Pandemic (The Extinction Files Book 1)

  “The app still works,” he mumbled.

  The news thrilled Peyton. This could be the break they needed. “And?” she prompted eagerly.

  “It gave me a location this time,” Desmond said. “An island north of Scotland. It’s barely inhabited.”

  She could see he was frustrated. Maybe he had expected something more substantial. Or maybe it was the time he had spent walking through the camp.

  She told him about her call with the BioShield operator. They speculated on the state of things in America, Europe, and in particular Shetland, where the key to finding a cure could be waiting for them.

  “If Great Britain is locked down, they might shoot us out of the sky the minute we enter British airspace.”

  “That’s assuming,” Peyton said, “we can enter British airspace. Can you fly a plane?”

  An amused smile crossed Desmond’s lips. “I don’t know. Can’t remember. There’s really only one way to know.”

  She studied him for a minute, unsure if he was serious.

  Smiling, he said, “Kidding.”

  That left Avery. Neither spoke her name.

  Peyton simply said, “I don’t trust her.”

  “You don’t like her.”

  “True. I also don’t trust her. Her rescue was too convenient.”

  “Or timely.”

  “Do you trust her?”

  Desmond exhaled. “I’m not sure. I want to. But… It’s a weird thing, not knowing everything that happened to me, my true history with her. It’s… impossible to explain.”

  He looked Peyton in the eye. “I’d also like to know the rest of our history.”

  She said nothing.

  “Why won’t you tell me?”

  “It’s in the past,” she said quietly.

  He was silent for a few seconds, then took the phone from his pocket. “I need someone I can trust. I lied to Avery on the helicopter. The app I found in Berlin is actually called Labyrinth Reality. I took two identical phones. I’ll keep the one without the Labyrinth app; I want you to keep the one that has the app.”

  Peyton looked at the screen.

  “It says downloading. Downloading what?”

  “I don’t know. The message popped up shortly after the entrance was located.”

  When Peyton looked up, Avery was standing in the hall. She hadn’t heard the other woman walk up. She wondered how long Avery had been there—and how much she’d heard.

  Desmond followed Peyton’s gaze. To Avery, he said, “Did you get through?”

  “Phones are down. Web, too. We’re in the dark.”

  Peyton tucked Desmond’s cell phone in her pocket. She saw Avery watching her.

  “Did the app work?” Avery asked Desmond.

  He recounted what he had learned, including the Labyrinth location in Shetland, though he still pretended as though the app were something associated with CityForge.

  “Shetland’s a long way away,” Avery said. “Do we have a plane?”

  Peyton started off down the hall. “Let’s find out.”

  Outside the operating room, Peyton found Elim talking quietly with the villager she had seen in the mess hall.

  “About our other request,” Peyton said.

  Elim smiled. “Follow me.”

  He led them out of the building, across the aid camp, to a single-lane runway. At the end, Peyton could make out a large plane without many windows. A cargo plane. And as her eyes adjusted to the night, she saw the unmistakable emblem of a red cross on the side.

  “They arrived with supplies just as the outbreak began. They didn’t make it. It’s yours if you can use it. Besides, there are no pilots here.”

  Without a word, Avery began walking across the runway toward it.

  Desmond shot Peyton a look that said, I’ll keep an eye on her and make sure she doesn’t leave without us.

  Peyton thanked Elim, but the man waved it off.

  “It’s the least I could do for the woman who saved my life. I’m sure I would not have survived without ZMapp.”

  “You don’t have me to thank for that,” Peyton said. “A woman at the Kenyan Ministry of Health, Nia Okeke, was very convincing. She deserves the credit.”

  Elim nodded grimly, as if hearing the woman’s name saddened him.

  “I’m afraid we can’t take Hannah with us,” Peyton said.

  “I expected as much. I assure you, I will give her the very best care I can.”

  Peyton could see that he meant it.

  “I know you will. Thank you.”

