He let the binoculars fall to the ground.
Avery sensed his unease. “What?” She took the binoculars, scanned the camp, searching for what had alarmed him. “What did you see, Des?”
He stood up.
She shifted to her side and stared up at him, aghast. “Get down.”
“Come on. We’re going to the camp.”
“Are you crazy? You’re just going to walk in there?”
“Yeah. This place isn’t what we think it is.”
Chapter 96
Desmond hiked across the field with Avery close behind him, making a beeline for the building to the right of the white tents.
Avery grabbed his arm. “Will you tell me what’s going on?”
“Not sure myself.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means there’s something going on here that I don’t understand. A piece is missing.”
He stared straight at the loading dock where the woman stood. She had seen them, had raised a hand to shade her eyes. She was calling to someone inside.
Back at the plane, William winced as Peyton taped the ankle again.
“Sorry,” she whispered.
“It’s okay. Just hurts a bit.”
He held up a page and studied the handwriting in the margin. He was sure of it now.
He picked up the handheld radio.
“Bravo, Tango, report.”
He released the button. But no response came.
As Desmond and Avery approached, the woman stepped down from the loading dock and walked across the gravel drive. She stopped where the field began, squinting, trying to see who they were. Desmond wondered if she would recognize him.
A man walked out of the building, came to her side, asked her something. She shook her head.
Avery unslung her rifle.
“Don’t do that,” Desmond said.
“This is creeping me out, Des. Tell me what’s going on.”
“I told you, I don’t know.”
The people eating at the tables under the open-air building had noticed them. Some stood, trying to get a glimpse of the two armor-clad figures approaching.
When they were thirty yards away, the man waded into the field. Desmond guessed he was in his late thirties. His long brown locks blowing in the wind reminded Desmond of a surfer.
When he spoke, his accent was Australian, his tone suspicious.
“Can I help you?”
Avery cut her eyes to Desmond.
“No, I don’t think so. But I think she can.”
He kept marching forward past the man, who hurried back to the woman. She stood still, showing no hint of nervousness or fear, only curiosity.
When he was ten yards from her, Desmond stopped and studied her face.
“Hello, Charlotte.”
William tried the radio again, and again there was no response. Peyton could tell he was getting more nervous by the second.
“What is it?” she asked.
“I’m not sure.”
He began assembling his body armor, getting ready.
“Are you going out there?”
“Yes—”
They both heard it at the same time: a truck engine, barreling over the hills.
Peyton stood, was about to move to the door, but her father caught her arm. “This is important, Peyton. If you recognize anyone at the camp, don’t say anything. Tell me first.”
She nodded. “Okay.”
She walked to the back of the plane to cough. The fever and chills were getting worse. She pulled her shirt up. The rash had advanced. On the top of her hand, where she had coughed, were tiny specks of blood. She wiped them on the underside of her shirt. She didn’t want her father, or Desmond, to know how sick she was.
A few minutes later, Desmond appeared at the plane’s door.
“It’s safe.”
“What did you find?” William asked.
“It’s… not what we thought. Come see for yourself.”
Chapter 97
They rode in an old Land Rover, Avery behind the wheel, Desmond beside her, facing the back seat, explaining what they’d found to Peyton and her father.
“It’s a relief camp. They take in anyone displaced by natural disasters: hurricanes, floods, drought, earthquakes. They take some folks who’ve just fallen on hard times, too. Their focus is getting people back on their feet.”
“Do you think they tested the cure here?” Peyton asked.
“I doubt it. You’ll see.”
“Do you know anyone there?” William asked.
Desmond cocked his head, surprised by the question. “I do. The woman running it. Charlotte. In 1983, my family passed away during the Ash Wednesday bushfires. Charlotte was one of the relief workers who helped in the aftermath. She… took care of me, helped find my uncle and get me to America.”
“Have you spoken with her since then?” William asked.
Desmond thought for a moment. “Not that I know of. But it’s possible.”
“Did she recognize you?”
“Yeah. She did.”
William stared out the window, the wheels turning in his head. “Interesting.”
The camp wasn’t high-tech. It was optimized to stretch every dollar to feed as many mouths and shelter as many lives as possible. The only advanced piece of medical equipment was an old X-ray machine, donated by the Royal Adelaide Hospital. Peyton insisted on using it on her father’s leg. He protested as he limped to the corrugated iron building, wincing every time his foot hit the ground.
“This really isn’t necessary, Peyton.”
“It really is, Dad.”
Desmond and Avery found Charlotte in her office, tapping at her cell phone. They kept their distance and made no physical contact. Peyton had expressed serious reservations about entering the camp at all—she still didn’t know how the virus was transmitted from person to person—but Desmond and William had argued that their need for information was more important than quarantine. They had to take some risks. Ultimately Peyton conceded, on the condition that the four of them remain in the building and avoid interacting with any camp residents other than Charlotte and her second-in-command.
Charlotte motioned them in, and Desmond and Avery sat across from her in a pair of ’70s-style wood and cloth chairs that had probably been salvaged from an old government building.