Infected

64.

Margaret kicked open the swinging men’s-room door. She leaned in and shouted urgently. “Amos! Let’s go, man! We’ve got another one!”

A toilet flushed. Amos lurched out of a stall, stumbling as he fought to pull up his pants. Margaret turned and sprinted down the hallway. Amos ran to keep up.

She skidded to a halt in front of the elevator. Clarence Otto held the doors open. She and Amos entered, the doors shut and Otto hit the button for the parking garage.

“How far is it from here?” Margaret asked.

Clarence pulled out a map and gave it a quick study. “About ten minutes, give or take,” he said.

Margaret grabbed Clarence’s strong arm, her face electric with urgency. “What’s the victim’s condition? What are his symptoms?”

“I don’t know that, ma’am. Dew is en route, backed up by two rapid-response teams in full biosuits. I believe it’s an apartment complex.”

Margaret let go of his arm and tried to compose herself. “Do you think we’ll get this one alive?”

“I think so, ma’am,” Clarence said. “Dew should already be there. The victim filled out a computer form. Instructions on that say to stay put and wait for help. I can’t imagine anything going wrong at this point.”