My memories of what happened next are disjointed. I remember feeling wind in my hair, and a voice saying I was going to be all right. I remember feeling my clothes being cut off me and being washed. Was I dead? Were they preparing me for burial?
I saw a womans face. I asked, “Am I in heaven?” Her reply of “not yet” confused me. She told me to rest, and I fell asleep.

When I awoke I found myself in a hospital bed. Next to me was Rodgers. A patch on his head and typing away on his laptop.

I filled him in on what I remembered. How Clarke had pushed him out of the way and took a burst to the chest. “His last words were the Shahada, the profession of faith. ‘I testify that there is no God but Allah, and Mohammed is his messenger.’”

“What happened with that last terrorist. The one that stabbed me?”

“He was in a CBRN suit because of the VX. You almost killed the medic that saved you. He injected the ATNAA directly into your heart. If he hadn’t, you would have died before the drug could work."