Fascinating Villains

{11} - Emergencies

The silence that followed Max's passionate plea is broken by the simultaneous beeping of all our walkie-talkies. The red light bulbs on top of our devices are flashing, indicating that someone pressed their emergency key. I promptly grab mine, lifting it closer to my face. My two colleagues approach to hear the output, and I crank the volume up.

"This is Dorothy Chapman speaking. I need twelve emergency technicians ready to be on the move. All EMTs available should meet up at the ambulance bay. I will join you and explain the situation shortly. Over."

According to the slight irregularities in her voice, it would appear that our boss was speed-walking while she transmitted her message.

I push the button of my contraption to activate its speaking function and communicate into it steadily: "Copy. This is Constanza Aguayo speaking. Colin, Maximilian and I are already at the ambulance bay. Over."

I lower my radio's volume and the box itself, distractedly listening to Ms. Chapman's reply and other miscellaneous transmissions.

"We should go back inside," states Colin, stepping back excitedly as though he is about to hop to the door.

"Of course." Before I follow the two men, I conclude the conversation I was having prior to the call, "Hey, Maximilian? I'm glad we cleared the air."

The youngest of us three spins on his boots, smiling. "Yeah, me too!"

We enter the large, hollow room, and it instantaneously drowns my senses with its bland lighting and its trademark overpowering smell of disinfectants. I always feel a negligible numbness when I find myself indoors. I have always been in love with nature, there is nothing like feeling fresh air travel through my lungs and glide across my skin, or looking up at an endless sky - whether it be navy, bright blue or gray.

Colin's vibrant voice resonates in the wide space surrounding us, "What do you guys think this is about?"

"Whatever it is, there are enough injured people for Dorothy to request twelve technicians. Something major happened, probably not just an accident," I state, without any hesitation in my tone. "A shooting, maybe," I guess, inattentive, realizing a bit too late how unbothered I may have sounded.

"Like, with an active shooter?" inquires the new EMT, blatantly anxious.

My fellow paramedic reassures him: "It's extremely unlikely that you would get shot, Max, even if there is a mass shooting. We usually stay away from immediate, ongoing danger."

Admittedly, perhaps "reassure" is a bit of an overstatement. I aid Colin in his attempt, simply telling our younger coworker, "You have more chances of dying a boring death from unhealthy life habits than getting murdered on the job.

"We live in a hellhole! It's more probable that we'll all get killed by a psycho with a stupid, creepy name."

Colin is nonchalant, and even laughs at his own remark, however there is a tense undertone to his words. Before I can wonder about it for more than a minute, our chief enters the room, closely followed by a handful of other emergency medical technicians. Leah is among them, she is scanning the ambulance bay with her dark eyes. Once we have established eye contact, she trots toward us.

Immediately, she asks the slimmest of us: "Max, are you okay?"

He silently nods at her, while Ms. Chapman positions herself to address those of us who are present. The redheaded woman is clinging onto her cellphone in one hand, her arm extended rigidly next to her body, whereas the other is tucked behind her lower back. Her voice rings loudly and impressively in the echo-prone room, as she begins:

"I want to start by saying that panic will be of no use, and that any kind of frenzy is ill-advised and won't be tolerated." She sucks a breath of air between her front teeth, preparing for her true announcement,