Chapter 13
Several days later, reading off the results of dish number 903, I felt like one of the negative cultures. Dirty. Infected. Festering.
Hope had literally fled the room. We’d made almost a thousand cultures over that last several days, and we only had a handful left to check. Not one had yielded even the tiniest indication of a positive result.
I puffed out my cheeks and stared at the ceiling for a moment, praying for a cure and some calm as I reached for culture 902. I had no sooner placed a finger on it when Airmed cried out.
“Red, no! Don’t touch it!”
I looked to my left and saw Red, frozen in horror with his hand wrapped around a dish. A brown foam was climbing over his fingers, disappearing as it melted into his gloves.
“Quick,” I yelled, “put it in the bin!”
His eyes
