“Why?”
“You were one of those strangers who came here, risking your life to help us. But most of all, I know it because I know what you’re thinking right now.”
She looked away from him.
“Right now you want to get out of that bed, walk out into this hospital, and start helping people.”
Her eyes told him he was correct.
“The world needs people like you, Dr. Watson. It’s a difficult choice, but sometimes we have to save the people who can help others. I realized the wisdom of my government’s decision when I traveled to the refugee camp, and when I came here.
“A brush with death changes a person. For good people, it changes them for the better, makes them more thankful—and dedicated to the things that matter.
“Your recovery will take time. You’ve been bedridden for days. But it will happen. And when it does, we will welcome your help. Rest for now.”
Chapter 111
The moon lit their way. The boats were nearly silent, the passengers clad in black, their faces painted in jungle shades of green and brown.
The salt-laced wind blew through Peyton’s hair, whipping it around when the boat bounced. Desmond sat beside her, eyes forward. On this early summer night in the South Pacific, with the wind on her face, Peyton was at peace. She marveled at the events of the last two weeks. Her father had returned. Desmond had returned. And she might be about to lose it all.
Avery sat across from her. The blond woman had stuffed her hair in the helmet and applied the face paint liberally. Her eyes glowed unnaturally, like a predator sitting silently in the jungle, examining its prey, contemplating whether to spring. She looked from Peyton to Desmond and back, saying with her eyes, So you’re together again?
Peyton wanted to kick the woman in the chest, send her over the boat’s edge. But they needed her. And Avery would probably just catch Peyton’s foot and snap it like a twig anyway.
Peyton’s father seemed to read the exchange. He also glanced at Desmond and raised his eyebrows. Peyton felt herself turn red. It was so bizarre—all her teenage years squeezed into this moment.
Not to be left out, Charlotte eyed Desmond and Peyton. She smiled, apparently delighted at the prospect of her former boyfriend’s sister and the orphan she had cared for getting together. The only ones who didn’t seem clued in to the exchange were the Navy SEALs at the bow and stern.
The beach ahead appeared deserted, but Peyton couldn’t help but hold her breath as the small vessels crested wave after wave.
Their boat came to a crunching halt as sand dragged the bottom. The beach was littered with shells, driftwood, and fallen coconuts. It wasn’t a pristine resort beach. It was an untouched land, the way nature had made it and kept it for all these years.
Soldiers were waving their arms forward, urging their five passengers out of the boat. Seconds later, Peyton took her first step onto the island.
Chapter 112
SEALs and Force Recon operatives hoisted the two boats up and jogged into the lush forest. They hid the vessels under camouflage and led Peyton, Desmond, Avery, William, and Charlotte deeper into the South Pacific island jungle.
The troops formed a ring around the five civilians. They crouched slightly as they crept through the jungle, over coconuts on the ground, with palm trees above and dense tree ferns in every direction. The air was humid, sticky almost. The heat was oppressive, but the breeze off the ocean beat it back every few seconds.
To Peyton, the jungle seemed alive, constantly in motion, like a single organism breathing in and out. The dense trees and plants swayed in the wind. Creatures she couldn’t identify clicked and called and slithered all around her. The plants were so thick she could barely see ten feet in front of her.
Everyone was on edge. Several times they stopped, crouched, and waited, making sure they were alone in the jungle.
Peyton had had basic training in voice procedures for two-way radio communication, and it had come in handy on many of her deployments when interacting with armed forces, police, fire, and aviation personnel. The training had certainly come in handy of late.
Peyton’s father spoke the first words over the comm, a whisper. “Target three hundred yards.”
The group stopped, and three soldiers departed, moving quickly. When they returned, they motioned for the group to follow.
The forest gave way to a cleared area. From a hill in the trees, Peyton made out rows of small houses in a Caribbean style: clapboard sides, metal roofs, hurricane shutters, and large front porches. A massive canopy hung over the homes, supported by metal poles set in concrete footings. An electric vehicle that reminded her of a golf cart with clear plastic sides zoomed away from one of the houses.
A Marine spoke over the comm. “Overwatch, units Bravo and Zulu. We are at location Tango. Proceeding.”
“Bravo, Zulu, Overwatch. Copy that.”
William and four soldiers departed from the group, made their way to the corner of the settlement, and sat for a moment, working their binoculars. The remaining troops spread out in the forest and took up sniper positions, most lying on their stomachs, peering through the scopes of their rifles, sweeping across the small settlement.
On the ship, Peyton’s father had insisted on leading the advance recon teams. Colonel Jamison had argued against it, but William had insisted that he had the most first-hand information about the terrain and their adversary. In the ship’s infirmary, he had made Peyton wrap up his ankle again, administer cortisone shots, and give him some oral painkillers. He had tucked the pills in his pocket, but hadn’t taken one.