“Stanford might have something,” he offers.
“Stanford University in California?” I ask.
Raj shakes himself, crestfallen. “I know, stupid idea. It would take a day just to get the samples to them.” He’s clearly panicking and not thinking very well under pressure. I try to calm him down, not to infect him with my own stress.
“Isn’t there some general antivirus we can give them?” I ask.
“No. We can kill bacteria with high-dose antibiotics. But not an unknown virus. And we can’t risk giving the carriers anything by mouth. Even an antibiotic or antiviral could be a trigger, if this particle is set up for that.”
I know he’s trying his best, but it’s not helping us. What he’s saying is that anything and everything near the girls could be fraught with danger. If we split them up, that danger will multiply, because our control of their immediate environment will be diluted.
“How’s the deconstruction of the particle going?” I ask as I head out the door.
“As well as it can,” Raj replies. He really doesn’t want to commit to a time frame but I pin him to the spot with my gaze till he provides one. “No guarantees, but I think we can crack this within twenty-four hours.”
I glance at the countdown timer that I’ve set up as my watch face. Fifty-five minutes left. Within me, frustration rises with such force and heat that I feel like kicking in a wall. Instead, I thank him and run.
If this nightmare has to happen, it’s a small mercy that the main places we have to travel between are concentrated within a relatively small area of Mumbai, because just crossing the city in its entirety can take two hours or more. But from the lab to the school in Bandra, it’s less than twenty.
Still, I rev the bike harder as I ride along the road that runs down to the sea. Forced to stop at a red light, I edge forward, trying to push past the thronging traffic that floods the street in front of me, blocking my progress, but I can’t find a way through. Desperate to contain my panic, to avoid the phantom ticking of the countdown in my head, I turn to look at the water, gleaming in the sun. The waves lap in, creating lacy edges of white froth at the shore as they push themselves over the backwash. It’s soothing, primal, true. The water exists free of chaos, choices, dilemmas. Right now, I wish that could be how our messy lives are. Ahead of me the opposing traffic finally pauses and, before the light can even change, I’m speeding over the junction. At the school, Caitlin has the gate open, ready for me. I pick her up onto the bike behind me and we roar up the driveway.
“What’s the update?” I ask as we disembark and head inside the building.
“We got rid of the private security firm in case they were infiltrated,” she says. “Only Luca and Ethan are in here now. They have complete surveillance around the school and a bunch of cool weapons—don’t ask me how they got them. And Hala just got here. And then there’s you and me.”
“Five of us guarding a hundred girls? Feels a bit light,” I suggest.
“Yeah, well, think of it as ‘lean,’” she replies.
She leads me through the foyer and back toward where Jaya has her office. The door hangs open and the room is empty as we stride in.
“We’ve put together our own list of things that could potentially activate the virus, and we’re trying to cross them off, but damn,” Caitlin says, discouraged, “with every expert Amber and Thomas talk to, there just seem to be more.”
On the main wall, next to the girls’ art about their dream careers, Caitlin has pinned up a list. New triggers are scrawled into an increasingly tight space at the bottom, while most of the top ones are ticked. Caitlin whips through them:
“We cut off all food and water deliveries yesterday morning, and got rid of existing stocks, in case the supply chain was compromised.”
“How are you feeding the girls?” I ask.
“Ethan went out with Jaya to buy supplies from an hour away, spread across a bunch of different stores. But right now, we’re not giving them anything by mouth, no medicine, nothing until . . .”
She trails off. Until the deadline comes and goes, she means. The thought of it makes us both check our watches. Thirty-two minutes to go. We leave the office to continue our circuit of the inside of the school.
“What if it’s an airborne trigger?” I ask.
“The air-conditioning vents are clear,” replies Caitlin. “There’s no tampering with the units that we could see, but we’ve switched them off, obviously. The guys have sealed off the vents and grilles that lead into the classrooms and dorms. In the basement there’s nothing but an old cooling unit and some gas heaters. They’re clean but Ethan pretty much took them apart anyway.”
“And you’ve scoured the place for any other kind of device?” I check.
“What, like a bomb?” Caitlin asks. “Sure. We’ve checked every nook and cranny, tested for any trace of explosive residue, any places of ingress, the works.”
We keep moving through a corridor hung with more artwork and with photos of famous female scientists. It feels like we are pacing, marking time. And yet, it’s hard to know what more we can do except be on our guard and wait, ensuring the girls are isolated from any possible contaminant.
“We’re keeping them all in the dining hall for now,” Caitlin explains. “The teachers were sent home yesterday as a precaution, and we don’t have much in the way of supervision for the kids.”
“Have they figured out what’s going on?” I ask.
“No. I mean, they know something’s up, because they’re all moved into one room. A few of them have been getting nervous, asking questions. But Jaya’s keeping them calm and busy.”
As we approach the dining hall the sound of young voices bubbles up,
