“Nairobi. The government has declared a nationwide state of emergency. Martial law. They’re setting up containment camps in every major city.”
Millen nodded.
“Come with us,” Kito said.
“No. I need to wait for my people.”
“If they’re rescued, they won’t return here.”
Millen had been thinking the same thing.
“Where will they take them?” he asked.
“I’m not sure.”
“What’s common in kidnap and ransom—after the rescue?”
Kito considered the question a moment. “Depends on the rescuers. If they’re operating from a ship, they’ll be taken back there—somewhere in the Indian Ocean. Or perhaps to the closest airport. Mandera, likely.”
Mandera—it was his best shot.
Kito read his reaction. “A word of advice, Doctor.”
“What’s that?”
“Set out at daybreak. It will be safer.”
“Yeah, that’s a good idea.”
“We’ll leave you a four-wheel drive, water, and rations.” Kito paused. “And a gun.”
“I won’t need it.”
“We’ll leave it just in case. You have a solar charger for your phone?”
Millen nodded.
“Very good. Best of luck to you, Dr. Thomas.”
“You too, Kito.”
As the Kenyan was walking away, Millen yelled to him. “Kito!”
When he turned, Millen said, “Thanks again for getting me out of that cave.”
“It was the least I could do. You came here to help us. We won’t forget it.”
When the cloud of red dust settled from the convoy’s departure, Millen returned to his tent, ripped open an MRE, and ate in silence, surveying Hannah’s neatly ordered side of their shared domicile.
He had met her six months ago during EIS orientation. At first, he had thought she was neurotic and uptight. But as he’d gotten to know her, he’d realized the truth: she cared. Being prepared and doing a good job were important to her. She had a kind heart, and it had led her to medicine. She cared about patients like he cared about animals. He had suggested they bunk together in camp during the deployment, to compare notes from the medical and veterinary side of the investigation. Who knows, he had added, in our off-hours we could find the breakthrough to stop the pandemic. But he had been hoping for a different kind of breakthrough.
When the food was gone, he drew out his phone. The Audible app appeared with The Nightingale’s book cover, ready to resume the story where he and Hannah had left off. He needed a distraction, something to take his mind off the waiting and worrying. He wanted to press play, to listen to the story as he drifted off to sleep, but he decided what he wanted even more was to finish it with Hannah, when she returned, safe and unharmed.
He set the phone down and closed his eyes. Dr. Shaw was right: thinking was the enemy of sleep.
Chapter 43
Elim Kibet drifted in and out of consciousness. Day turned into night and back again, like a light being flipped on and off. The fever flowed like the tide, surging, overwhelming him, roasting his body from the inside, then withdrawing, leaving him to think it would never return.
His symptoms grew worse each day. He found it harder to think. His hope of recovery faded. Dread took its place. Only when he had lost that last bit of hope did he realize how much he had truly held on to.
The bonfire outside his window grew larger each night. At first they tossed only the suits and contaminated material onto the blaze. Then came the bodies.
And then the night arrived when no fire was lit—and Elim knew that he was not the only one in danger. The entire place was in trouble. He waited for the news he knew would come soon.
The door opened, and Nia Okeke entered once again. The official with the Kenyan Ministry of Health had given him ZMapp and insisted he take the room the American had stayed in. Now she wheeled in a cart piled high with bottles of ORS, clean buckets for bodily fluids, and boxes of antibiotics and painkillers. She parked the cart within his reach and sat on the bed, just beside his chest.
“We’re leaving, Elim.”
“You can’t.”
“We must.”
He looked down, his fever-ridden mind searching for an argument to keep them here for the sake of his patients.
She seemed to read his mind. “There’s nothing you can say. There simply aren’t enough patients left here.”
“How many?”
“Two, including you. The other young man will likely pass before we leave.”
Elim exhaled and nodded. “Where will you go?”
“Dadaab. Then Nairobi. We’re setting up camps with military and health workers.”
In his mind, Elim could already see what would happen if they couldn’t contain the outbreak. The government would fail. Warlords would emerge. A new civil war would start, sparking an endless fight over land and resources. Bandits would rule the roads. This plague would set Kenya back a hundred years. And it had started here, in Mandera, in this very room.
“Before you came,” he said in labored breaths, “I was wondering how long I’d be able to keep this place open. I never imagined it would end this way. That I would be the last patient to die here. That it would die with me.”
“Have faith, Elim. It’s the best medicine. And you’ll need it even more if the medicine doesn’t work.”
Chapter 44
In his study in Atlanta, Elliott Shapiro was growing increasingly frustrated.
“This is no time for politics. These are people’s lives we’re talking about here. Have you found them? Tell me. Please.”
He listened, then interrupted. “I don’t care what your orders are, listen to me—Hello? Hello?”