Part 19 (2/2)
Despite her fascination with what is happening down there, it is not her immediate concern. She forces herself to continue exploring the facility on her screens.
Empty hallways.
An empty elevator lobby.
An empty auditorium.
An empty records room.
A corridor with a man's broken body propping open the door to the east-side Men's Room. Petrova instantly recognizes him as Dr. Sims.
Her first thought: He is dead.
She cannot prevent her second thought, which fills her with shame: Thank G.o.d. Thank G.o.d he is not a Mad Dog.
In the image produced on the other screen, Joe Hardy lies on his back in a large puddle of his own blood in Laboratory West. His eyes are open and his face is a mask of horror. Miraculously, he survived long enough to pick up his phone, which is now in his hand. She wonders if he ever answered it.
She suddenly cannot bare to look at him. She quickly brings up an image of another hallway. A pair of legs in men's trousers are protruding from one of the offices. Another person is hurt.
”h.e.l.lo? This is Sandy. Are you still there, Dr. Petrova?”
”Just one more minute, Sandy.”
”I was just thinking about Dr. Sims. He's dead, isn't he?”
”Please wait.”
”We left him there and he died, right?”
”Sandy. Please. I am working on a way to get you out of there safely.” Petrova rapid-fires through the remaining images, all of them empty s.p.a.ces, and performs a quick calculation in her mind: There are now five uninfected people at most, including Sandy Cohen and herself, cowering in their various hiding places, most likely in the offices.
Go back, a voice in her head tells her.
She cycles through the camera images in reverse order, searching randomly until she becomes frustrated. Whatever she was trying to tell herself, she's lost it now.
”What am I looking for?” she asks out loud, feeling irritated.
”Dr. Petrova? Is there somebody there with you?”
”No, Sandy. I am alone.”
”Stringer isn't there?”
”I am speaking to my-”
The voice in her head suddenly shouts: Stringer!
Ignoring Cohen's questioning, she clicks to the image of Sims lying in the doorway to the Men's Room.
”Oh,” she says quietly.
Behind Sims, in the mirror on the bathroom wall, she can see Jackson looking at himself, far enough from the camera so that the resolution is not very good, but close enough for her to see what he is doing.
He is poking very gingerly at his right eye. Or rather, his left eye, which only looks like his right eye in the mirror. Yes, he is poking at his eye.
Or rather, what is left of his eye.
Jackson, the retired, overweight, out-of-shape cop, beat Baird. But Baird bit his face and ruined his left eye.
Jackson's clearly in shock. And almost certainly infected.
He has not yet turned, but it is only a matter of time.
Trust me
There are now four infected people in their section of the building, and two, possibly three uninfected survivors trapped inside with them.
”Sandy, listen to me,” she says into the phone. ”I am looking at the security camera feeds and they are showing me the corridor outside Dr. Saunders' office.”
”Can you see if Dr. Baird is still around?”
”It is not Dr. Baird anymore, Sandy,” Petrova says. ”In any case, he is dead.”
”Oh my G.o.d.”
Petrova grips the phone, her hand and ear slick with sweat.
”Drs. Lucas and Saunders are now infected and have become Mad Dogs themselves,” she says. ”And Marsha Fuentes.”
”There's three of them now?”
”I am afraid so. Actually, four. Stringer Jackson has been bitten. He has not yet become a Mad Dog, but I believe he will transform soon, which is why it is essential you try to get to me now, where it is safe.”
”That's not supposed to happen. You can't become a Mad Dog if you get bitten. You only get it if the virus enters the brain. And no virus has an incubation period that short-”
Petrova sighs loudly. ”I cannot get into the details, but what I am telling you is true.”
”Well, I can't stay here forever with those things around, Dr. Petrova,” Cohen says, her voice edged with hysteria. ”You have to help me. You have to make them leave.”
<script>