I’m late to one of our frequent all-hands meetings, thanks to a pit stop at the lab’s infirmary to grab a fresh handful of painkillers. Over the past forty-eight hours, I’ve been popping those little guys like candy. I push open the door of the conference room, which isn’t easy. The stitches in my shoulder are still sore, and my busted knee still aches. Not to mention my three chipped teeth, sprained wrist, and the cuts and bruises over my whole body. Seated around the giant marble table, their meeting already in progress, are Freitas, Sarah, Leahy, and most of the other scientists on our team. I say “most” because, between the feral human attack in the jungle and the mustang stampede on the highway, we’ve lost six colleagues in half as many days. As I gently, painfully, sink into an empty chair, I have to remind myself how much worse my fate could have been. Dr.
