Everywhere Elliott looked, he saw death. The dead and dying lay on cots and blankets in rows on the infield of the Georgia Dome. The stench was overpowering. He gagged twice before he got used to it. He marched, his sign held high, searching for his wife’s face or voice. His fear grew with each step. He tried in vain not to think about what he would do if he found her dead.
Elliott had spent decades of his career working in field hospitals. He had treated the victims of outbreaks, just like the living and dead lying all around him. But none of it had prepared him for being on the other side: being a family member of someone infected, whose life would be claimed by the pathogen. It was a feeling of complete helplessness. Tears ran down his face. Very soon, he would know whether X1-Mandera had claimed the love of his life. He dreaded that knowledge, and at the same time, he desperately wanted to know. Not knowing if she was alive and suffering, or gone and at peace, was tearing him apart.
A voice he knew well called out. “Dad!”
Elliott turned to see his son weaving through the crowd.
When the thirty-year-old physician reached Elliott, the older man pulled him in, hugging him hard.
“Your mom?”
Ryan nodded. “She’s alive.”
Elliott saw in his son’s face the words he didn’t say: But just barely.
“Are Sam and Adam with you?”
“They’re back at the RV. They’re safe.”
“Thank God. Are they…?”
“Sam’s asymptomatic. Adam’s infected, but it’s still early stage. I’m so sorry, son—”
Ryan squeezed his dad’s shoulders. “It’s not your fault. We’ll deal with it. Come on, let’s get Mom and get out of here.”
Elliott swallowed and steeled himself as Ryan led him into the Georgia Dome’s offices. He was anxious and afraid and so eager to see her again.
Rose lay on a cot in a small office, her eyes closed, pulse weak. Elliott did a quick examination. The rash on her abdomen was dark red and had spread up to her neck. Her face was ashen; dark bags hung below her eyes. But she’s alive. He was thankful to see her again, to hold her hand, still warm, pulse beating, if only to say goodbye.
He turned to his son and told him what they had to do.
Nearly an hour later, they reached the RV Elliott had parked off Marietta Street. He knocked three times, then two, then once, and waited. Three seconds. Then four. The door cracked, and he saw his neighbor’s face.
Ryan took off the blankets piled upon Rose. He hoisted her out of the wheelchair and carried her into the massive motor home. The kids lounging on the bed sprang up at the sight, allowing Ryan to gently set his mother down on the bed. The instant he released her, Sam ran into his arms, and they were both crying and shaking as they hugged each other. Adam joined them, clinging to his parents, them embracing him, and Elliott was there too, wrapping his arms around the three of them for a few long seconds before crawling into the bed to lie beside Rose. They had brought medicine and oral rehydration salts, but for the most part, all they could do now was wait.
Elliott pulled her freezing body close to his. The tears flowed fast now.
“It’s going to be okay, Rose. I’m here. We’re going to fix this. Everything is going to be all right, you hear me?”
She said nothing, but he felt one of her tears touch his cheek.
He held her tighter. “Don’t give up. Please.”
Chapter 107
After Desmond administered the cure to Peyton, he and Avery found William in another container and injected him with the cure.
As Desmond had suspected, Charlotte was confined to a shipping container as well.
Avery read his question before he asked. “I ordered the team at SARA to capture her. It seems she’s connected somehow.”
“That was good thinking.”
They freed Charlotte, and she thanked Desmond as he administered the cure.
The warehouse was huge, the size of a football field, stacked three tall with sea freight containers in rows. According to Avery, the building was in Port Adelaide, a suburb northwest of Adelaide, Australia. She led them to an office above the warehouse floor, where two camo-clad soldiers were laid out, glassy eyes staring at the ceiling, both shot in the chest, center mass.
“Where are the rest of the soldiers?” Desmond asked.
“In a cargo container,” Avery said. “They were more compliant.”
Desmond still didn’t know what to make of the woman, but he knew she was deadly efficient.
The five of them gathered around a large table the shipping company had likely used to plan routes and review manifests. Plate-glass windows looked down on the warehouse floor and the rows of cargo containers below. A window on an adjacent wall revealed a harbor where cargo ships were docked.
William focused on Desmond. “Did you reach the Labyrinth location before they captured you?”
In his peripheral vision, Desmond saw Avery cut her eyes to him.
“Yes.” He paused, considering what to say.
“Well?” William said, eager. “What did you find?”
“A memory.”
Peyton bunched up her eyebrows, studying him.
“It wasn’t…” Desmond searched for the words. If he told them the truth, there would be an argument for sidelining him going forward. He couldn’t let that happen. Stopping the Citium was more important to him than ever. “The memory was from the day of the fire. It was personal—not related to the Citium or the pandemic.”
William eyed him. “Are you certain?”
“Yeah.”
“In that case,” said Avery, opening a laptop, “I’ve got something you all need to see.”
Desmond couldn’t read the expression on her face, but he was thankful for the change in subject.
She told them that the computer had belonged to one of the Citium soldiers, whom she had “persuaded” to provide the password. She played the two messages the Citium had sent to the US and other governments.
Charlotte and Peyton stood aghast. Desmond was deep in thought. William turned and stared at the rows of shipping containers, then spoke slowly, in a reflective tone.