My mind was spinning with images of Clara, of the second bassinet, of the twins waiting for us.

Marcus kept a steady, rapid pace, his hand occasionally reaching back to help me over fallen branches.

Finally, we reached a gravel turnout off the secondary highway.

A nondescript black SUV sat idling in the shadows, its headlights off.

The door opened from the inside as we approached.

A man in a dark tactical uniform looked out at us.

“Clear?” the driver asked.

“Clear,” Marcus said, pushing me into the back seat.

He climbed in after me and slammed the door.

The SUV immediately pulled out onto the wet asphalt, moving quickly but without spinning its tires.

The heater blasted hot air into the cabin, making my freezing skin sting.

I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to stop the shaking.

“How far is the medical compound?” I asked.

“Twenty minutes,” Marcus said, his eyes glued to the side mirror.

“Are the twins safe?” I asked.

“We have six heavily armed men inside the clinic,” Marcus said. “The boys are secure.”

He pulled out his satellite phone and tapped the screen.