  Back inside the building, Peyton took a deep breath before walking into Hannah’s room. Elim and the woman from the village followed right behind her.

  Hannah lay in the bed resting, her eyes closed. Monitors showed her vitals, which Peyton was glad to see were strong.

  Peyton placed a hand on Hannah’s shoulder.

  “Hannah.” She paused. “Can you hear me?”

  Hannah opened her eyes slowly.

  “I need to go. Elim is going to take good care of you.”

  Hannah nodded, thanked Elim, then looked at the woman beside him.

  “You’re from the village,” she said.

  Elim translated, and the woman nodded.

  Elim then explained to both Hannah and Peyton, “Your colleague, Millen Thomas, brought her to Mandera.”

  Millen is alive. Peyton was overjoyed at the news, but Hannah’s expression suggested she was even more joyful. A tear ran down her face.

  “He found me in the hospital,” Elim said. “I was alive, but just barely. Millen and Dhamiria rehabilitated me.” He looked at the woman beside him. “Gave me a reason to live.” To Hannah, he added, “I’ve recently learned how powerful that medicine can be.”

  There was a long pause.

  Hannah reached out and took Peyton’s hand. Hannah’s tears were coming faster now, but she didn’t cry out loud.

  Peyton asked the question she knew the younger woman wanted to. “Where did Millen go?”

  “Home. To Atlanta. He called someone—Elliott, I believe was his name. His colleague arranged transport. He departed several days ago, with the two children from the village. He was taking them to the CDC, in hopes they might find clues to a cure.”

  Peyton’s mind raced. Millen taking the survivors to the CDC was a break.

  To Hannah, Elim said, “Millen was quite worried about everyone he had traveled here with—but he was especially worried about you.”

  Peyton felt Hannah squeeze her hand.

  Elim gave Peyton some supplies for the trip: food, water, and—just in case, he said—medicine. Peyton had been coughing, and the physician had obviously realized she was infected with the Mandera virus. The antibiotics he provided would treat any secondary infections.

  As Elim led her down the corridor, he said, “There’s something I’ve wanted to ask since you arrived.”

  She nodded. “Of course.”

  “The young American I cared for, Lucas Turner. Did he make it?”

  Peyton shook her head. “No. I’m very sorry.”

  “So am I. He was a fine young man. And brave.”

  They were both silent for a moment.

  “Well, thank you for everything,” Peyton said at last.

  “Good luck to you, Dr. Shaw.”

  “And to you.”

  In the makeshift hospital room, Hannah dried the tears from her face and closed her eyes. She had never been so tired in all her life. She knew the fever was advancing, that the days ahead would determine whether she lived or died. She was ready. Because now she would face it with a very valuable thing, a thing she didn’t have the day before.

  Hope.

  In another patient room, Elim Kibet injected a vial of antibiotics into the IV.

  “You’re wasting that on me,” the woman said.

  Despite her deteriorating condition, her tone was firm, insistent. Elim had to agree with Dr. Shaw: Nia Okeke was a very convincing woman when she wanted to be.

&
nbsp; “You know,” he said, “for your sake, it’s a good thing you are not the physician in charge here.”

  The plane was similar to the Air Force transport Peyton had come to Kenya on, except a bit smaller. The crew cabin held six high-backed chairs and an open space where Peyton found Desmond stretched out on a sleeping bag. He wore only boxers and a T-shirt, which had sweat spots coming through.

  He was still in great shape, with broad shoulders and the build of someone who did kickboxing or weight training, not yoga or endurance running. The burn scars that covered his feet and stretched up his legs caught her eye, and she remembered the first time she saw them, almost twenty years ago, that morning in her dorm room. That felt like a lifetime ago, yet here and now, he was somehow more like that happy nineteen-year-old kid than he was like the troubled adult he had become after. Just like that night at the Halloween party, she felt herself irresistibly drawn to him, like a black hole that was pulling her in with no hope of escape.

