ID I EVER TELL you how much I hate needles? Bad childhood memories. It’s a lab-escapee thing. The meat cleaver was a mere annoyance in comparison.

My mind was still reeling as I slogged through the sand back to our camp. I kept a death grip on Angel’s hand as she trotted beside me to keep up. The African sun beat down on us, and for the first time, the heat felt crushing to me.

I really wanted to help the CSM and the refugees here, but my Mother Teresa aspirations were crumbling fast. This place was suddenly way too dangerous for us. Angel’s dire prediction, what the Voice had said about Dylan, Chu and the disappearing refugees in the middle of the night, and now Dr. Hans’s obsessive fondness for wielding knives and needles full of pathogens had all combined to turn this trip into a nightmare.

We had to get out of there and far away from Dr. Cleaver. ASAP.

“What did you think about Dylan?” Angel asked.

“Poor sap,” I said briefly, and tried not to think about him too much in case she was in mind-reading mode.

“Don’t you think we should stay and help him?” “Help him do what?”

“Help him learn,” she said. “He’s brand-new. He doesn’t have anyone else. I don’t think he can learn what he needs to know from Dr. Hans. At least we all have each other.” She smiled up at me somewhat tentatively.

Stopping, I looked into her blue eyes. “Do we, Angel?” I asked softly, as her smile faltered. “Do we all have each other? Have each other’s backs?”

She didn’t say anything, and then we were in sight of our tent. Gazzy called over to us. I strode forward and motioned everyone inside. In the heat of the day, it was stifling, but I would make this fast.

“Okay,” I said. “First, here.” I handed out squashed bacon, muffins, fruit, everything I’d been able to stuff into the cargo pockets of my pants and my jacket. In retrospect, the handful of scrambled eggs had not been a good idea, but still, my poor hungry flock fell on everything like hygiene-challenged hyenas. Gazzy actually moaned as he downed a piece of bacon in two bites.

“Listen up,” I said urgently. “It’s time to round up your gear. I’m gonna check in with Patrick, and then we’re getting the flock out of here.” Ha-ha. “If we head northnortheast, we’ll hit Italy. From Italy to Ireland. Ireland to New York. Sound good?”

They all looked at me.

“I’ll explain on the road, but we have to get out of here, fast.” I even looked over my shoulder, as if Dr. HackerHagen was about to pop through our tent flap.

“Aren’t we supposed to stay and help?” Nudge asked, brushing off crumbs.

“We’ve helped. We’ve posed for pictures,” I said, shoving my stuff into my backpack. “us staying a bit longer won’t do that much more.”

“Are we going on another CSM mission?” Nudge asked.

“Nah. At least not for a while,” I said. “We’re headed someplace new and different —”

Fang looked at me and smiled. It was time to spill our little secret.

“Home.”