The doctor wasn't even looking at him.  He stared down at the syringe, as though it were the most fascinating object he had ever seen.

Denton took a step forward to read his identification badge. The young man stumbled back to keep his distance. When he looked up, his eyes were wide and his lips were stretched thin.

"Dr. Malone," Denton said, mustering his severe, authoritative tone normally reserved for the classroom. "I don't think you understand the gravity of what is going on here. I have very likely been exposed to infectious pathogen or possibly a dangerous parasite. If the CDC hasn't been called already, you need to do it now. I don't need a sedative. I need to be put into a quarantined environment." A hand grabbed his left forearm and clamped down. Denton felt the tug pulling him back. He began talking faster, each word rising in volume and pitch. "I don't think it's airborne, but I should be in a room with separate ventilation, until we know more."

"Look, Bud," the officer with the snide attitude said from over Denton's shoulder. "You can either take your coat off, or we can do it for you. But I don't think you're going to like that."

"Just cooperate," his partner said, scratching the short, stubbly hair above his ear. "If you didn't notice, it's a zoo out there. The storm's causing havoc all over town. Every minute we're here with you is time we could be spending helping people with real problems."

Officer Adams remained silent. He stood there, blocking the thin gap in the curtain. There was a look of sympathy on the man's face, but when he spotted Denton studying him, he folded his arms and frowned.

"Look, don't make this any harder than it needs to be," Dr. Malone said. "I promise I'll give you a full blood workup, after the shot. Let's just stop wasting time. There are too many sick and injured people out there."

Somehow Denton had become the bad guy for not going along with this. But what were his options? How long could he argue before these policemen roughly stripped him? And what good would arguing do? He had to just hope that when they ran his blood they would realize their error and start taking him seriously. He began to pull off his old overcoat. His arm was released, so he could remove it from the sleeve, but the patrolman stayed close.

Dr. Malone let out an audible breath and slouched a little. Denton draped the coat on the bed and rolled up the sleeve of his sweater.

He was just unbuttoning the cuff of his shirt, when a raised voice roared over the din of the ER. "Do I look okay to you? I demand to see a doctor!"

All eyes turned toward the source, even though the hospital curtain blocked any possible view. The noise that had filled the area with a static drone just seconds before hushed, like everyone was collectively holding their breaths. The air in the tiny examining area grew tense. There was hostility in the words that suggested an imminent threat.

The officers placed their hands on their sidearms, on guard for whatever might follow. The young doctor paled and his forehead creased. He seemed to be waiting to find out what new misfortune the night had brought him.

Denton froze in place. Wet, quivering jelly began to replace the muscles in his legs. The voice of the irate man off in the vague direction of the admissions desk was Cole Radnor's.

"No, I'm not going anywhere," Radnor shouted. It was punctuated by a deafening crash echoing across the floor.

A woman screamed, "Security!"

All three patrolmen rushed out, throwing open the curtain. Dr. Malone followed fast behind them. It became readily apparent that whatever kind of madman they might have suspected Denton of being, they felt that the one out in the lobby required more immediate attention.

Finding himself alone, Denton took a deep breath. What on Earth was Radnor doing there? Could he just be seeking medical attention? After all, only a few hours ago Denton had urged him to come with him to the hospital.

This might be a good thing, he thought. The police would get him under control, Dr. Malone would inject him with the sedative instead of Denton, and the hospital would have two infected subjects to study. Except, the needle was lying on the tray with the other medical tools.

The frazzled doctor had left it behind.

"Freeze! Don't move!" As the police barked out orders, the general mood of the ER began to roil. Voices of all sorts began speaking in everything from a murmur to a shout, creating a chaotic chorus from which no coherent words escaped.

Denton took a tentative step toward the opening in the curtain and poked his head out. Almost every doctor, nurse, and patient in the triage area stared out at Admissions, watching the commotion.

If he wanted to leave, now would be the perfect time. No one would see him if he left by the swinging doors marked: "Authorized personnel only." He could get out of the ER and find another exit, away from the police and Radnor. But if he left, he risked infecting more people in town. And where would he go?

"Get down on the floor," one of the officers yelled, trying to make himself heard. Then the crowd of bystanders parted and a security guard crashed through them. He was on his back, sliding across the linoleum. His body came to a stop and didn't move.

Pandemonium erupted and all of the people so eager to get a view began pushing back into the room. The waiting room emptied out through the lobby, as people fled into the storm.

For an instant, there was a gap in the stream of panicked bodies, and Denton saw Radnor grappling with Officer Adams. The patrolman sank to his knees with the psychopath's hands around his throat. Even with the distance and confusion, Denton could detect the glee in Radnor's eyes as he turned and looked at him.

The man was not here for medical attention. He's here for me.

Denton retreated back into the examining area and pulled the curtain shut.

Nothing was making sense. If Radnor was going to go berserk and attack police officers why didn't he do it on the road when there was only one to deal with? And why couldn't three members of Bexhill PD take him down? And if they couldn't stop him, what good would a flimsy curtain do?

