filled in.
Desmond’s memories ended with Yuri Pachenko walking into his office in Menlo Park. The description of the man was vaguely familiar to Peyton. So was the name. But she couldn’t place either one.
“Do you know where they’re keeping the cure?” she asked.
“No.” He glanced over at her. “Did you ever get married?”
Peyton shook her head.
“Because of me.”
“Because of life, Desmond. It’s not your fault. And it’s in the past, okay?”
“Not for me.”
They rode in silence a moment.
Peyton spoke first. “Do you remember Avery?”
“No.”
“I still don’t trust her.”
“Same here. But she’s given us no reason not to yet.”
Peyton changed the subject. “How do you feel?”
“Like my head’s going to split open.” He studied her. “What about you?”
“I’m fine.”
“Be honest. You’re getting worse, aren’t you?”
“Getting sick’s an occupational hazard. I accepted the risks when I went to work at the CDC.”
“Well, I don’t accept it.”
Peyton stared out the windshield.
“You’re not going to die like this, Peyton.”
She massaged her aching neck; the turbulent landing had done more damage than she’d realized. “I’m usually the one telling sick people I’m going to fix them.”