He had a surgical mask on and wore two sets of gloves, as did the nuns, courtesy of one of the equipment cases he’d had packed on board the B-l. Too little too late.He knew a lot about the progression of the virus now. At least its first seventy-two hours. And what he’d learned scared him. It was fast. Faster than anything he’d ever seen that was this deadly. It was violating the basic paradox of virus survival, killing so fast it should be inhibiting its own spread. But that didn’t appear to be the case, at least not from that imagery he’d seen earlier in the day.Kieling still wasn’t sure about the vector, but he had one possibility: the rashes that were developing on the bodies of some of the victims. They looked like ropes of angry red crisscrossing the skin. Inside the red, pustules were forming and occasionally breaking. That might be when the virus got into the air, Kieling speculated.“When will the others arrive?” Sister Angelina was behind him.She had been on the ward ever since he’d arrived, never taking a break.
