While Carter was frowning at the hallway, he had an old country doctor frowning at him. That wasn't what those were for. Carter had a point, probably that practicality that was a product of his times, but McCoy still had a hard time thinking of medical equipment as weapons, anymore than he'd look at medicine, drugs, and see anything but what they were, and not another way to say chemical warfare, which was probably what anyone else would do right now. You could do a lot of damage just by simply overdosing on something like morphine. The idea of deliberately doing it was repulsive. It went against everything he believed in. Turning a scalpel or bone saw into a weapon wasn't so bad, but just barely.

Even when it came to something like an animal attacking a human being, there was still that second's hesitation before he even considered turning those tools into anything else. That's what you had phasers for or in Carter's case, crowbars.

There was that same crawling sensation up and down his back, just like in Doyleton and just like a few minutes ago. McCoy looked over his shoulder again. If only his flashlight were something better than an overly large paperweight right now- "I imagine so," They probably had labs, operating rooms around here somewhere. "Although I figure you're more likely to find a bone saw in an autopsy room."