Weaver calls for a vascular clamp. Weaver's doing what she can to save Marta, the gunshot victim, while Weaver waits for assistance in getting Marta inside the hospital. "My children, they need me," whimpers Marta. Children? She's eighteen. Yeow. And suddenly, like a beacon of hope, The Shiny Bald Cranium of Salvation appears from on high. It's Dr. Robert "Rocket" Romano, and he's firing on all cylinders. "Did somebody say 'thoraseal'?" he calls out. No, but I will if you want me to, Rocket. He throws something down to the ground, where someone catches it and delivers it to Weaver. "Be careful," he shouts. "You break it, you buy it." Weaver yells up for him to toss some Vaseline gauze. "How about a two-ton safe?" he snarks. "Robert, I need to get this girl in surgery!" Weaver screams. Romano knows this, and tells her to meet him at the freight elevator, which Security is protecting.
News cameras assault Weaver as she continues to try to save Marta. "Is there a communicable disease in the ER?" the reporter asks. Weaver shrugs that there usually is. As the reporter fires off another question, we see Susan watching on the TV set in the lounge. "Who's that?" Torres whispers. "The chief of the ER," Susan replies, dread imbuing her tone. On-screen, Weaver is angrily insisting that it's premature to conclude that anyone in the ER is infected with anything dangerous. The reporter asks what manner of disease could spark the closure of the ER. "Don't say it, Kerry," Susan whispers to the television. Susan's scared the gathered masses will hear and flip out. Hey, I have an idea. It's revolutionary, but it just might work. You could...TURN OFF THE TV. Weaver simply continues with the "I don't know" answers that have served her well so far. As the reporter continues prying, Weaver is still trying to save Marta's life. I personally think she should wrap the microphone in her fist and jam it in the reporter's left ear. Susan breathes a sigh of relief that Weaver didn't utter the "s" word. But then the reporter does it for her: "Doctor, are you aware that the Smallpox Response Team...." Inside the ER, Susan tenses and laments her utter inability to romance the TV's "off" button. Pandemonium breaks out. "We're all sitting ducks!" quacks Yobbo #4.
Pratt commences compressions while Carter recharges the paddles. He asks for a particular amount of a particular kind of medication. "You want to give that to kids?" Pratt gapes. "I think she's lighter than that." Carter glares at Mr. Medicine Chest and ignores him. He shocks Bree again; no response. "Call someone!" screams Robin, flapping her arms in the background and sweating all the hairspray off her unfortunate Flowbie coif. Adam and Craig -- sitting in Trauma Green -- can hear the dulled sounds of Robin's wails. "I want someone with more experience!" she screams. "There isn't anyone," Pratt booms. Robin's eyes bug out. "What he means is, no one's seen this disease for fifty years," Carter amends.