  She had felt the first spark when she heard his voice the previous Saturday night. And again when Lucas Turner had said his name. And when she had seen his name written on the wall of the barn stall. It had been Desmond who had rescued her from the ship and likely saved Hannah’s life in the process. At each point, a little more of her had come alive, like she was waking up from a long sleep. But she couldn’t allow that to happen. They had work to do. Lives were at stake—things far more important than her and Desmond.

  She settled into a sleeping bag beside him, and they lay in silence. She could feel him looking at her. She wondered what he was thinking, when he would remember—if he would remember. And what she would do then.

  Five minutes later, the plane lifted off, en route to Shetland.

  Despite the noise and turbulence, Desmond fell asleep quickly. He must be exhausted, Peyton thought. The temperature in the cabin dropped as the plane climbed. The engines roared; Avery was pushing the craft to its limits.

  Peyton tucked a few pillows between Desmond and the wall, cushioning him in case they hit more turbulence. Then she slid back into her own sleeping bag and pulled in close beside his, trapping the heat between them.

  Slowly, she became more aware of her fever. Perhaps it was the chill in the cabin or the solitude, but the heat engulfed her face. Her head ached. Her chest felt heavy. She really hoped they found some clue on the island. For her sake, and many others.

  Desmond mumbled, but Peyton couldn’t hear what he said over the roar of the engines.

  She turned. His eyes were still closed. He spoke again.

  She leaned in, her ear inches from his lips.

  “I’ve figured it out.” He paused, then mumbled, “The X factor.”

  Peyton remembered the memory. She had been there. And she knew what came next. She dreaded it for him.

  She drew out the phone he had given her. A dialog read:

  Download complete.

  DAY 10

  4,600,000,000 Infected

  1,000,000 Dead

  Chapter 72

  By the time the Red Cross plane leveled out, sweat was pouring off of Desmond. Peyton had unzipped his sleeping bag, but it was little help.

  Every few seconds, he tossed his head from side to side.

  Peyton tried to wake him for five minutes straight, but it was no use. It was as if he were in a coma.

  She heard footsteps behind her, turned, and found Avery towering above her, squinting at Desmond wincing on the floor.

  The slender woman squatted, wiped the sweat from his forehead, and cupped his face in her hands. She leaned close, listening to the words he mumbled.

  It struck Peyton as a lover’s embrace, not a clinical inspection. She wondered if it was an act—or something Avery had actually done before.

  Without turning to Peyton, Avery said, “Should we land?”

  “I don’t know. Where are we?”

  “Over Ethiopia.”

  “He’s stable for now. I favor waiting until we reach Europe.”

  Avery left without another word. As soon as the door to the cockpit closed, Peyton wiped a new layer of sweat from Desmond’s face and placed her hands where Avery’s had been, feeling the stubble on his lean, glistening face.

  All she could do now was wait.

  Two days after Christmas, in Peyton’s apartment, Desmond presented his theory to her.

  “I’ve figured it out.”

  “What? The meaning of life?”

  “Better. Why companies fail.”

  “Oh.” She was reading People magazine and watching reruns of Friends.

  “It’s the X factor.”

  “I don’t follow.”

  “Think about it. First the company has to address a large market opportunity.” He was pacing in the small apartment now, cutting off her view of Ross and Rachel. “xTV got that right. But success requires two components: operational proficiency and the X factor. For all these web startups, the operational part is actually the easiest. You make sure your code works and the product scales, you pay your rent, et cetera, et cetera. The X factor is the issue.

  “For web companies, the X factor is consumer adoption. Every one of them is disrupting the world in some way—they’re trying to change customer behavior. Think about it. Amazon wants to change the way we buy books. Instead of walking into a Barnes and Noble, you order it online and it arrives at your door. Who knows, maybe they’ll deliver all kinds of stuff one day. Webvan wants to deliver groceries in the same way. No more driving to the store. WebCrawler wants to change the way we find information. Forget going to a library and looking it up—simply search for it on WebCrawler. Need to find a business? Don’t dial four-one-one, forget the yellow pages, just search for it on WebCrawler. They’re all trying to change the way we as consumers behave—and funnel attention and money to them.”

