Half past two was the time on the clock. I poured a second cup of coffee while I waited. She was supposed to be here an hour ago. No one was ever an hour late.
I repetitively checked my watch, hoping the numbers would be different each time I pulled it out of my locker. My old shirt hung off the hook, still a tinge of blood on the sleeve, thanks to an accident from my last shift. If that place had trash cans, then it would have been thrown out already.
My PPE was still on, and I knew it would take twenty minutes to get it off and decontaminated, but as much as I wanted to get out of it, I knew that I had to wait.
I kept checking the small window on the heavy metal door, hoping that my relief would come strolling down the hallway. My fiancé and I were planning on Salamanca’s for dinner, and it had been so long since we had been out. Work kept me going steady, and I knew that without some time with my girl, then it would make it harder to push through those tough days. So I looked at my watch again.
I pressed the intercom on the concrete wall, hoping to hear something other than static on the other end. Clearly Stanley was taking another one of his half-shift-long naps. Normally I wouldn’t care, especially on night shift, but I was started to get irritated. I felt like I was in a prison cell. I continually mashed my hand against the button, hoping to get Stanley’s attention, yelling his name into the mic.
As a felon, I wasn’t someone that the guys usually treated the same way, so I can’t say that this was entirely unusual for him to not respond, but still, your job is your job. This particular assignment had been my way out early, and I was not keen to be stuck inside of a room for any longer than I had to be… even if it did mean being part of their expendable crew.
I couldn’t take it anymore. An hour late was unheard of, and they couldn’t possibly expect me to spend two shifts walking in that container every fifteen minutes. So even though leaving the room early was breaking protocol, I decided to go look for Sandra.
I walked down the hall, noticing a door open down the way. Doors weren’t open here. Doors were never open here. I glanced in the room, and saw the lamp was broken, and there had been signs of a struggle.
Memories of the night I got caught came flooding back. I was struggling with the homeowner, after miscalculating when he would be at work. He had noticed me coming around the side, and swung at me with a frying pan, as I slid in the back door. He bled all the way into the driveway, up until the point that the cops took me away.
I didn’t notice any blood here, but there was mud and dirt all over the floor, and on the computer screen, where the technician sat. The technician himself was nowhere to be found.
I left the room, gingerly stepping into the hallway, afraid to alert the intruder, when I noticed a dark color out of the corner of my eye. Slowly, I crept down the hallway, until I came to a 90 degree right turn in the corridor.
I poked my head around the wall, and almost dropped to my knees. The walls were covered in mold, and it was pulsing. It looked alive. Sickening green colors, mixed with all arrays of blues, were pulsing within the thick layer. I heard a soft voice, then I saw Sandra. She was plastered against the wall, underneath the growth.
All I could see was her skull, some hair.. or was that the mold? With her eyeball hanging out, covered in that stuff, she was softly whispering.
“They let it out.”