Denton grabbed his coat and prepared to make a break for it, when someone slipped in through the curtain. He moved so smoothly the green-blue fabric barely rustled.

"Hello, Professor Reed," Stephen Kaling said.

He was wearing the same clothes he had on earlier, with the addition of a down ski vest and scarf jauntily tied around his neck. He looked like a model from a mall store catalogue.

Denton backed away until he bumped into the small table beside the bed.

"I thought you might be in a bit of trouble. I'm here to help you." His voice was low and calm. Denton had to strain to hear the words over the commotion outside.

"Help me? How?" He regretted his position. The only way out was through Kaling. He was cornered.

"By getting you away from here, of course. I saw you get picked up by the police. I have to admit I thought it strange that they brought you here and not the station. Still, it will make this easier." As he spoke, Kaling slowly moved in closer.

"That's why Radnor's here?"

"Yes, I asked Cole to create a diversion, so that I could sneak you out."

As if on cue a shot rang out. The undeniable sound of the gun firing was followed by another less distinct bang, like the sound of a chair being flung against a wall.

"He doesn't disappoint," Kaling said. There was a smug, affected quality about him that Denton had never seen in his student before.

"Why did you infect me?" he demanded.

"I didn't do anything to you, my dear Professor Reed." "Radnor. He..." Denton trailed off. Put his spit on my wrist, didn't seem like the best way to explain the situation.

"Oh, yes," Kaling said elaborately, like a bad stage actor. "He is an exuberant little fellow, isn't he? Funny, how the timid ones often end up that way. But infect you, Dr. Reed? Is that really what you think he's done?"

A numb tingling started in Denton's finger tips and started to climb up his arms. "Often end up? So, you know what's changing people. You know what's going on." His voice trembled and sounded frail.

"Nothing is going on." Kaling's cold blue eyes looked at him without emotion. He took another step closer and lowered his head, conspiratorial way. "We should go. He can't hold them off forever." Denton slipped on his coat. It was awkward in the tight space Kaling had left him. From the noise all round them, he could tell that Radnor's fit was still in full swing. He just hoped no one was getting seriously injured and that Officer Adams was only unconscious. The thought of someone being hurt or killed in this bizarre rescue plan sickened him.

Why hadn't anyone hit Radnor with a Taser? Or a bullet, for that matter?

What if they have, and it didn't stop him?

He tried to shrug off the chill that thought gave him.

Kaling started to turn to go, but stopped himself, as if he just remembered something. "Do you still have that list? You didn't give it to anyone, did you?"

Reflexively, Denton's hand patted his side coat pocket to check if the crumpled sheet was still there. Kaling's eyes immediately darted to it.

"Good." He pushed Denton backward with one hand while making for the pocket with the other. Denton's hip banged into the table and the tray of medical equipment clattered behind him.

Kaling pressed his body close against him and tried to snatch the paper. His hair gel smelled of coconut. Denton grabbed his arm and tried to force it away, but it was a losing battle. As though in slow-motion, he watched Kaling draw ever closer to his goal.

The list must be important, for Kaling to go to these lengths to get it. Denton knew he couldn't let him succeed.

Groping at the table behind him, he gave Kaling free reign to rifle his pocket. Then the second his fingers found the syringe against the lip of the tray, he plunged it into the exposed flesh above the ski vest's collar and pushed the plunger down.

A snarl of pain burst from Kaling's lips and filled Denton's face with hot, fetid breath. Kaling recoiled, as he yanked the needle out. Before Denton could do anything, Kaling slapped him with a backhand sending him flying against the curtain wall.

The whole structure came down with him. The metal support rods clanged against the floor, and the fabric tangled around his limbs, as Denton flailed in what was beginning to resemble a deflating tent.

Somehow, he managed to scurry to his feet. In front of him, more police had flooded the lobby and waiting area. Radnor couldn't be seen in all the confusion, but the sounds of struggle could still be heard, and several of the officers had their weapons drawn and were looking for a clear shot. Denton staggered for the swinging doors that led deeper into the hospital.

The policeman with the crew-cut spotted him and yelled, "Freeze." His 9mm turned toward him.

Kaling emerged and called out, "He's escaping. After him."

The patrolman and two other officers broke from the pack and headed straight at him.

Denton opened the doors with his shoulder and entered a deserted hallway. The staff must have abandoned it for safer parts of the hospital. As he ran, Denton grabbed a gurney and flung it behind him. Kaling hit it and rolled over it without breaking stride. Denton took a random right turn to get out of the line of sight.

He had no idea where he was or how he was going to get out of there. Swerving left down another corridor, he nearly slammed into an orderly. The large man used a mop to push a large bucket on wheels down the hall. As he passed, Denton yanked the mop handle tipping over the pail. A noxious mixture of industrial cleanser and vomit spilled out across the floor.

