At level G and the bottom of the stairs, I pause, panting. A solid metal door separates me from whatever lurks beyond. Nannies, Doctors, Guards—all three could wait on the other side. Or it could be the fresh air under the twinkling midnight sky. There’s only one way to find out. My hands slowly push open the door.

It’s another dimly lit hallway. My heart sinks. There has to be a way out of here. My panic building, I head left and run past a number of closed doors with key-card swipe locks. The distant hum from behind a set of double doors gets my attention. It has a key swipe box, but someone’s propped the door open a crack with a wooden wedge. Maybe it’s an electrical room that has a passageway to the outside. I take a deep breath and open the door.

I stumble in the dark room and let the door click behind me. It’s pitch black, but there’s an odor I don’t like. My eyes find a shape here or there, but little else. I clutch the door handle and will my pupils to adjust. Soon soft silhouettes appear. The quiet echoes inside let me know it’s much larger than a patient’s room. At first I think cafeteria, but then I see blinking monitors every six feet or so. Some sort of computer facility?

Something shifts in a dark corner. I freeze, barely breathing. Is someone there? After several seconds, I hear nothing but the beat, beat, beat of my heart. There’s no time. Across the echoing expanse, a fan hums and a puff of air dances on my face. On the far wall, I can just make out a large rectangular metal plate. It’s the first dirty surface I’ve seen, stained with dried smears of what looks like garbage. A garbage chute? Does it lead out to a dumpster or down to an incinerator? I shuffle toward it.

I bump into something at thigh height. A table? I reach down until I feel the spongy material at my fingertips. Blankets. A mattress. It’s a hospital bed like my own upstairs. My fingers trace up the sheet until I touch something firm beneath. My hand slides around the shape under the blanket. I stagger back. A foot. It’s a human foot.

The room seems to slide sideways. There’s a pounding in my ears. Is this the morgue? But why the monitors at every bed? I can’t breathe. I spin to leave and bump into another bed.

Trembling, I peer down, my hand over my mouth to cover the gasp.