Chapter 19
NINETEEN
TEVENNE
The panic began quietly. Then it spread. The lobby of the main pavilion was supposed to smell like citrus oil and sea salt. Today, it smelled like antiseptic and fear.
Another man in a linen suit slammed his phone onto the marble counter. “I want my aircraft cleared now.”
The resort coordinator kept her voice steady. “Your jet is preparing for departure, Mr. Thirston.”
“Preparing?” he snapped. “I was told this island was medically secure.”
Another guest coughed behind him. The room fell silent.
The man demanded, “Get me and my wife off this island.”
Outside, the helipad lights flickered on, and another helicopter landed, its rotor blades turning slowly. Security vehicles rolled through the courtyard. The evacuation sped up.
Inside the maternity ward, Nurse Aurelia Fowler leaned against the medication station and tried to steady her breathing. Her skin burned. Even with the fever reducers, her temperature was 101.7.
The antivirals she took were helping, but barely, most likely because she shared them with another nurse. She took them when she returned from Kasavoa—where she got them—when she dropped Varga off at the clinic. It was the only chance he had.
Another alarm sounded in Room B-12. Aurelia moved quickly down the hall. The girl inside the room was barely conscious. She was twenty-eight weeks pregnant and sixteen years old. Her name in the system was Patient 44, but Aurelia knew her real name was Maria.
The girl’s lips were dry. Her skin was flushed, and she shook violently. The thermometer beeped: 104.9. The fetal monitor flickered erratically.
Aurelia swore under her breath. “You shouldn’t be here.”
Maria’s eyes fluttered open. “Am I dying?”
“No,” Aurelia said. But the lie felt thin.
Footsteps sounded in the hall. One of the security guards stepped inside. He looked worse than the girl. Sweat soaked through his uniform, and his breathing was shallow.
“You look terrible,” Aurelia said.
“Yeah,” he rasped.
“You’re sick.”
“Probably.” He leaned against the doorframe. “Half the security team is coughing.”
Aurelia looked at the girl then back at him. “Do you know how to pilot one of the harbor skiffs?”
The guard blinked. “I do.”
“Good.”
Fifteen minutes later, they moved. The lockdown sealed most of the building, but the service corridor near the laundry still led to the shoreline.
The guard carried Maria carefully in his arms. She weighed almost nothing.
Aurelia followed behind them, fighting the dizziness pressing against her skull.
The afternoon air hit them like cold water when the door opened. Below the cliffs, the sea was only gently rolling. A small skiff rocked against the dock.
“You’re serious?” the guard asked.
“She won’t survive here,” Aurelia said.
“And on Kasavoa she will?”
“They’ll try.”
They laid Maria gently in the bottom of the boat. Aurelia knelt beside her. “You’re going to another island,” she whispered.
Maria tried to nod. “Baby,” she murmured weakly.
“They’ll take care of the baby.” The lie came easier this time.
The guard untied the rope. “Kasavoa is twenty minutes.”
“If the patrol doesn’t stop you,” Aurelia warned.
“They won’t.” He climbed into the skiff and started the engine.
Aurelia stepped back onto the dock.
“Wait,” the guard said. “You’re not coming?”
Aurelia shook her head. “I’m already infected.”
“So are we.”
“Yes, but someone has to stay.”
The boat pulled away from the dock and disappeared into the dark water. Above them, another helicopter lifted from the helipad. More wealthy clients were leaving.
THE ORPHANAGE
The storm had passed hours ago. By midafternoon, the island returned to that strange calm that followed chaos. Sunlight poured across the courtyard between the clinic and the orphanage, turning the wet stone paths bright and reflective.
Inside the clinic, the work didn’t slow. But in the children’s wing, the rhythm of the day returned.
Ford stepped into the hallway carrying a bottle of electrolyte solution, his thermometer and the tools he needed to keep it germ-free: extra masks, gloves, sanitizer, and a clipboard he didn’t intend to pick up. Old habits were hard to shake.
He was halfway down the corridor when small footsteps slapped rapidly across the tile behind him. “Ford!”
He turned as Kavi came running around the corner. The boy skidded to a stop a few feet away. He just stood there breathing hard. Ford immediately noticed two things: the boy’s eyes were glassy, and his cheeks were flushed.
“What’s wrong, pal?” Ford asked.
Kavi blinked slowly. “Véronique won’t get up.”
Ford’s stomach tightened slightly. “From where?”
“Her room.”
“She sick?”
Kavi shrugged weakly. “I don’t know.” He coughed. It wasn’t violent, but it was deep.
Ford crouched down. “You feel okay?”
The boy nodded too quickly. “I’m fine.”
Ford reached forward and rested his hand briefly against Kavi’s forehead. Heat radiated off the skin. Fever.
Ford’s voice stayed calm. “I’m going to take your temp.” He used the contactless thermometer, which beeped at 101.8. “Let’s go see Véronique.” He placed a pediatric mask over Kavi’s nose and mouth.
One of the little girls’ rooms sat at the far end of the hallway. Four small beds lined the walls. Three of them were empty. The fourth held Véronique.
She was curled beneath the blanket clutching her stuffed turtle tightly against her chest.
Three other little girls sat cross-legged on the floor nearby, whispering to each other and drawing with colored pencils. They all looked up when Ford entered.
“She won’t play,” one of them lamented.
Ford stepped closer to the bed. “Véronique?”
The girl turned her head slowly, her eyes slits. “Hi,” she whispered, voice rough.
Ford knelt beside the bed. “Why aren’t you with the others?”
“I’m tired.”
He touched her forehead. She was burning up. “When did you start to feel sick?”
Véronique shrugged weakly. “After lunch.” A wet cough shook her small body.
Ford took her temperature. 104.6
Kavi leaned against the doorframe behind him, swaying slightly where he stood.
“Hey,” Ford said softly. “Come here.”
Kavi walked forward, but his steps were slower now. He had two children with fever and cough. The exact pattern spreading through the clinic.
Ford sat very still and took a deep breath before pressing up to his feet. “Alright, we’re going to see Nurse Liana.”
Véronique tightened her grip on the stuffed turtle. “I don’t want to.”
“I know.” He lifted her gently from the bed. She weighed almost nothing in his arms. Behind him, Kavi followed. Halfway down the hallway, the boy coughed again.
Outside in the courtyard, a patrol Jeep was pulling through the clinic gates.