It was as tightly packed as a parachute. It held two folded, white canvas sheaths: more body bags. Like the first two, there were places for names, infection dates, and death dates. Like the other two, the material had been picked because it would burn well once the interior of the pressurized infection tent was set ablaze. Will Halliday had just checked the factory perimeter and sauntered back to the group. He saw Asher study the white bundle inside the pack. “What’s that?” Asher studied the name tags, barely visible where the holdall was unzipped. They read GEORGES RABADEAU and WILL HALLIDAY. He carefully stuffed the white material back into the holdall and zipped it up. He looked up through his lenses at the big American and smiled. “Stowing our gear. We’re moving out soon.” Halliday nodded. Eli Schullman casually worked his way around behind the blond American and slid a titanium hunting knife from its leather scabbard.
