"Hey," the man didn't step in at first, looking vaguely confused as he peered into the trailer. The woman wasn't anyone he knew, but he knew so few faces, that didn't exactly surprise him or halt his entry. The baby in her arms was what did it. He wasn't deaf, so he'd heard the kid from outside, of course he had. Kids cried. It was one of three things they were good at when they were to small to do anything else. He knew that as well, although he'd never had much cause to be around them. His eyes squinted a bit in confusion. This woman seemed like she might be tired, but had a healthy enough palor. Uninfected. Had the person who pointed him here intended for him to look at the baby? Was the kid sick?
Fuck, he'd been hoping to avoid pediatrics. "Uh, look. My name's Marcus. Abuela down the way asked me to check in. Said someone needed some fucking help. That true?"
The weather was still wretched; the sky dark and threatening to spill its contents yet again. He hoped to hell that this time it was just water, and not that ooze shit. He also hoped it waited to start back up until he'd found somewhere dry to go. The shack he'd hid in the first night turned out to have a living occupant who was now convalescing and quarantined in the place. Having abandoned the borrowed tent, Marcus had taken his kit and used the reprieve in the rain to see if he could be of use. The old woman -- whose name Marcus couldn't remember -- had suffered a minor fall in her panic to get indoors, but she'd been much more irritated by the incessant wailing that had disturbed her sleep. After Marcus had wrapped her foot, she'd pointed him in a direction. See that trailer over there? Someone in it needs a damn doctor. Either fix 'em or put 'em out of their misery.
Marcus had assumed that meant blob infection until he'd got close enough to hear the baby. So at least there was that.