Not a Drill (A Ryan Blaney One Shot)

Not a Drill

Ryan Blaney sighed as he leaned back in his rolling chair and stared at the ceiling. He was currently sitting in the conference room at Penske Racing in Mooresville, North Carolina. The race trophies crammed on the wood shelves lining the walls paled in comparison to the Mount Everest sized pile of fan merchandise that was stacked on the oversized meeting table in the centre of the room.

When Ryan had arrived at the shop this morning, Kathy, the team's head of public relations, had greeted him immediately. After a quick hello, she had escorted him into the conference room which was packed full of t-shirts, hats and die-casts that all needed his signature. 

Since his history-making win at Pocono, Ryan's popularity had skyrocketed -translating into an overwhelming amount of items that needed his name scribbled on them.

"Just give me a holler when you're done," Kathy said pushing a box filled with every size and colour of sharpie imaginable towards Ryan who had plopped himself in the seat at the head of the table.

"It shouldn't take you too long," she said offering a smile and patting him on the shoulder as she exited the room closing the door behind her.

"Great," Ryan muttered to himself, selecting a black coloured sharpie from the box and pulling a pile of white Penske racing hats towards him. "Better get to work." 

He was grateful for his fans' support, but sometimes he just didn't get the appeal of having a piece of merchandise with his name scrawled messily on the top. He would've way rather had a photo with his favourite driver, but what did he know? His fondest memories had been captured through photographs growing up around the racetrack with his dad.

Ryan was still in the same spot three hours later when he paused to flex his cramping hand. He had finished signing all the hats and die-casts and had moved on to the t-shirts. He was just starting on the last pile when he began to notice the faint smell of smoke. The conference room was located right next to the shop's kitchen, so he assumed it was Joey Logano's spotter, Tab Boyd, burning his instant noodles in the microwave like he did every Monday during lunch.

"I swear Tab has the cooking skills of a six year old child," Ryan chuckled to himself as he finished signing the last of the t-shirts. "Gordon Ramsay would totally rip him apart."

As he stood, clicked the cap back on his sharpie and tossed it back into the box, he noticed that the smoky smell still hadn't disappeared. As he walked toward the door to investigate, he jumped back when he touched the door handle and it was burning hot. 

"What the..." Ryan exclaimed as he used the end of his t-shirt to open the door. 

Not two seconds later, the piercing shriek of the fire alarm began ringing throughout the building. Looking up and down the hallway, Ryan noticed his colleagues moving in a brisk but orderly fashion towards the exit. Starting in the same direction, he remembered the mandatory fire training that all the Penske employees had undergone not two weeks earlier.

"Stay calm, move quickly towards the exit," Ryan quoted from the training, running a hand through his hair nervously. 

"Good thing I decided to stay awake this time," he grinned to himself ruefully. He remembered distinctly falling asleep through the very same training the year before. He was halfway to the exit when he heard screaming coming from a corner office.

"Help! Somebody help me, please!"

Ryan instinctively rushed closer to the office door, hearing the female voice continue to call for help. The banging and cries grew louder as he approached. So did the smoke.