"2012?" Maggie sighed and leaned her head back. "I figured it was pre-Rising, given... everything. I'm from 2041." She spoke matter-of-factly as she pressed gauze to her arm. "I'm going to need a biohazard bag. A good one, not the ones that stay open forever. Something that seals and can be incinerated ASAP. And I don't suppose you have some kind of heavy-duty soap? Or dilute bleach?"
She gave a short laugh and shook her head. "Look, I thought I was insane when I woke up in a strange place where everybody lives in pre-Rising death traps. Which I approve of, more or less--but it's weird. Since I don't think the CDC withdrew all safety precautions overnight..." She trailed off. She'd watched a lot of movies about time travel, so logic said she shouldn't do anything to change the past. Then again, she didn't want to start the Rising by just being there. In her mind, it came down to squashing a butterfly or killing all butterflies everywhere. Zombie butterflies.
How much should she tell him, she wondered, giving the doctor a flat, measuring look. She didn't have any way of guaranteeing that he wouldn't use the virus for horrible purposes. Given recent experience, she kind of expected that he would, actually. She wished that she had access to her parents' contacts right about now--the threat of snipers was always such a good negotiating tool.
"It's fatal, but not degenerative," she finally settled on saying. "For the most part, it's inactive. And then one day it's not, and you die. By 2041, it's passed along in utero."