"Hey." With that one monosyllabic word, the orderly managed to express shock, anger, and impending revenge. His fingers were just snatching at the back of Denton's collar, when Kaling careened through the sludge. He crashed into the orderly, knocking his legs out from under him, sending him sprawling.

The police officers rounded the corner and tried to dodge the spill and the orderly.

Were the cops in on it? Or were they just trying to stop Denton from escaping? Was Kaling even calling to them? Or was he trying to signal Radnor? None of it mattered now.

Denton passed a nurses station that looked familiar. They had come this way that day when he was with Bill and Linda and they avoided the reporters. The service exit they used wasn't far.

He picked up speed, his legs pumping as quickly as his blood. How strong was his heart? How much more could it take before he had a coronary incident?

Kaling was beginning to fall back. He was finally slowing down. Denton found himself wishing Dr. Malone had planned on giving him a tranquilizer strong enough to knock out a horse. Why hadn't the sedative started working before now? Did the virus make you stronger—impervious to harm? Or had he just missed a vein and spilled the medication into soft tissue?

The police were out in front now. But the orderly had joined in and was coming up right behind them. His face was red with exertion and rage.

Two more quick turns and he was at the door to the stairwell. He flew through it and slammed it behind him, hoping to cover his tracks. His feet charged down the flight, taking the stairs three at a time. The service entrance was at the bottom. He hit the door's metal bar with his full body and hurled himself through.

The snow was coming down in thick sheets and the cold rushed out to meet him, caressing him with its icy hands. Denton was drenched in sweat. His hair and shirt was soaked. Even his sweater was damp. The flakes melted instantly against the heat he radiated. But the wind began to work quickly to rob him of that warmth.

Weaving his way around a delivery van, he picked his way through the parking lot trying to remember what he had done with his car.

If it hadn't been towed, it should still be out on the street by the dry cleaner's.

His muscles slowed to an aching crawl as he gasped. His lungs burned and his breath tasted of blood. He forced himself to keep moving and to circle around to the front of the building, plodding through the snow drifts.

He heard disembodied voices lost in the storm, "I can't see him. Where did he go?"

Four squad cars sat outside the ER entrance with their lights flaring in a Morse code of alarm. Two more were screeching down the street to meet them. No one noticed Denton as he staggered zombie-like into the road.

The loaner car was covered in snow an inch thick. Denton crawled in and sealed himself inside. Shuddering and breathless, he was unable to think. He just wanted to collapse, give up, and let someone else clean all this up.

The bottle on the seat next to him sat there like his only friend in the universe. He downed the whiskey sip by sip until the world drifted back into focus and he realized he wasn't safe yet. It wouldn't be long before they started searching for him beyond the hospital's property. The Buick started up with a reluctant groan and eased itself out onto the road. The wipers created a tunnel in the snow and he pulled out like a rolling igloo.

Luckily, the streets were empty.

Trying to assess the situation was pointless. Every time he tried to make sense of things his mind skipped back to the beginning, and he felt Radnor's clammy, moist grip on his wrist. Sometimes it wasn't the man's hand holding on to him, but a giant pink worm— an insanely long and dexterous tongue hanging out of his maniacal coworker's mouth.

Denton struggled to get the image out of his mind and get back to the problem at hand. Everything was falling apart. Where should he go? There was nowhere to go.

Where was Linda going, he wondered? Did she go to her friends in the city or to her mom's in New Jersey? Or had she taken refuge in a motel on some lonely stretch of highway, trying to sleep and worrying if he was safe.

If only he could make Bill understand what was going on. He desperately needed an ally in this, especially now that the forces of the infected were rising up against him.

Was the real threat the things burrowing beneath his skin, or the people on the list?

His hand slipped into his pocket. The list was still there. Kaling hadn't gotten it. But he had been scared of the police seeing it. If he could get it to Bill, he might be able to convince him to run down the names on it. But could he ever convince Bill? How did he explain all this without sounding insane? If he tried, would he just end up here all over again like a repeating loop?

He turned down Hoffman Street and stopped at a light; he stared at an ancient church crammed in between more modern buildings. The decrepit Christmas decorations were coated in snow. The scene was lost and sad. On the building next to it was a large sign: "Homeless for the Holidays? St. Fillan's Shelter for men—Hot food and a warm bed."

That was him: homeless for the holidays. For the first time in his life, he had no home to go to. Before he could feel too sorry for himself, his stomach flooded with the burning sickness of whiskey and the memory of hunger.

He hadn't eaten since breakfast: a small bowl of instant oatmeal, fourteen hours ago.

A car honked. He looked up to see the light had turned green. A voice in the back of his head was trying to tell him something, but it was lost among the crowd of mumbling soliloquies filling his mind.

Another honk.

The voice continued to chatter on, soft and faltering, like a small child in the backseat talking in his sleep. Why was this voice so in need of attention when so many were clamoring for his time?

Denton focused hard and heard it speak one coherent word: Homeless. It rang in his head like an echo under a train bridge. He turned the corner and parked.