Jim stares, wide-eyed and in a panic at the way John shakes on the floor, like he can't even hold himself in a simple sitting position. His hands curl into fists, fighting the urge to just step inside to help him.

"A plague? So it's like a disease? John," he starts, voice faltering. "Is everyone in there sick, too? Are you sick? I can't leave you here. There has to-- has to be a way."

There have to be doctors among the Wanderers, he's sure. Or healers. Anyone, anyone at all who can cure them all.