"No, I don't-" Doc purses his lips and shakes his head. The snowfall has gotten quite heavy now, and they can barely make each other's silhouettes out in the dark. "-don't feel anything." But who knows how long this is supposed to take if they are meant to feel something?

Doc is starting to think clearly again, with the piercing cold air filling his lungs. Emotions get sorted into neat little compartments. Rational thought takes over. If it was just some flower pollen then the worst they can expect is some hayfever maybe. If it's not, then... Doc runs his hand over his mouth and moustache, pinching at his nose and closing his eyes. God, he's so tired. Breathing out slowly, he lowers his hand again and turns to look back at the museum.

"We need to board that back up. And then we should go somewhere, far away from everyone else. Least for a little while, until we're sure." The other thoughts are coming. The what if they are already infected. The murder suicide. He doesn't want to be entertaining those thoughts just yet.