More lectures from Sergei. I think he's using the material he prepared for his university. Instead of half-a-dozen bored post grads, he gets me.
Class today was on protecting yourself from mal. We went through a timeline. Some of the natives thought that if you wore a wolf skin, you were safe. They lived here for generations, so maybe they were on to something. Then again, almost the entire tribe disappeared one winter. When the traders arrived after the thaw, they found a single child roaming the village. She never learned to talk, so they never found out what happened. Victorian-era adventurers used to enter The Sick Land in lead-lined diving suits, walking out as far as their air pipes would reach. I remember a story from a worker on an expedition. He watched his boss the whole time, saw him waving, lifting his arm in a lead suit that took two men an hour to remove. He stood, staring off into the distance, hands on hips. Five minutes passed; his helmet fell off, then his suit collapsed. No sign of a body. We pretty much know now that nothing stops it. It's just luck. Sergei likes the hazmat suits, though.
We're going out into the Green tomorrow. I'm not dreading it. It's amazing how quickly you adapt to circumstances.
Another dream about Bob. He knocked on my door. I opened it. Under his left eye was an open wound. The specimen in his hand was bigger, about the size of a snooker ball. I wasn't sure if he was squeezing it, or it was pulsing. He looked like he was about to speak, then turned away. I closed the door and got back into bed.