The sans serif font of horror tells us we're on Day 3 of this mystery outbreak. Alan's found Julia passed out in her shower – nice touch with the red towel to remind us that she's now swarming with infection – and Julia claims she just passed out while showering. The flashbacks to Peter's belching a bellyful of black crap into her mouth seem to suggest that she's (understandably) repressing what happened to her.
Then Alan goes and takes a walk around the empty, spookily-lit lab, just to freak himself out a bit. It pays off richly, as he hears a noise, turns around, and finds himself face-to-face with Peter. (Who, by the way, is looking even more disgusting that before.) We see Peter's neck pouch begin to thrum wildly – I'm going to make a wild guess that this is where the black infectious goo is generated – and then he whispers, "Help me," before passing out.
So! Good news! Peter's no longer on the lam spitting his plague-snot in unsuspecting people's orifices.
Meanwhile, Sarah appears to have developed a grave tremor in her hand. She stands around looking like a Margaret Keane painting while my girl Doreen takes care of business by asking people to kindly report when they start spewing black mucus, then talking down a nervous scientist who wants antivirals and wants them now. Then Doreen heads over to Sarah and mutters, "They're scared – get that. But sometimes I just want to yell at them, you know? We're not the enemy here."
Then some editor decides the viewing audience is comprised of idiots because the minute the word "idiot" flies out of Doreen's mouth, the camera zooms over to Hatake ,Daniel and Balleseros, and the music gets ominous. Two of the three of them are freaking a bit over the pending pandemic, but Hatake is fairly calm. He loses his cool only when Alan wheels Peter into isolation and begins ordering tests.
Hatake points out that the base is dealing with a highly infectious lunatic who appears to have Spiderman's nimbleness and taste for chopping up people for RFID chips, and that he's not comfortable merely keeping Patient Zero sedated in the isolation chamber. And thus we are introduced to another horror convention: the abandoned, physically remote institutional facility. In this case, it's called "Level R," and we're supposed to be okay with it because it contains "early labs and [residential] quarters." The plan is to park Peter and/or other dangerous infected people in a former lab which sports three-feet-thick concrete walls and crazy-reinforced steel doors.