“Then I’m going to retire.”
“That’s the emptiest threat I’ve ever heard. You’re doing exactly what you were meant to do. Text me when you put the kid in the air. I’ll work on getting more ZMapp.”
Back in the main tent complex, Peyton found Nia talking to three Kenyan government employees, pointing to the map and arguing. The tall black woman fell silent and straightened as Peyton approached.
“We’ll give you doses for one patient,” Peyton said. “On the condition that the Ministry of Health provides us with a waiver that says the medication is for research purposes only and will be used at the Kenyan government’s sole discretion. The CDC has no knowledge of what will happen to the doses, and we make no commitment to provide further doses.”
Nia shook her head. “We don’t have time for paperwork.”
“Then I suggest you make the call now. I doubt you’ll have any issues. I’ve found you to be very persuasive.”
Peyton retrieved a dose of ZMapp from their supply crates, suited up again, and returned to Lucas’s room. She knelt beside him. “Hi, Lucas. I’m going to give you a medication that we hope will help you fight the infection. I’ll stay here for a bit to make sure you don’t have a reaction, okay?”
He nodded.
“If everything goes well, we’re going to put you into a special stretcher and transport you to the airport. You’ll be flown back to Atlanta where they can give you the best care possible. We’re going to do everything we can for you, Lucas.”
A tear rolled from his yellow, bloodshot right eye onto his cheek. He cleared his throat, looked her in the eye, and said, “Thank you.”
Peyton placed a hand on his shoulder. “You’re welcome.”
Lucas had drifted off to sleep when they came to transport him to the airplane. As Dr. Shaw helped him from the bed and into the isolation stretcher, he wanted to stand and hug her. Before she had arrived, he had been sure he would die here. Now he was filled with hope. For the first time since the fever had set in, he believed he had a chance at living.
He felt like the luckiest person in the world.
At the airport, Peyton watched the air ambulance personnel load Lucas onto the plane, along with the samples Hannah had taken.
“You think he’ll make it?” Hannah asked.
“I hope so,” Peyton said. She glanced at the younger physician. “You did great today. Seeing the treatment units firsthand is unnerving. You never get used to it, but it gets a little easier.”
Chapter 24
Elim Kibet was trying his best to read when Nia Okeke entered the room and marched past the rows of dying villagers. Behind her, a man pushed an empty wheelchair.
They stopped before Elim, and Nia squatted down and made eye contact through her clear plastic goggles.
“We’re moving you, Elim.”
He closed the paperback. “To where?”
“A patient room has opened up.”
Elim’s heart sank. It was the answer he had dreaded. If a patient room had opened up, it meant that the young American, Lucas Turner, had passed away.
He tried to stand, but his weakened legs failed him. Hands grabbed him and pulled him into the wheelchair. As he was wheeled out of the room, helpless eyes peered up at him from the floor, but everything passed in a haze, as if he were having a nightmare.
As he suspected, the wheelchair stopped at the exam room where he had last seen Lucas Turner.
“When did he pass?”
“He’s not dead. The Americans are flying him home.”
Elim looked up, surprised. “That’s good.”
“Yes. It is. Now let’s get you into bed.”
Nia and the other man helped Elim up, got him settled, and walked out, leaving a cloud of chlorine in their wake.
Lying there in silence, Elim thought about how quickly a person’s fate could change, how precious life and health are. He had walked into this very room two days ago as a practicing physician, a man in control, with the power to heal, looking down on the sick American on the same bed where he himself now lay. He had never known just how different the world looked from the other side.
He vowed that if he became well, he would cherish every day. And although he had never wished ill health on another person, there and then he wondered if every physician might benefit from being sick—really sick—just once. He wondered if it would make them all care a little more, or work a little harder, to have been on the other side for a while—to have placed their life and livelihood in the hands of a stranger, even if for only a short period. He had considered himself a very conscientious physician before this, but he imagined that if he lived, he would be even more dedicated to his patients.
Staring at the ceiling, he was reminded of an old Indian proverb: A healthy person has a hundred wishes, but a sick person has only one.
The door opened, and Nia reentered. She was carrying the three buckets Elim knew so well, some bottles of ORS, and a case labeled CDC.
She moved to his IV and began attaching something.
“What is that?”
“A gift from our American friends.”
“What kind of gift?”
“ZMapp.”
Elim sat up. “Don’t give it to me.”
She put a hand on his shoulder, forced him back onto the bed, and sat on the side. “For your sake, it’s a good thing you are no longer the physician in charge here, Dr. Kibet.”
“Give it to someone younger, with their life ahead of them.”
Nia smiled at him for the first time. “I like to think you’ve still got some life ahead of you, Elim. Look, we don’t even know if it will help. This is just a trial. We’re not dealing with Ebola, so we need a guinea pig to tell us if ZMapp will even work. Someone who understands informed consent. Someone worth saving.”
“There are lots of people worth saving.”
“True. We chose you. Now, I’ve got work to do. Call me if you need me.”