Julian Vance stepped back from the oak shelf of the Dutch door, his boots resting flat on the cold linoleum floorboards.
Behind him, the heavy iron housing of the Simplex master clock hummed with a low electrical drone.
The brass gong from the stairwell had faded, but the walls of the booth still felt cold to the touch. Through the open pass-through doorway to the infirmary, Leo Park sat with his knees pulled tight to his chest, his paper cup resting empty on the floor between his bare feet. Evan Briggs, Sam Patel, and Toby Novak sat beside him on the wooden supply bench, their breath rising in thin white puffs.
“Is she still out there?” Leo whispered into the dim room.
“She’s on the stairs,” Julian answered quietly. “Stay behind the wire mesh and keep your blankets pulled up.”
Elena Rostova adjusted the cuffs of her white cardigan. She walked over to the steel shelf beside the intercom console and laid out three fresh cotton bandages, a roll of zinc-oxide tape, and her silver Littmann stethoscope.
“The boys’ pulses are stabilizing,” Elena said. “Leo is down to ninety-four beats a minute. The blue quarantine slips are holding their core temperatures at ninety-eight point six.”
