"... and he's screaming, Captain, and we can't stop him...."
Caffrey was out in the hall before the last syllable was uttered. The bulkheads spanged open as he kicked them. His feet slap-slapped frantically and when he was two sections away and one deck above Doc's quarters, he heard the screaming.
It rose and shrilled and howled and made him more afraid than he had ever been in his life.
The carefully acquired veneer of toughness shredded away like cheap cotton candy that was eaten at a Terran carnival and dissolved to nothing in the mouth.
The eighteen crewmen of the ship were in the hall, milling and twisting their caps in their hands. Skolnik stood with his back to the wall. He had vomited on the floor and now he was crying. Caffrey was sicker when he smelled the bitterness, but he shoved at the crewmen.
They stumbled against one another like dumb animals. Their faces belonged to little boys on dark nights when they walked home alone.
They seemed to resist Caffrey's efforts, and he clubbed at them, the breath tearing in and out of his chest. Finally, he stood with his hands on the edge of the cabin door.
His hands had been sweating, but now he felt, actually felt, the wave of cold sweep through his fingers, up his arms.
Doc was on the floor, like Skolnik had said.