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Then, she stared at the flas.h.i.+ng yellow light. Flas.h.i.+ng slower … slower … slower …

Green.

She sagged sideways onto the bunk.

Klimas stepped forward, caught her. “Margaret, you okay?”

She nodded, weakly. He helped her sit up straight. “I’m fine. Couldn’t be better.”

He patted her shoulder. “That’s a good soldier. So come on, get up. Doc Feely said you’ve rested enough.”

He stepped back to the door and held it open for her. She stood, let the blanket slide away. She wore fatigues. When had she put those on?

That’s a good soldier. She was dressed like one. In the past few days, she had sure as h.e.l.l acted like one.

f.u.c.k you, Clarence. I’m better off without you.

Margaret walked out of the mission module and onto the cargo bay’s gray metal deck. Loud male voices filled the area. A row of closed mission modules lined the far side. In front of her, she saw three neatly stowed black boats, the same ones the SEALs had used to rescue her. In front of the boats, two Humvees on metal pallets that were chained to the deck.

Behind the boats lay an open area filled with around twenty armed men wearing camouflage uniforms. In the middle of them, wearing fatigues that were too big for him, stood Tim Feely. He’d set up a makes.h.i.+ft lab of some kind. Metal table, and a big metal pot that hung from an improvised tripod made of plastic poles and duct tape. Beneath that pot, three Bunsen burners cast up small, blue flames. A tube ran from each burner to a blue tank strapped into a dolly.

Clarence stood at the far edge of the circle. He was staring at her. He wore a gray T-s.h.i.+rt, fatigue pants and black combat boots. She wondered what he was thinking. Maybe he was thinking how he’d f.u.c.ked up, how he was now alone. Maybe he thought she’d want to take him back.

Some of the soldiers sat on crates or chairs, others leaned against cargo and bulkheads, still others just stood there. They were talking and laughing. She saw an open crate, boxes of infection testing kits inside. Used testing units littered the area; what lights she could see glowed green. The men were checking themselves. She knew exactly what would happen if one of those units glowed red.

Three of the men raised cups to their mouths and drank. Their faces scrunched up in disgust. One of the men — Bosh, who had been prepared to shoot her — bent over at the waist, as if he was about to vomit. As men do, the others all hooted and hollered, playfully mocking him for being weak.

A short man with the worst excuse for a mustache she’d ever seen leaned in, shouted at Bosh.

“Oh come on, D-Day,” the man said. His name patch read RAMIEREZ. He was shorter than everyone present except for Tim.

“Admit it,” Ramierez said. “This isn’t the first time you’ve had some random, hot goo in your mouth.”

“Only his mom’s,” said another man, this one big enough to make Clarence look small, almost as big as Perry Dawsey had been. His name patch read ROTH. “Especially when she had the clap!”

The other men laughed loudly, relis.h.i.+ng Bosh’s discomfort. He gagged again and almost lost it, which made them shout at him even more.