Out in the hospital, the zombies are like, "Urrrrrrr! We have lots of diseases!" and the people are like, "I should have walked away from Omelas!" and it's too late for everybody. Chip hides himself in an Intensive Care cell. Lots more running around. Matron Casp grabs Rose's ankle and bitches that their good work and name have been screwed with, and Cassandra rolls his eyes, telling her to go "play with a ball of string," and Casp says something interesting. "Everywhere, disease! This is the human world. Sickness!" That's a thing that gods don't have to worry about. Lots of talk this season about whose world is whose, and what world contains what. Zombies grab Casp, and she gets very sick very fast, and then falls down the shaft they're climbing in. I assume that she lands on her feet, because you see she is a cat. They watch her fall for a while and then they -- and the zombies -- resume climbing. At the top of the ladder, the door is locked. Rose tells Cassandra to use her sonic screwdriver, and she's useless some more; she can't seem to access any of the Doctor's thoughts. Rose tells Cassandra to jump back into her body so that the Doctor can do basic shit. Cassandra does, and complains, "Oh, chavtastic again." She orders the Doctor to open the door, and he says he won't until she vacates Rose. I see this getting stupid real fast.
...it does. Cassandra jumps from Rose to the Doctor, back and forth, like, a billion times. None of this makes any sense. The Doctor would rather stand at the top of this ladder yelling instead of taking the two seconds to do whatever and they just...it's funny, I guess, actually watching it, because the actors are funny. But thinking about it on paper is excruciating. Finally, Cassandra jumps into a zombie, and bitches again about how gross she looks. Like she didn't really see them until she was them. The Doctor opens the doors and holds out his hand, welcoming Rose back. Cassandra leaps into Rose again, not wanting to get left behind, and the Doctor yells at her, but she's getting all post-trauma about it. "Inside her head," she whispers, against the wall. "They're so alone. They keep reaching out, just to hold us -- all their lives, and they've never been touched."
The Doctor pulls Rose to her feet and they leave the zombies behind, entering Ward 26. Clovis brandishes a chair at them, like a total asshole, and the Doctor's like, "We're safe! We're clean!" She demands to see their skin, and the Doctor's like, "Obviously we're fine, or we'd be dead." They have a conversation about how Clovis, being a dick, wants to break the quarantine, and who cares what happens then, because there are ten thousand people out in NNYC, but she doesn't care because she wants out of there, or whatever. She's a dick. So the Doctor just rolls his eyes and he's like, "All right, fine. So I have to stop you lot as well. Suits me." He orders Rose and Novice Hame to bring him the IV bags for all the different diseases in the whole world. We leave behind our tenuous relationship to logic entirely and edge out onto the tightrope of allegory in a major way. If you don't mind, and I don't, then it's fine. I'm just picturing the kind of sexless anoraks that freak out about minor points of discordant continuity that -- even though they're talking usually about different stories, written in different decades, by different writers, with differing visions, and there is no connection between any of these things, and "canon" is this fantasy that comforts them for some reason even though either way it's all make-believe -- make them very sad, sad like in their hearts, and how this episode is about them, but written in a precise way that ensures that they will only ever hate it. I really like it, but that's because I think in mostly the same kinds of images and I skip over the same logical steps; I do not write for nerds either. But I don't write a show called Doctor Who, so you tell me.