He was weak and constantly tired. It was impossible to concentrate. He drifted in and out of sleep, never knowing if it would be night or day when he awoke. He drank the rehydration salts, which grew more heinous with each bottle. He had no appetite, but at Dr. Kibet’s insistence, he forced himself to eat. He dreaded it; he knew his body would reject the nourishment in some way. He felt like he was fighting a losing battle, his own body now set against him.
The smell of chlorine in the small room was overpowering. Dr. Kibet had left several paperback novels and a Bible by his bed, but he couldn’t muster the energy to read them, despite his boredom. His thoughts were of his parents and his sister. They would be devastated. At one point he wished he had never come to Africa; he cursed himself for being so naive. Dreamers die foolish deaths. He was instantly ashamed of the thought. He refused to live his life that way—with regret, second-guessing himself. He had followed his dream, it had led here, and that was that. Life is uncertain; in the end we control only a single thing: our own thoughts. He set his mind to controlling those thoughts. He would stay positive, even if it was his fate to die here, in this place.
At some point, when exactly he didn’t know, Dr. Kibet stopped coming to his room. There were new personnel, in better containment suits. They were extremely cautious with him. Unlike Dr. Kibet, they asked him no questions and never stayed in the room a second longer than they had to. Dr. Kibet had treated him like a human being. These people treated him with clinical detachment.
The sun was setting. Through the narrow window, Lucas saw a group of the new personnel gathered around a bonfire, tossing their suits upon the blaze. The fire belched heavy black smoke, releasing plumes as more rubber shells were piled onto the inferno. He turned to the small mirror on the wall, which reflected bloodshot, watering eyes and pale skin. It was the face of a stranger. A monster.
With Jonas close behind her, Peyton followed Nia into Lucas Turner’s patient room. Lucas was asleep, and Peyton hated to wake him, but it had to be done. The clock was ticking—and they needed answers if they were to have any chance of stopping the pathogen’s spread.
Nia reached out to shake the young man, but Peyton placed her hand on the woman’s shoulder and moved in front of her. She sat on the edge of the bed, clasped Lucas’s hand, and gently shook his forearm and said his name until his yellow-tinted, bloodshot eyes opened. Peyton forced a smile. Seeing this young American in the prime of his life so sick broke her heart. He had come here to try to make the world a better place. And that path had led him here—to this room, where he was dying.
Lucas looked down at her hand holding his, seeming surprised that she was touching him. Peyton knew he was scared and had probably been treated with an abundance of caution—and rightly so. Still, it always amazed her how humanizing a touch could be. Seeing the hope that formed in his eyes at that moment made her proud of the work that she did—and more sure than ever that she was exactly where she was supposed to be, doing what she was meant to do.
She leaned closer and spoke softly.
“Lucas, can you hear me?”
He nodded.
“My name is Peyton Shaw. I’m a doctor with the CDC. We’re going to do everything we can to help you, okay?”
“Thank you,” Lucas said. The words were barely audible.
Peyton picked up the bottle of ORS from the side table. “Drink a little. I know it tastes bad.” She held it to his mouth, and Lucas drank, wincing slightly.
She set the bottle back on the table and waited for him to swallow.
“I read in Dr. Kibet’s notes that Steven got sick about seven days ago. Can you tell me where you all were then?”
Lucas closed his eyes, trying to think. He shook his head. “I’m sorry. The days run together.”
“That’s okay. Can you remember the last time you two were healthy? Maybe a time when you were happy?”
A moment later, he said, “Mount Kenya. In the park.”
“What happened there? Did you come into contact with any animals? A bat? Maybe a monkey?”
“No.” He paused. “No, definitely not. It was our last stop before going to the villages.” He smiled. “We had barbecue. And beer.”
Peyton bunched her eyebrows up. “A local barbecue? What kind of meat was it?”
“No. North Carolina barbecue. From home. And local beer. Brewed in Raleigh.”
“How?”
“A package from a sponsor.”
“A sponsor?”
“Icarus Capital. Desmond Hughes. He’s on our board.”
Peyton stopped cold. The idea that Desmond could be involved both shocked and scared her. She was reminded of his words from the call. I think you’re in danger.
She tried to keep her voice even. “Was anything else in the package?”
“Yeah, the food was just an extra. Mainly he was shipping us our video cameras. We had decided not to bring them in our airport luggage in case they got stolen along the way—plus we didn’t want to have to lug them around until we were ready to go into the villages. We weren’t even sure how many we needed. Desmond offered to ship them to us when we reached Mount Kenya. He sent the package to the lodge where we were camping. The barbecue and beer was unexpected. Desmond’s note said good luck, and here’s a taste of home.”
“That was it?” Peyton asked. “Cameras, barbecue, and beer?”
“Yeah.”
Lucas held a shaky hand up and massaged his throat. Peyton again brought the ORS bottle to his lips and let him drink a bit.
“How was Desmond Hughes involved in your company?”
“He’s an investor,” Lucas said, his voice a little clearer. “We only met him a few times. He’s a technology investor and philanthropist. Kind of intense. Really smart. Into some crazy stuff.”
“Like what?”
“Change-the-world type projects. Everything from AI to medical research to quantum physics. He said the only thing humanity hasn’t upgraded is itself. He thinks it’s time. He said the next version would be a quantum leap forward. He was even using himself as a guinea pig.”
“Why was he interested in CityForge?”
“He said building better cities was the third world’s only chance.”
“Chance of what?”
“Surviving.”