Another tear, this one of joy, rolled down her face.
She walked away from the building then, back to Avery, and held the woman’s hand while they waited for the medevac. The slender woman drifted in and out of consciousness while Peyton monitored her pulse.
A Citium security contractor tentatively made his way over to them.
“We’ve finished the search,” he said. “We didn’t find any… non-Citium personnel.”
Peyton nodded. “Thank you for telling me.”
The man unclipped his radio and earpiece and handed them to Peyton.
“Your mother’s on the comm.”
The moment she slipped the earpiece in, Peyton heard her mother’s voice giving orders rapid-fire to the soldiers around her.
“Mom?”
“Peyton. Your brother and Charlotte got out.”
“Are they—”
“We’ve stabilized them, but they need medical assistance.”
“Will they…”
“Yes. I think they’ll make it, darling, but we need to hurry.”
“I’m coming. I’ll be there with a medevac as soon as I can.”
When the medevac landed to pick up Avery, Peyton helped hoist her onto the stretcher and load her aboard. Then she hopped into the helicopter as well and directed them to the labs.
When they landed again, she raced to her brother. His prosthetic was badly burned. He must have used it as a shield. That could be replaced, but his good arm was taped to his body, and a large gash ran across his forehead. He and Charlotte were both unconscious. Charlotte had a bandage across her upper chest.
Peyton stood aside as soldiers loaded both of them onto the medevac. She had lost her father that night. She was terrified that she was going to lose her brother too.
When the medevac slipped out of sight, Lin began walking away. “Come on, Peyton; we need to talk. Your brother’s life depends on what we do next.”
Chapter 133
Millen was sitting on a cot, opening an MRE, when the door to the lab unsealed.
He stood quickly, ready to defend the Kenyan villagers, then relaxed when he realized who was entering: Phil.
“It’s over, Millen.”
“We—”
“A cure. Come on, get upstairs. We’ve got work to do.”
Millen joined the line in the auditorium, rolled up his shirt sleeve, and got his injection. The room was as lively as the New York Stock Exchange in the days before electronic trading; everyone was shouting questions about the mysterious cure. There seemed to be no answers.
Millen returned to his desk in the EOC after his dose and studied the new SOPs. Dr. Stevens had written them hastily; Millen had to re-read several passages twice. When he finished, he pulled on his headset.
“Centennial Park Checkpoint, BioShield Ops. We need an updated vial and head count.”
Near the end of Millen’s shift, an operator notified him that he had a call on a CDC landline.
The voice on the other end of the line belonged to someone Millen had thought he might never hear again: Elim Kibet.
His tone was serious. “I’ve got news, Millen.”
When Elim finished speaking, Millen simply said, “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
Millen waited outside Phil’s office door for him to finish his phone call, then stepped inside.
The senior CDC employee didn’t look up from his laptop. “What can I do for you, Millen?”
“I need a favor. A big one.”
Millen didn’t know who was called or what favors were traded, but he got word a few hours later that a deal had been made.
In the BSL-4 lab, he found Halima and Tian, both watching TV.
“Get your stuff together.”
Halima raised her eyebrows, fearful.
“You’re going home.”
They ran to him, and Millen hugged both of them.
“I didn’t know—” Halima began.
“When you agreed to come with me, I promised you I’d take you home when this was over. I honor my promises.”
They flew to DC first, then to Ramstein Air Base in Germany. The plane was filled with personnel who weren’t very chatty, which made Millen curious. About half the tight-lipped operatives disembarked at Ramstein, and were replaced by people boarding from the base and from Landstuhl Medical Center. From there, they flew through the night to Incirlik Air Base in Turkey, and a smaller plane took Millen and the villagers to Kenyatta National Airport.
Elim and Dhamiria were waiting for them. They had brought presents for the two villagers: a soccer ball for the boy and a beaded Maasai necklace for the girl. The two seemed overjoyed by the gifts—and by the fact that Elim and Dhamiria had been thinking about them while they were gone.
Instinctively, Millen knew they would adopt the two children. The thought made him very happy. He believed the four of them would be a wonderful family, despite the tragedy that had brought them together.
At the hospital, Millen walked the halls with Elim. The place was packed, a madhouse, but things were getting done; Elim was seeing to that. The Kenyan seemed to know everyone by name, and what they were doing. This was Elim’s passion. In Mandera, when he was recuperating, Elim had told Millen that his own hospital was on life support; its decline had taken the wind out of the Kenyan’s sails. Now the man’s energy was back. In a way, the pandemic that had almost taken his life had actually restored his purpose and vitality. Millen thought it was a strange twist of fate, but he couldn’t be happier for the man.
Elim slowed as they approached the hospital room where Hannah lay. Her strawberry-blond hair spilled over the pillow. The machines by her bedside had been turned off.
Millen stepped into the room. Behind him, he heard Elim pace away, already giving more orders.
He reached out, took the white sheet, and pulled it up, covering more of Hannah’s body, then sat in the chair by the window. He was asleep within minutes.
Millen awoke to the sound of sheets rustling. He looked toward the bed with bloodshot eyes.
“Millen.” Hannah was sitting up, gazing in amazement at him.
“Hi.”
“Hi yourself. How did you get here?”