Pandemic 9

"Mark! Where are you going?" Kramer's voice was in his ears, and her hand was on his shoulder.

"Don't touch me!"

"Why not?" Her voice was curiously different. Younger, excited.

"I have Li’s Disease," he said.

She didn't let go. "Are you sure?"

"The presumptive tests were positive."

"Initial stages?"

He nodded. "I had the first coughing attack a few minutes ago."

She pulled him away from the elevator door that suddenly slid open. "You were going to that death trap upstairs," she said.

"Where else can I go?"

"With me," she said. "I think I can help you."

"How? Have you found a cure for the virus?"

"I think so. At least it's a better possibility than the things they're using up there." Her voice was urgent. "And to think I might never have seen it if you hadn't put me on the track."

"What track? Are you sure you're right?"

"Not absolutely, but the facts fit. The theory's good."

"Then I'm going to the clinic. I can't risk infecting you. I'm a vector now. I can kill you, and you're too important to die."

"You don't know how wrong you are," Kramer said.

"Let go of me!"

"No--you're coming back!"

He twisted in her grasp. "Let me go!" he sobbed and broke into a fit of coughing worse than before.

"What I was trying to say," Kramer moaned into the silence that followed, "is that if you have Li’s Disease, you've been a vector for at least two weeks. If I am going to get it, your going away can't help. And if I'm not, I'm not."

"Do you come willingly or shall I knock you unconscious and drag you back?" Kramer asked.

He looked at her face. It was grimmer than he had ever seen it before. Numbly he let her lead him back to the laboratory.

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