The infected colonists are housed in another
section of the quarantine lab, not far from the room where Shanley
left us. Two long, low windows are cut into either wall, facing
each other, and Ellington stops, shoves his hands into the pockets
of his pants, nods at the room beyond the glass on the left. “Sick
bay,” he says, his voice awed. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to
go much further.”
On the other side of the window, a series of
beds stretch out of view, only a few of them occupied. Chairs are
scattered around one end of the room and there’s a small table
stacked with vid-disks and gamepaks, even one or two print
magazines, imagine that. And there’s Holly, the pretty girl with
the blonde curls from the committee, lying on her side on one of
the beds, staring listlessly a