  “Makes sense.”

  “The mystery is how many consumers will change and when. That’s what xTV got wrong. They overestimated consumer adoption. They ran out of money before the consumers adopted their product.”

  “Okay. I’ll buy that.” She was peeking around him. Monica had just inherited a dollhouse. How this show was so popular was a mystery to Desmond.

  “It comes down to the founders,” he said. “Companies that succeed have a founder or a leadership team that fundamentally understands their customers, sometimes even better than customers know themselves. They imagine what the customer wants before they know they want it, and they package it in a way that is irresistible. And, they manage well. xTV had the vision, but not the discipline. They didn’t watch their bank account close enough.”

  “Uh-huh. So what are you going to do about this grand revelation?”

  “Tomorrow, I’m going for three job interviews.”

  “Really?” She sat up, tossed the magazine aside. “Where?”

  He told her, and she nodded.

  “You going to wear the steel-toed boots?”

  “Very funny. And yes. I am. Because I keep it real.”

  On New Year’s Eve, he accepted a job offer. When he told Peyton which company, she looked surprised.

  “SciNet?”

  “SciNet.”

  “I didn’t see that coming.”

  The company was boring. It was early stage and developing an e-commerce platform to sell scientific equipment and products.

  “It’s a home run,” Desmond said. “Low X factor. Very little waiting for consumer adoption. Their customers are scientists and office admins—very rational people, easy to target. Very easy to predict their behavior patterns.”

  “Don’t be so sure. I was raised by a scientist.”

  “Well, you know what I mean. They’ll hit it out of the park. Won’t be a multi-billion-dollar company, but it’ll succeed and do what I need it to do.”

  “Which is?”

  “Provide financial security. The job offer is solid. Tons of options and a good salary. I can start buying options in other companies again.”

  ?
??So you haven’t given up on that?”

  “Not by a long shot.”

  They went to a New Year’s Eve house party that night. It was like no New Year’s Desmond could remember. The whole world felt new again. He felt hopeful about everything: the new job, and his relationship with Peyton especially.

  The vibe at SciNet was very different from xTV. Where xTV had an almost Hollywood feel, SciNet felt like a university or a lab. Everyone was pretty uptight. Well, everyone except for a few of the developers, Desmond included. They couldn’t help but make a few pranks to lighten the mood. Most were related to the movie The Terminator, in which an artificial intelligence called SkyNet becomes self-aware and tries to wipe out humanity with a robotic Arnold Schwarzenegger. Whenever the database or website was acting weird, someone would say, “Oh God, I think SciNet’s becoming self-aware.”

  The site’s error page featured a picture of Arnold Schwarzenegger wearing dark sunglasses and holding a shotgun, with a caption that read, This page has been TERMINATED.

  The CEO finally sent an email banning all jokes related to The Terminator.

  Desmond replied:

  Just to confirm, these jokes are terminated?

  Despite their faux fears that SciNet would become self-aware, the platform did launch in the spring of 1998 and quickly became a hit. Across the country, labs and research facilities signed up, took inventory of the old equipment collecting dust, and posted it for sale. Some used the money to buy more equipment they actually needed—much of it from SciNet.

  Desmond was the lead developer. He could have taken the role of Chief Technology Officer, but he’d rated that job as more risky. He would have had a higher salary with fewer technical responsibilities. If the company ran low on cash or needed to refocus, he figured managers with higher pay would be laid off more quickly than the programmers who would be needed to right the ship.

  For the time being, however, the ship was sailing quite well. Their first clients were in the Bay Area: Lawrence Livermore National Laboratory, NASA’s Ames Research Center, Stanford, and SRI International. Word spread among scientists and procurement departments. Signups and transactions soared.