Hall looks over his shoulder, stops, comes back, puzzled.
Leavitt stands riveted, staring straight ahead at the flashing red light above the door, arms loosely at her sides.
“She’s in trouble,” says the MIC-T, inching away.
“Ruth, are you…?” begins Hall. He stops in front of her, passing his hand in front of her face. He glances back at the flashing red light.
“She’s got the germ!” says a female lab tech.
The technicians scatter. Leavitt’s knees buckle. Hall catches her, and stretches her out on her back. Her whole body begins to shake. He darts to the substation in the wall. Beside the substation is an intercom. He pushes his hand flat against the cluster of buttons.
“Someone bring me a hundred milligrams of phenobarb in a syringe, fast!” says Hall.
Leavitt’s head starts to hammer against the floor. Hall springs back to her, and puts his foot under her head.
“There’s no danger! She isn’t contagious!” shouts Hall, down the empty corridor. “There’s no danger!”