Profession

Lockdown

I walked slowly along the corridor, alert at all times for the presence of another person in the corridor, clutching the strap of my messenger bag over my gear. My main advantage was my shoes, which had grip but weren't squeaky, and there was tread on the bottom of the soles of the onesie. I was a little concerned about the absence of people, to be frank. There hadn't been an announcement that the emergency was over, which, ok, perhaps the intercom system was down as a result of the explosion, and yeah, the alarm had ceased, the signal lights were back to green, and the doors had unlocked. But still. I'd have expected personnel to be out, rounding up any outliers (like me) or doing... something. Instead, all I had was the spooky swirling fog. I wished devoutly for my armor bracelet; if I'd had that I could stride confidently through the corridors and downstairs and out. Or at least to a safe room. This place was crawling with staff on a normal day. Where was everybody? The crinkling of my protective gear sounded at once both betrayingly loud and subdued. Up here, at least, there wasn't any debris on the carpet or any damage I could see, but I picked up my feet with each step so as not to rub holes in the protective gear. I wasn't sure just how durable it was. I breathed as quietly as possible and kept my lights off.

I'd minced about halfway down the main corridor to the stairs when I saw the stairwell door open. Without a second thought, I ducked into the first open door and pulled it shut behind me, engaging the lock quietly behind me. It was a storage closet where we were storing overflows of the supply of scrubs and protective gear for our pneumonia outbreak. I wondered how the patients were. I heard each door being tried; some were apparently still locked, which meant that my door wouldn't be a real surprise. It did have a window in the door, which was good and bad. I could stand to the side against the wall and look out as the people passed. Our guard's uniforms were khaki colored, with brown boots, and in a situation like this, if the danger was past, they'd be wearing reflective vests with lights on them. The vests helped them to see in the event that the power was out and also were a signal that the incident was contained. If I kept my head down as the people (or person, I hadn't seen anybody) passed my door, I should be ok in the dark. Although my PPE sounded like a potato chip packet, it was dark blue, matte, not shiny. I pressed to the wall, my face averted, as two lights jabbed quickly into the storage closet and the lock was tried.

"Another fail," one voice grunted.

"It's just storage, not the offices where they'd be hiding," another voice said. "Their protocols are to get into the offices, one per person, where there's no glass in the door to break. Let's get moving. We have people to recover." My hope rose, and I peeked out, my hand on the door handle. But I jerked my hand back immediately. These people were all in black, no insignia. None of the staff had black uniforms, and the cops who did have black uniforms had their identification on them in big, reflective letters so that there'd be no mistake. But crucially, all they had were hooded protective gear; even their hands were uncovered. Whatever that gas was, it wasn't caustic or corrosive, then. Probably some kind of knockout gas. I waited until the figures were swallowed up in the fog before taking off the crinkly onesie and gloves, shoving them under the bottom shelf so they couldn't be seen from the door. I raided an open box of normal protective gloves and put them on, knee-jerk paranoia not wanting to leave fingerprints. Like anybody'd be looking for them, but I didn't want to leave a trace of me behind. I made sure that the ringer on my communicator was off after checking for a signal--no luck-- and turned off the device to be safe anyway, stowing it in my bag. Before I tried my luck out there, I checked the closet for possible weapons, but unfortunately, the most damage I could inflict with anything here would be a paper cut. I slowly opened the mechanical lock--electronic locks were somewhat prone to malfunction in emergencies, so there were backups--and was reassured by the near-silent snick.