We put the searchlight on at 10pm, hugging our labcoats close.
“It’s like pea soup out there,” Suge said, squinting up through the fog. “Think they’ll be able to see it?”
I shrugged. “Where’s the crash cart?”
Suge dug into her pockets and pulled out her walkie talkie. “Where y’all at?”
“E–eh-le-” a crackled voice said.
Suge stared at the walkie talkie and cursed under her breath. “Shit we’ll be seeing pteradacyls before Jonas gets his ass in gear.”
I snorted, imaging the tiny beady eyed man shuffling down the hall slower than a drunk snail. “He’s just milking the clock.”
A UFO darted over the pharmacy across the street and I hear the low buzz of an engine.
“Yeah well, Grandma was slow but she was 86.”
The fog began to clear above us and we were bathed in the white light.
I was dully aware of the roof access door slamming open as I squinted my eyes.
Our heros descended on us from the clouds, a red cross painted on the chopper side.
“About time,” Suge barked, though whether it was at the pilot or Jonas was unclear to me. We received a shouting match for a report and brought the injured to the stretcher, their lives now safetly transported into our hands.
I hoped we would not disappoint them.