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Insects buzzed the mosquito net. Light filtered through her closed lids.

Uncomfortable, Dr. Tara Blackburn shifted on the squeaky cot, her head pounding in response. Pressing her hand against her temple, she felt the bandage wrapped around her head, soaked with sweat—or was that blood? Jerking her hand back she examined it and was relieved when she didn’t see the crimson fluid coating her fingers, but instead saw grime and sweat.

Ignoring the throb at her temple, she pushed up on her elbows and surveyed the small makeshift clinic.

What had happened to her? Had she fallen and hit her head? The young girl, Mercy, rested on another cot several feet away. Other cots remained empty. Fuzzy memories hit Tara in waves. She’d taken a sample of Mercy’s blood. She’d been the only one to recover from the virus.

Jamila entered the tent and rushed to Tara’s side. The woman spoke a bit of broken English, for which Tara was grateful. At least she could understand some of what she said.

“What happened to me? How long have I been out?” Tara asked.

A deep frown lined Jamila’s face emphasizing the fear in her dark brown eyes. She didn’t answer Tara, only shoved her bag onto the bed. “Dress now. You must go. You leave.”

“What...what are you talking about? I haven’t finished.” She remembered at least that much. Working with the World Health Organization—WHO—she’d been at a village in equatorial Africa when a teenage boy had come to her from a nearby community reporting about a cave being used to isolate an illness. As an epidemiologist for WHO, she was sometimes referred to as a disease detective. She was the one sent in to study a new outbreak, work to diagnose the strain, identify treatments, and trace the spread of the disease.

She’d been prepping to go into the cave with Sandra Kendall, another epidemiologist and virologist to investigate and collect samples. If the rumors were true, then a team would be called in and measures would be taken to care for the infected and stop the spread.

“Where’s Sandra?”

Rat, tat, tat, tat…

Automatic gunfire resounded outside. Screams erupted.

Tara’s heart rate spiked.

Jamila hurried to Mercy’s cot and lifted the girl in her arms. She turned to face Tara, her urgent message now clear.

They had to escape!

Tara quickly dressed and rushed forward to assist Jamila. “Let’s go, we have to get out of here.”

“I will lead way,” Jamila said.

“But what about Sandra?”

Sorrow filled Jamila’s eyes. “Too late.”

“No, I won’t leave without her.”

Tara peeked through the opening. Gun-toting men marched with deadly purpose toward the tent where Tara hid with Jamila and Mercy. Oh, God! Oh, God! Help us! Terror froze her limbs until a sweaty palm gripped her arm.

“Come,” Jamila whispered.

Knees shaking, Tara stumbled and fell, then scrambled back to her feet. They had to get out of this tent before those men entered and shattered their lives.

God, please help Sandra!

Tara grabbed the EDTA blood tube with the sample she’d taken from Mercy and kept cold until she could send it to the lab. She stuck it in her bag with other essentials like her camera and her all-important passport, then followed Jamila to the back where they slipped between the overlapping canvas walls. Outside the shelter, thick, humid air engulfed her. Tara sucked in a breath, and risked a glimpse back through the crack in the tent.

Armed mercenaries entered. Shouted. Threw cots over. Searching…what were they looking for? Or rather, who?

Jamila led them into the dense vegetation of the tropical rainforest. Weapons fired off in the village. Terror-filled screams resounded from every direction.

Tara followed Jamila as they ran for their lives. The woman surprised Tara with her speed and agility as she maneuvered the tangle of green while carrying a child. Head pounding, Tara lurched and grabbed onto a thick tree trunk to catch her breath, then shoved off again, struggling to keep up with Jamila, fighting to breathe the thick, hot air. Her strangled gasps filled her ears, but not enough to drown out the gunfire.

What. Is. Happening?

She tripped on a vine and tumbled forward, slamming into the earth which gave way to a sharp incline. Her body twisted and rolled over the labyrinth of roots, saplings bruising her, fallen nuts and the tangle of nettles puncturing her flesh as she slid down the slope of the ravine. Tara clawed her fingers into the leave-covered soil and slowed her momentum until her body stopped. Darkness engulfed her. When her eyes flickered opened, she realized she’d blacked out. But for how long?

On her back she could see the sky peeking through the canopy. Dizziness swept through her, the pain in her head almost unbearable, sending waves of nausea over her. She waited until it passed.

When she gazed up to the path she’d taken down the slope, she saw no one.

Jamila! Mercy! Didn’t Jamila realize she’d fallen? Where were the woman and child? Jamila and Mercy must have kept going. Good. She wanted them to escape to safety.

Tara rolled from her back onto her knees, ignoring the pain from the bruises and scratches. Ignoring the throb in her temples. Regret gripped her. She pressed her forehead against the rich, leaf-covered soil.

God, please keep Jamila and Mercy safe. As for Tara, she had to go back to the village. She had to see what was happening. She had to find Sandra. How could she have left her co-worker and friend? But to return would mean risking her own life. Maybe she shouldn’t go back. She could be the only one to live and tell the story—except she had to know what that story was.

She crawled up the hillside, keeping low in the forest canopy, easily hiding in the abundant foliage, and continued on until she hid behind the thick trunk of a moabi tree about seventy-five yards from the village in flames. Other than the sound of the roaring fire, the village remained quiet. No more screams. No more shrieks of terror.

Tremors shook her body. She clutched her arms around her belly and squeezed her eyes shut. Everyone was dead. Before a cold numbness took over, Tara had to do something. But what? She grappled with the bag strung across her body and pulled out her small camera. Zooming the lens, she captured the images of the village and then focused on a group of men standing beyond the carnage.

Jamila sat at their feet, still holding Mercy.

They were alive! Tara’s pulse kicked up a thousand notches. She swallowed the fear lodged in her throat. She was helpless. Completely helpless. She couldn’t save them.

Zooming in on the face of one of the men, recognition squeezed her chest. No…it couldn’t be.

He pointed a weapon at Jamila and Mercy then fired twice.

Tara collapsed back against the tree. For a moment she struggled to breathe.

How could he do this? Why?

How could this happen? Why had the lives of so many innocents been snuffed out? Tara should be among them.

Breath hitching. Heart pounding. She rose to her feet from the base of the tree and ran.

If they believed her dead, she might just survive.