The sensation in his stomach is akin to the feeling of a cold snake uncoiling.   Three thoughts occur to him at once:<br/><br/>The door swings out.  If he tries to close it, they'll have the advantage.<br/>The office door is opening.  Someone, or something, is about to come through it, and there's a lot more someones behind him.<br/>One is less than many.<br/><br/>Marlowe charges the office door, one boot raising in a front-kick that will send whoever is behind it sprawling with the door as the weapon.  He was not afraid any longer, he was angry.  Desperate, angry people infected with some flesh-eating virus or bird-flu.  What a way to go.<br/><br/>Better that than shot by the cops.<br/><br/>If he manages to send the one behind the door to the ground, he'll train the pistol on him or her, crosshairs right above the nose, and scream, "HOW DO YOU GET OUT?!"